Los Cuatro
Copyright© 2025 by Art Samms
Chapter 20
By Tuesday night, the apartment didn’t just look lived in—it felt lived in. The last box had been broken down and shoved into the recycling. The office was set up, the kitchen organized (Luz-approved), and the living room had Isa’s fingerprints all over it in the best possible way. So, I figured it was time to properly break in the new place.
I invited everyone over for an informal housewarming—just the inner circle. The three girls, Beto and Ellie, and Carmen. No decorations, no fancy food, just good company and hopefully enough chairs.
The girls immediately started planning the menu like they were catering a wedding, but Ellie and Carmen shut that down quick.
“Nope,” Ellie said, holding up a hand like a traffic cop. “You three have done enough in the last week to qualify for sainthood. We’ve got this.”
“We’re not taking no for an answer,” Carmen added. “Just show up hungry.”
They did more than show up—they brought enough food to feed a soccer team. My kitchen turned into a buffet line, and I watched, amused, as Beto and Ellie rearranged things to their liking like they were running a pop-up cafeteria.
I found a moment to pull Beto aside while everyone else was debating which food item was the best.
“Hey,” I said, keeping my voice low. “Quick thing. About the trip across the border. To send the packages.”
His expression shifted, grew serious, thoughtful.
“You’re really going to do it?”
“Yeah. Day after tomorrow. Feels like the right thing. The only thing.”
He gave a small nod, like he respected that more than he was going to say out loud. “I’m impressed. Not just that you’re doing it—but how you’re doing it. Quietly. Carefully. That shows a lot of respect.”
“Thanks. I just want to make sure I don’t screw it up.”
“You won’t,” he said. “But listen. A few things you need to know. Avoid the Matamoros bus terminal area, especially late in the day. Dress plain—jeans, t-shirt, no backpack, nothing flashy. If anyone asks, you’re visiting a cousin, and you’re heading right back. Keep the story simple.”
He rattled off a few more tips—names of streets to avoid, a couple of code phrases locals use to indicate trouble, even where to park so the car isn’t a sitting target.
Most of it was stuff I never would’ve thought of. And all of it made me realize how much I still didn’t understand about the landscape just across that invisible line.
“Appreciate this,” I said. “Really.”
He clapped a hand on my shoulder. “Just come back safe. That’s the only thing that matters.”
Back in the living room, Isa was telling a story that had Luz doubled over laughing and Marisol shaking her head like she couldn’t believe she was related to her. I looked around at all of them—this unexpected, patched-together family—and felt a familiar ache in my chest. The good kind.
The next day, we sat in a loose circle in Ramon’s office—me, Marisol, Luz, and Isa. It felt different being here with the others, less exposed somehow, like the air itself was easier to breathe. Ramon leaned back in his chair, patient as ever, eyes moving from one of us to the next.
“I’d like to give each of you space to say what’s been on your mind,” he said. “No pressure, just whatever feels right.”
There was a pause, then Isa spoke first. She fiddled with the sleeve of her shirt, her voice steady but soft. “It’s harder for me, I think. Living in San Antonio, four hours away ... I feel the distance. The group resilience thing—it’s real, I feel it—but it’s harder for me to manage when I’m not physically with you guys.”
I nodded before I even realized I was doing it. “I get that. It’s been strange for me too, figuring out how to fit all of this into ... regular life again. But having Luz here—it’s been huge.” I glanced at her, not sure how much to say, then just pushed it out. “We’re together now. That’s part of my stability. But at the same time, it doesn’t feel separate from the group. It feels ... connected.”
Luz tilted her head, then gave the smallest smile. “It’s like we are two,” she said, her voice low but clear, “but we are also four.”
Something in me lit up at that. Marisol laughed gently, nodding, and Isa’s whole face softened. It felt like she’d put words to what all of us had been trying to describe since we came back—that strange balance of intimacy and unity, where no one got left behind.
“Exactly,” I said. “That’s it. We don’t have to choose between the two and the four. Somehow, it just works.”
And the others all agreed—out loud, in little affirmations, but also in the way they looked at one another. For the first time, I realized none of us doubted it.
