His heart was still going too fast under my hand, and he still hadn't let go of my fingers.
Rafael: We can't stay out here. Those bastards come back in twos.
Mira: Then move. Before I start thinking about what a shit night this is.
The car smelled like leather and old smoke, and the helmet sat between us like a third person.
Rafael: Get in. I need a minute before I drive.
His hands were shaking on the wheel. The same hands that had been so steady on my dress an hour ago.
Mira: You said you put him on that crew. What the fuck does that mean?
Rafael: It means what it sounds like.
Rafael: The crew boss wanted a Caldera on that run.
Rafael: I was drunk off my ass, and Mateo took my shift so I wouldn't have to.
Mira: So some bastard put your brother on a boat and you decided it was your fault.
Rafael: Don't.
Mira: No. You don't get to shut me out. Not after you put your face in my hair and cried.
He turned his head and looked at me, and there was nothing cold left in him at all.
Rafael: He was a head bigger than me and he still asked my advice about everything.
Rafael: On the boat he laughed like a fucking idiot. That's the last thing I have of him. A laugh.
I kept quiet. My mother's machine was in the back, and I knew what it was like to carry a person around like that.
Rafael: Nina.
Mira: What?
Rafael: Nothing. I just wanted to hear it out loud.
He said the fake name like it belonged to him now, and my throat went tight and stupid.
Mira: My mother died three years ago. That's why Delphine had her machine.
Rafael: Shit. Nina.
Mira: Stop saying it like that, or I'll start crying in your fancy car.
Mira: She was a seamstress. She had hands like mine, only hers were better. She made my whole life with those hands.
Rafael: What was her name?
Mira: Paloma.
Rafael: Paloma. All right.
He took my hand off my knee and held it flat between both of his, like he was warming it.
Rafael: Who held you? When she died, who did that for you?
Teo was seventeen. I made the calls and paid for the funeral and kept the shop open.
Mira: Nobody. I'm the person everyone comes to. That's the whole joke.
Rafael: That's not a joke. That's a fucking tragedy, Nina.
Then he pulled me across the seat, and I let him.
His chin was on my head, and I could hear his heart slowing down under his shirt.
Rafael: I haven't slept through a night in two years. That's all this is.
Mira: Then sleep. I'm not going anywhere.
He put the seat back, and I ended up against his shoulder with his jacket over me like a bad blanket.
Rafael: Your mother had good hands. I can tell from the machine.
Mira: Go to sleep, Rafael. You're not alone anymore. Not tonight.
His breathing evened out after a few minutes, but his fingers stayed tangled in mine, loose, like he needed to know where I was.
I watched the rain on the windshield and thought about my mother's apron and the way she hummed when she sewed.
I wanted to be brave. I wanted to take my machine and walk home and forget the whole night.
I put my cheek on his chest and closed my eyes instead.
When I woke up it was still dark, and his hand was on my hip and he hadn't moved all night.
His fingers were curled against my waist, and I lay there and told myself I was only staying warm.
I didn't even know his last name. I knew he was somebody's brother and he was broken, and his hands felt like the only safe thing in the city.
Outside, the harbor lights came on one by one, and I stayed exactly where I was.