by Anna Cruise
I rolled my eyes. “Whatever. I put on make-up for me. No one else.”
It wasn't completely true. I liked to look good for me, sure. But I wanted to look pretty for him. I bit my lip to keep from frowning. I hated that I cared. He was just a guy.
“You say so.”
He wiped his hands on his shorts, then looked around. There were more roosters and chickens scratching at the caked dirt, eyeing us suspiciously. A stray orange cat slinked along the side of the town hall building, its tail low, its eyes trained on the sparse grass alongside the wall. But there were no people. Not a soul.
“Where is everyone?” I asked.
“We're about a half hour early,” Stuart said.
He opened the flaps on one of the boxes and thumbed through the books. I sat down on one of the metal chairs. The thatched roof provided a little relief from the relentless sun but I was still hot. Beads of sweat trickled between my breasts. I grabbed one of the books, a spineless picture book, and used it to fan myself.
“Where are the chapter books?” I asked. “Another box?”
Stuart shook his head. “We don't hand those out here.”
“Why not?”
He straightened. “Because a lot of these kids can't read.”
“What? They don't go to school?”
“Some do,” he said. “This village doesn't have one. I think Garcia said the closest one was three miles away. So some of the kids walk. But a lot of them don't.”
Brynn sat down on the chair next to me. She'd emptied the bottle Stuart had bought for her into the water bottle clipped to her shorts and she reached for it. She unscrewed the cap and took a sip, then wiped her hair out of her face. I was glad she was hot, too. And that she wasn't wearing make-up.
“So they just hang out?” I asked.
Stuart shook his head and his visor slipped a little. He pushed it back up on his forehead. “They work.”
“They have jobs? Doing what?”
“Anything they can. Some work in the fields, sell stuff on the street.” I didn't point out that there didn't appear to be many streets to sell things on. “Girls stay home and help with house stuff. Cooking. Cleaning. Watching their younger brothers and sisters.”
Brynn sighed. “It's just so sad.” She stared at Stuart with her grape eyes. “I wish we could do more. More than just hand out books.”
“I know. Me, too.” He popped open another box, rifling through the contents. “But every little thing helps. Every tiny bit of good is a piece of the puzzle. I know a book isn't going to solve all their problems or put food in their stomach or give them a one-way ticket out of poverty. But it still matters.”
“Gee, that's uplifting.” I sighed. “Then why the hell do it?”
“Feeding their minds and souls,” Stuart reminded me, smiling. “A book can give these kids something they've never had before. An escape. And even if it's just found in the confines of a book, trapped between a cover, it's something they can look at over and over again. To hope. To dream.”
There was intensity in his eyes, solemness in his words. A small shiver ran down my spine. I'd zoned out when Stuart had talked at the banquet but now I wished I'd listened. His sincerity and commitment was genuine. He didn't see closed doors or brick walls of futility impeding his goals. He saw—and focused on—hope. He didn't help people to make himself look better or to improve his stake in life. He just...did it.
Brynn was smiling at him, a look of awe and admiration on her face. Stuart grinned back and they were like two kindred souls and I absolutely felt like the third wheel. Like I didn't belong. Because I was none of those things.
“Looks like we have company,” Stuart said.
I turned to look. A horde of kids approached, all of them black-haired and brown-eyed, tentative smiles on their faces. They didn't wear uniforms like the school kids; instead, they had on t-shirts and shorts, some of them tattered or too big or too small. None wore shoes and their feet were coated in dust, almost white in contrast to their browned shins.
Garcia reappeared with a gaunt, older man trailing behind him. He introduced the man to Stuart, who shook his hand and then began to speak. He gestured to the kids and to the books and then to me and Brynn. The older man nodded and smiled and I noticed three of his teeth were missing. He motioned to the kids and talked to them, presumably letting them know what was happening. Confusion and hope flitted across their upturned faces but they must have understood what he wanted because they all sat down on the blanket, like a bunch of sardines as they crammed their bodies on to the square of fabric. More kids showed up, all of them shoeless, eager expressions on their faces as they realized something was happening.