Ramon gave a thoughtful smile. “That’s the strength I’ve been talking about. Group resilience doesn’t have to mean you’re glued together every moment. It means the connection exists no matter the distance. Each of you can lean on the others when you need to. And remember—you don’t have to wait for these meetings to reach out to me. Any of you are free to check in, anytime.”
The words landed like a safety net stretched beneath us. We didn’t need it every day, but just knowing it was there mattered. I caught the others’ eyes, one by one, and felt it again—that bond that had carried us through, and somehow still carried us now.
Early that evening, we gathered in the living room at Marisol and Luz’s place, the four of us surrounded by a fortress of taped-up boxes, padded envelopes, and the faint scent of permanent marker. It had taken days of prep, and now everything was laid out in neat little piles across the floor. It looked like the staging area for a covert humanitarian operation.
Because, well ... it kind of was.
Isa beamed as she opened one of the church boxes to show us the contents. She’d done the bulk of the work on those, buying most of the items back in San Antonio and packaging them with a kind of gentle precision that was so very her—bandaids, thermometers, kids’ socks, Spanish-language Bibles, even communion wafers, individually wrapped. She held one of the cards up for us to see—Luz had written them in her clean, looping script:
Gracias por su continuo servicio y amabilidad. (Thank you for your continued service and kindness.)
“They’re beautiful,” I said, and Isa actually blushed.
“They’re simple,” she replied. “That’s all they need to be.”
The envelopes for the stores we’d stolen from were even more stripped-down—thick white paper, no return address, each holding enough pesos to more than cover what we’d taken. Luz’s letter for those was short but carried the weight of that moment perfectly.
Durante un momento de gran necesidad, tomamos algunos artículos de su tienda. Huíamos por nuestras vidas y no teníamos otra opción. Lamentamos profundamente no haber podido pagar en ese momento. Por favor, acepte esto con nuestras disculpas y gratitud. (During a time of great need, we took some items from your store. We were fleeing for our lives and had no other choice. We deeply regret not being able to pay at that time. Please accept this with our apologies and gratitude.)
“Think they’ll actually open them?” I asked, more to myself than anyone else.
“They’ll open them,” Luz said softly. “Even if they don’t know who we are, they’ll know it meant something to someone.”
The packages for the families were the bulkiest—but even those had been carefully curated to be discreet. Soft, neutral-colored clothing with no logos. A few basic household goods. And tucked inside, a sealed envelope with a modest amount of pesos and another one of Luz’s notes:
Un agradecimiento por su amabilidad. Ayudó a alguien que nunca lo olvidará. (A thank-you for your kindness. You helped someone who will never forget.)
I picked up one of the boxes and gave it a slight shake. It barely made a sound. Carefully packed. Intentionally quiet.
“This one’s for Diana and her kids,” Isa said. “That one’s Antonio’s. And the heaviest one is for Rafael and Camila.”
We all nodded. That one had earned the weight.
“I’m going to shave before I go,” I said, rubbing at my beard. “It’ll help a little—new face, new look.”
Luz’s head snapped around. “You’re shaving it off?”
“Just temporarily,” I said, hands raised in surrender. “I’ll grow it back.”
“Good,” she muttered. “You look like a twelve-year-old without it.”
I grinned. “That’s the point.”
Marisol handed me a sheet of paper with the church contact’s name and info on it. “You’ll take everything to this church. They’re just a few kilometers over the border. I spoke to the pastor—his English is good, and he knows the plan. You just tell him you’re the courier. He’ll take it from there and get it into the right hands.”
“Thanks, Marisol.”
“We trust this church,” she added. “They’ve done this kind of thing before. Quietly. Carefully.”
I nodded, absorbing it all. It still felt risky, but it also felt right.
“Oh,” Isa said, almost as an afterthought. “We packed one more box. For the church itself. Supplies, a bit of money. Just to thank them.”
She pointed to the smallest of the church boxes—slightly different tape, marked with a little red star in one corner. I took a breath.
“I’ll bring it too.”
We looked around the room, the four of us standing in the middle of this quiet storm of cardboard and intention. It was happening. Finally.
“I know we might never know if any of this gets where it’s supposed to go,” I said. “And they’ll never know who sent it. But that’s okay.”
“It’s better that way,” Isa said softly. “It keeps them safe.”