“You ready?” he asked me.
I nodded.
“They won't speak English,” he warned.
“Okay.”
“Just smile and nod and be friendly.”
“No shit,” I muttered.
There were no real lines this time around. The kids crashed in on us like a wave, pulsating with excitement. But there was order to the chaos. No one pushed or shoved, no one got angry or impatient. They just crowded their way closer, their hands outstretched, big smiles plastered on their faces. And I felt my heart melt a little at the sight.
It didn't take long for us to hand out the books. Before I knew it, we were done, our boxes sitting empty next to our feet. Some of the kids had stayed in the shelter of the canopied building. They leaned up against the tree trunks, chattering to each other, showing off the book they'd been given. Others plopped down on the dirt floor, cradling their new book in their lap, gingerly thumbing through it. And others had skittered home, probably to show their parents their newest treasure. Maybe their only treasure.
“That was amazing,” Brynn said. She was kneeling next to the box she'd hauled out of the car and she held it up and turned it over. “Totally wiped out. In what? Fifteen minutes?”
Stuart chuckled. “They're like vultures, aren't they?” But there was no malice, no judgment, in his voice.
“How many kids?” I asked.
He thought for a minute. “Close to a hundred.” He motioned to my box. “How many do you have left?”
My box was empty. “None.”
“Me, either. So exactly a hundred.” He flattened one of the two boxes in front of him, folding it in half and stuffing it into the other box. “We had twenty-five in each box. Not bad.”
One hundred books. One hundred kids. We'd handed out more at the school but, somehow, this felt more significant. More momentous. I didn't know if it was the heat or the surroundings or that I'd had more time to think about what we were doing but, whatever it was, it felt different. Bigger.
Brynn broke down her box. “So, now what?” she asked.
“Now?” Stuart glanced at her. “Now we go home. Back to San Diego.”
I felt something flutter in my gut. Relief, I told myself.
“Agua?” The man who'd ushered the kids into place was back, holding a jug of water and a small sleeve of paper cups.
I licked my lips. I was thirsty. And I was pretty sure I knew what the word agua meant. I nodded and held out my hand.
Stuart knocked it down. “No. Gracias, pero no.” The older man nodded and smiled and turned back around.
“I'm thirsty,” I complained. I was. I hadn't been thinking about it until I saw the jug of water. Suddenly, it felt like I'd drank the bottle of diet Coke days, not hours ago.
“Ask Brynn.”
I made a face. “I'm not sharing her water bottle. Gross.”
Stuart bit back a smile. “No? You'd rather have giardia? Cholera?”
“It was bottled!”
“No. It was in a bottle. That he probably filled from the local water source.”
“So?” My tongue felt thick. I couldn't believe how thirsty I felt. “They drink it.”
“Yeah, and they're used to it.” He looked me up and down. “Pretty sure your delicate little body wouldn't be able to handle it
. Trust me.”
I folded my arms across my chest. “I'm not delicate.”
“You're more delicate than you let on.”
“Why the hell do you keep insulting me? First, I'm vain, now I'm delicate. Jesus.”
“It wasn't an insult,” he said quietly.
Before I could respond, he headed toward the car and that's when I saw them. A boy and a girl, walking toward the canopy. They were young, probably under the age of seven, and they held hands. I wondered if they were brother and sister. And I wondered if they were coming back to say thank you or to just gawk at the people who'd handed out books.
They hurried toward me, eager expressions on their faces. I smiled at them and nodded, the same thing I'd done to the kids I'd handed books to. I was pretty sure I hadn't seen them in front of my box of books. I'd looked at every kid who'd come in front of me, smiling as I handed them their book.
Their steps slowed and they dropped hands. Stuart noticed them and pushed off the car, heading towards us. The kids made it to me before he did and they stood in front of me, tentative smiles on their faces. I smiled again and nodded.