“And us,” Marisol added.
“But mostly them,” Luz said.
We all nodded.
Yeah. Mostly them.
I left just before nine, the back of my car packed with boxes and envelopes that had taken weeks to prepare. Everyone had come out to see me off—Marisol handed me a bag with snacks and water like I was going off to war, Luz gave me one last rundown of what to say and not say, and Isa hugged me so tightly I had to remind her I still needed to breathe. Even Beto gave me a firm handshake and a long look that I was pretty sure translated to Don’t screw this up.
I promised I wouldn’t.
Crossing the border only took about twenty minutes, but every second of it gnawed at my nerves. I wasn’t questioned at all. I had a ready response in case I was asked about the boxes stored away in the trunk, but it wasn’t needed. No one bothered to check. I made it through unscathed. Problem-free.
And here I was, back in the belly of the beast—voluntarily. Was I crazy? Maybe, but at least I was crazy with noble intentions.
The air felt different on the other side—tenser, heavier, like it carried the weight of things unsaid. I kept my head down, followed Marisol’s directions and the GPS, and drove slowly through neighborhoods that looked both familiar and foreign. I knew these kinds of places now. I remembered the side streets and the faded signs and the makeshift stalls. I also remembered what could happen if you made the wrong move.
I pulled up to the church around ten. It was modest, tucked behind a wall of flowering bushes and worn iron fencing, the kind of place that was part sanctuary, part secret. I walked up with two of the boxes and was met at the entrance by a man in his sixties, dressed in a simple gray shirt with a small white collar. He had kind eyes and a calm smile.
“Father Miguel?” I asked.
“You must be Brendan,” he said in perfect English, extending his hand. “We’ve been expecting you.”
I brought the rest of the items in multiple trips, an item or two at a time, doing my best to stay out of sight of the street. He led me through a side door, down a short hallway, and into a quiet storage room. We unloaded the boxes quickly and silently.
“We’ll take care of them,” he said once the last one was in place. “Everything will be delivered discreetly.”
I nodded, my mouth dry. “Thank you. For doing this.”
“No thanks needed,” he said. “Sometimes, kindness just needs a way to move.”
I didn’t linger. Outside the church, the sun felt hotter, the light harsher. I was almost to the car when I saw him—a man standing across the street, leaning against a building, arms folded. Watching me.
He wasn’t doing anything, not really. Just standing there. But his eyes tracked me, followed me as I climbed into the car. Was it just because I looked like I didn’t belong? An out-of-place gringo alone on a side street? Or was it something more?
I didn’t wait to find out.
I pulled away, careful not to peel out, and merged into the narrow flow of traffic. My heart was thudding in my chest as I checked the rearview again and again. No one followed. No car pulled out behind me.
By the time I got close to the border, it was just after one. The traffic had thickened, crawling forward in bursts of motion and long halts. I counted every slow minute—thirty of them just to get near the checkpoint, and another thirty waiting in line to be questioned.
The border officer looked young, probably my age, sunglasses reflecting the glare of the sun off my windshield.
“Purpose of your trip to Mexico?” he asked, peering into the car.
“I was visiting a cousin of my girlfriend,” I said smoothly, exactly as planned.
He gave me a long look, then nodded and waved me through.
The moment I crossed back into the U.S., it felt like a weight lifted off my shoulders. I pulled into a gas station just over the line and called Luz.
“We’re good,” I said. “I’m back.”
The sigh on the other end of the line made me smile.
Back at the house, they were all waiting for me. I barely made it through the door before Isa and Luz wrapped their arms around me. Marisol wasn’t far behind. Even Beto clapped me on the back with a kind of respect I hadn’t seen in his eyes before.
“You did it,” he said. “And you did it smart.”
“Thanks,” I said. “I just didn’t want to put any of you at risk.”
That earned me a rare nod from him, and a wide smile from Ellie.
I realized then that I hadn’t just delivered a set of packages. I’d crossed a line—figuratively and literally. I’d come back whole. And I’d done it on my own.
It felt good. Really good.
Later that evening, the four of us were sprawled around the living room, the comfortable kind of quiet that only comes when you’re full, tired, and surrounded by people you trust. The lights were low, Isa had her legs slung over the arm of the couch, and Marisol had commandeered a blanket even though it wasn’t remotely cold. Luz was curled up beside me, our knees touching.