They waited.
I glanced at Stuart. He had a pained expression on his face.
“What?” I asked, looking around. “What's wrong?”
“Nothing,” he said.
He crouched down and spoke to the kids. Their expressions changed. Tears pooled in the little girl's eyes. One slipped down her cheek, leaving a wet shiny trail.
“What's wrong?” I repeated.
“They were late,” he said, looking up at me.
“Late? Late for what?”
“For books.”
I glanced at the little girl, then at the boy. His lip quivered and he reached out and took the girl's hand. They had to be siblings.
“So what now?” I asked.
“We handed them all out, Annika.”
“I know. But don't you have more? A couple extra in the trunk or something?”
Stuart shook his head. “No.”
“Why not?” I demanded.
He frowned. “Why would I keep some in the car? We hand them out, not horde them.”
“But...” I motioned to the kids standing in front of us. “But they don't get a book now.”
“I know,” he said simply.
“But...” I felt my frustration rising. “But that isn't fair!”
“I know.”
I picked up the empty box in front of me, hoping to find a couple of books stashed underneath it. The only thing there was dust and dirt and the edge of the blanket. “They want a book, Stuart.”
“I don't have any left to give.”
I felt something stir inside of me, felt tears well up in my own eyes. “But it isn't fair.”
He sighed and shoved his hands in his pockets. “Life isn't fair, Annika.”
I looked at the two kids huddled in front of me.
“How do you say I'm sorry?”
He lifted his eyebrows. “What?”
“I'm sorry,” I snapped. “In Spanish. How do you say it?”
He stared at me. “Lo siento.”
I nodded. I got down on my knees so I was eye level with the little girl. Her brown eyes, clouded with tears, locked on to mine. I reached out my hand and, with my thumb, wiped at the wet trail that snaked down her cheek. My own eyes clouded over and my throat closed up and I wasn't sure I'd be able to talk.
I took a deep breath.
“Lo siento,” I whispered. My voice cracked. “Lo siento.”
TWENTY EIGHT
Garcia maneuvered the car down through the foothills and I held on to the arm rest, each pot hole jarring me and my already shot nerves.
I didn't know why I'd lost it. Why seeing those two kids had sent me over the edge. They didn't get a book. So what? It wasn't like a book was somehow going to magically change their lot in life. Stuart had said as much himself when we first arrived. They'd still have the same ratty clothes, the same dirty feet, the same looks of desperation as they walked back to their little shanty home.
But it mattered. It mattered that they'd shown up and we couldn't give to them what we'd handed out to all of the others. A book, yes. But something more. Something Stuart had so easily identified.
Hope.
I shook my head. It was a goddamn book. Nothing more. Maybe just sniffing the dog taco the day before had made me sick and delusional. Maybe the heat and lack of water was getting to me. But instead of a mirage, it was creating feelings that didn't actually exist.
The car shuddered and jerked to a stop. My gaze shot to the front seat and the open space between Stuart and Garcia. Smoke billowed out from under the hood. Garcia muttered something and yanked the key out of the ignition. He hopped out of the car and Stuart followed him. I grabbed my bag and pushed open the passenger door. Brynn was already halfway out her door, her eyes wide.
“What's wrong with the car?” she asked.
“Looks like it's overheating,” Stuart said. Garcia had already popped the hood.
“So, what do we do?” I asked.
I looked around. We'd already left Ensenada and all that stretched in front of us was ocean, cliffs and nothingness. The road was completely empty of traffic and waves of heat rolled off the black asphalt.
“Well,” Stuart said, scratching his head. “I'm not exactly sure.”
Before I could say anything, he turned to Garcia and asked him a question. Our driver popped up and, in an agitated voice, proceeded to tell Stuart what was wrong with the car, gesturing at the dirty components under the hood.
“This is just great,” I said.
Brynn shot a look at me. She'd stepped fully out of the car and had her water bottle cradled in her hand. We hadn't stopped for anything to drink and I wanted to rip it away from her and guzzle it down. Screw germs.
“What are you so worried about?” she asked.
“Getting home.”
She smiled. “Huh. I thought maybe you'd want to extend our trip.”
“Why would I want to do that?”
“Well, clearly not for philanthropical reasons,” she said. She took a sip of her water and held the liquid in her mouth as she stared at me. She swallowed. “Just thought you'd want a little more time with Stuart. Before he rides off into the sunset. Without you.”
“Is that all you think about?” I asked.
“No.” Her grape eyes narrowed. “But I'm pretty sure that's all you think about.”
“Fuck you.”
She raised her eyebrows in surprise, then frowned. “Mean and vulgar. That's you.” She paused. “That's all you are.”
“Yep. Fuck you, bitch.”
I moved to the front of the car. “Is it bad?”
“Radiator belt is shot,” Stuart said, motioning to the engine block. I recognized nothing.
“So I take it that's bad?”
“Not terrible,” he said. “But not great.”
“How do you fix it?”
“It needs to be replaced.”
I looked up and down the empty swath of highway. “Uh...where?”
“Garcia says he can do it,” Stuart said.
I glanced at our portly driver. He was about fifteen feet away, his phone up to his ear. He'd ditched his suit coat and the sleeves of his shirt were rolled up to his elbows. A streak of engine grease marred his shirt pocket and sweat stains the size of softballs blossomed under his armpits.
“So he has a spare belt?” I asked hopefully.
Stuart chuckled. “Not a chance. But he does have a friend who's on his way. With a tow truck.”
“Can he tow us all the way back to the border?”
He shook his head. “No. But he can get it back to Ensenada so Garcia can replace the belt.”
“Okay,” I said, nodding. A Volkswagen bus approached from the opposite side of the freeway, the front bumper missing. It slowed as it came closer, and a blond head poked out of the window.
“You guys cool?” A guy about
my age, his blond hair twisted into dreads. A yellow surfboard stuck out the small back window.
“Yep, fine,” Stuart called. “Thanks.”
He nodded and shifted the car back into gear and lumbered off. We stood there for a few minutes, staring at the overheated car. The clouds of smoke had mostly dissipated but, with the hood propped open, it looked wounded, crippled. Brynn had moved to the edge of the cliff, dangling her feet over the gradual incline, her eyes trained on the water. I was glad she hadn't been sitting there when she'd made those comments earlier because I wouldn't have hesitated to push her ass over.
“So,” I said to Stuart. “Are we gonna spring for a hotel this time?”
Stuart looked at me with a frown.
“When we get back to town?” I prompted.
He smiled. “We're not hitching a ride,” he said.
“What? Why not?”
An engine sounded and I looked toward the road. A small tow truck appeared. With a cab that would absolutely not seat five people.
“Because there's no room,” he said, pointing to the cab. “And because we can camp another night, can't we?”
TWENTY NINE
“Do you need to call anyone?” Stuart asked me. “To let them know you're staying over another night?”
It was like deja vu. Not the conversation but the locale. We were sitting on the beach, Stuart next to me, his feet dug into the sand. The tent was set up behind us and Brynn had a stick in her hand, digging the stupid perimeter for the fire pit.
“Call someone?” I snorted. “Uh, no.”
“I didn't know,” he said. “I didn't know if someone would be worried about you.”
“No one worries about me,” I said firmly.
“I seriously doubt that.”
I picked up the bottle of water next to me. Tomas, Garcia's tow truck driving friend, had been nice enough to bring a 12-pack of bottled water and some homemade tamales. I'd skipped the food but gratefully grabbed a drink.
“What about you?” I asked. “I thought you were leaving tonight. Or tomorrow. Or sometime soon.”
“I am,” he said, picking up his own bottle. “Or I was. But flights can be rearranged. I'll find a flight for tomorrow. Not like it hasn't happened before.”