I knew I’d have to head back to my place soon, but I was reluctant to break the spell. The day had been long, intense, meaningful—but now we were onto lighter things. The subject had shifted to the upcoming party, just two days away.
“So how big is this thing supposed to be, anyway?” I asked, stretching my arm across the back of the couch.
Marisol sat up a little straighter. “Last I heard, the guest list’s up to sixty-five.”
I blinked. “Sixty-five? That’s ... not a small get-together.”
Isa grinned. “Hope you didn’t put away your dancing shoes, Brendan. There’s a huge outdoor patio, and guess what? They actually hired a DJ.”
I laughed. “I’m game.”
That got a reaction. The girls looked at each other like they’d just been handed a new toy.
“A gringo who’s willing to try Latin dancing?” Isa said, wide-eyed.
Marisol jumped in. “Oh, you’re gonna have a full dance card, amigo. Every woman there—from giggly fifteen-year-olds to abuelas with bad hips—is gonna want a spin with you.”
I shrugged, trying to play it cool, though I could already feel the heat creeping into my face. “Hey, I’m up for it.”
Then I turned my head toward Luz. “You okay with that?”
She smiled, slow and sure. “More than okay.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Yeah? Why’s that?”
She leaned in just a little closer, her voice soft but steady. “Because they can all have their little dance with you. But at the end of the party...” She reached over and gently laced her fingers with mine. “You’re leaving with me.”
There was a moment of silence, broken only by Isa groaning dramatically.
“Okay, that was actually hot,” she said, fanning herself. “But can y’all tone it down? Some of us are still single.”
We all laughed, even Marisol, who just rolled her eyes and muttered something about romantics.
I didn’t say anything else after that. I just wrapped Luz up in my arms, thinking that yeah—come party night, I’d dance with whoever asked. But she was the one I’d be looking for at the end of every song.
The drive took about half an hour, just enough time for my nerves to wake up.
Luz was riding shotgun, hair pulled back, wearing a breezy red dress that somehow made her look both relaxed and radiant. She glanced over at me and smiled, then asked the inevitable.
“Nervous?”
I kept my eyes on the road and shrugged, lips twitching. “A little. But I’m looking forward to it.”
“You should be. It’s going to be fun.” She reached over and gave my arm a reassuring squeeze. “And don’t worry—I won’t let them eat you alive.”
“Comforting.”
We pulled up to a large stucco house tucked behind a wide gate and shaded by a row of mesquite trees. The air was thick with the unmistakable, mouthwatering scent of carne asada on the grill. Smoke curled lazily into the sky. Somewhere behind the house, I heard laughter and the low thump of bass—still warming up, but definitely a party.
Luz grinned. “Tío Jorge doesn’t mess around.”
She wasn’t kidding. The house was huge, with a wraparound porch and lights already strung above a sprawling patio out back. The DJ was setting up beneath a makeshift awning, hauling out speakers and adjusting levels with practiced ease.
As soon as we stepped through the gate, we were greeted by a wave of voices, music, and motion. Brendan, this is my cousin Alfredo. Brendan, this is Tía Clara. Brendan, meet the neighbor who once taught Luz how to ride a bike. The names came fast, each one attached to a warm handshake or a quick embrace. People clapped me on the shoulder, thanked me, pulled me into short conversations.
It was overwhelming, but not in a bad way.
And every time someone thanked me, I tried to redirect the spotlight. “I was just along for the ride,” I’d say. “These three”—I’d gesture toward Marisol, Luz, Isa—”they got us through it.”
Most people nodded at that, some of them offering looks that said they understood more than they let on.
The food was already being laid out on long folding tables under a tent—tacos, beans, rice, roasted corn, fresh tortillas, grilled nopales, guacamole, salsas in every color.
“Will you look at that,” I said in awe. My stomach growled audibly.
“Don’t even try to hold back,” Luz said, laughing as she caught the sound. “This is the kind of food you cancel tomorrow’s plans for.”
From across the patio, Isa materialized with a plate in one hand and a teasing grin on her face. She pointed a tortilla chip at me.
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