The Lightning Queen

by Laura Resau

  Grandpa must feel it, too. His eyes are closed and his face is leaning back to the sky, blissed-out.

  Mom honks the horn again and calls out, “What’s going on, guys?”

  Grandpa puts a finger to his lips, gives me a secret grin, and we return to the car as if nothing happened. Well, except for the new baby turtle in his pocket.

  Grandpa Teo and I don’t get a chance to talk alone until the next morning after Mom and Dad have left for work. I’ve convinced them to let me skip soccer camp today, told them Grandpa and I would probably spend the day on nature walks. Mom frowned and said, “No more rescued creatures, okay? We’re not an animal shelter here.”

  Grandpa promised, “We’ll be good, mija.”

  Our real plan, of course, is to spend the whole day looking for Esma. I’m sitting with him at the sunny kitchen table, just the two of us, munching on bagels with cream cheese and feeding Flame in one cardboard box and Raindrop in another. Flame shuffles around, picking at bits of lettuce, while Raindrop peeps and pokes her tiny beak into a dish of oatmeal.

  It feels comfortable with Grandpa here, even though it’s weird he’s never had a bagel with cream cheese before. He’s brought the ancient smell of wood smoke and incense into our home, a piece of the Hill of Dust. If magic had a scent, this would be it. And he’s brought the cute-magic of Flame and Raindrop, rustling and flapping around on the table.

  But most of the magic is coming from Esma’s music, blasting on the stereo. I’ve downloaded all her albums, but the one called The Impossible Caravan is my favorite. I keep catching the word Teo here and there, at least I think I do—the songs are in Romani.

  Grandpa sways to the melodies, peering at an image search of Esma on my phone. In the black-and-white pictures, she’s a young woman, so beautiful with those exotic eyes. The later color photos show her as a middle-aged woman with wrinkles fanning over her cheeks, decked out in bright scarves and gold jewelry and sparkling coins that make her look like a queen.

  After the fourth song, Grandpa Teo closes his eyes and shouts over the music, “Is she alive?”

  “I think so, Grandpa,” I shout back, then turn down the stereo. “I mean, I’m not seeing a date of death anywhere.”

  He breathes out in relief. “Can you find out where she lives?”

  “That’s trickier,” I admit, spreading cream cheese on a second bagel.

  His face falls.

  Quickly, I add, “But hey, nothing’s impossible, right?”

  It does require some detective work, but nothing my phone can’t handle. Within an hour, I’ve found the number of Esma’s music agency, called, and explained the situation. Thankfully, the agent’s friendly, because talking to random strangers on the phone freaks me out a little. When I mention that my grandfather is the Teo in Esma’s songs, the lady gets superexcited and starts talking really fast. She says that years ago Esma instructed her agency to give her phone number to Teo if he ever called.

  “Awesome,” I say, jotting down the number with a nearly dried-out pen.

  In a hesitant voice, the agent adds, “You should know that Esma hasn’t been performing for several years.”

  It sounds like she’s about to say more, but then she stops herself and just adds, “She lives in Pennsylvania. Good luck. Send her my best.”

  “Where’s Pennsylvania?” Grandpa asks eagerly after I recap the conversation.

  “Just one state away from here,” I tell him, my pulse zooming.

  “Let’s go, Mateo!”

  “Now?”

  “Yes!” He stands up, puts on his hat and suit jacket. “She needs me. It’s my turn to save her.”

  “Um, we have to call first. To get the address.”

  Grandpa looks about to burst. “Go ahead!”

  Bagels churning in my stomach, I call, getting ready for the weirdest phone conversation ever.

  A girl answers.

  “Um, hi,” I begin, picking at the wood grain of the kitchen table. “Is Esma there?”

  “She’s still at the rehab center.” A pause. “Can I ask who’s calling?”

  “Um, yeah, I’m Mateo. I’m Teo’s grandson. He used to be friends with her and—”

  “Teo!” the girl shrieks. “Did you say Teo? Her loyal friend for life?”

  Ouch. I move the phone away from my ear. “Yeah.”

  Who knows if she hears me, though, since she’s still squealing like a hyper puppy. “Really? Teo’s looking for her? Oh my gosh, I’ve heard so much about him! She always said he’d find her one day. When he was ready. So he’s ready?”

  “Yeah, definitely.” I try to stay cool, but I really feel like jumping up and down. “He wants to see her.”

  “Oh my gosh, yes! I’m there with her every afternoon during summer break. I’m her granddaughter. My name’s Ruby. I’m thirteen, so I just bike over, but it’s not too far. Ready? I’ll give you the address, okay?”

  “Uh, let me get a pen.” I rush over to the junk drawer, sifting through pens for one that works. I’m actually sweating with the craziness of this, trying to wrap my head around it. I’m talking to Esma’s granddaughter. And we’ll be meeting the Queen herself soon. This is it.

  The whole time, Grandpa is watching me, wide-eyed.

  I find a pencil stub and copy down the room number and address. This is all moving so fast, my hand is shaking and so sweaty I keep losing my grip on the pencil.

  “Okay, cool,” I say, collecting my thoughts and folding the paper into a tiny, tight square. “I don’t know for sure when we’ll be there—I mean, I guess my mom could drive us, maybe this weekend or next.” I look at Grandpa, so hopeful. He’ll want to know how she’s doing. “And, uh, what do you mean, rehab center?”

  Ruby gets quiet. “It’s like a hospital, sort of. Sort of an old folks’ home.” She sighs. “My grandmom’s been there a couple months now. It’s like a place where people go to get better. Or to die.”

  Silence. “Is Esma okay?” I glance at Grandpa’s beaming face, glad he doesn’t understand English.

  “She got cancer.”

  Sucking in a breath, I grip the pencil and shut my eyes. When I open them, Grandpa knows something’s wrong. A dark cloud drifts over his face. He might not understand English, but he’s an expert at seeing feelings in the spaces between words.

  Ruby goes on. “She had chemo and it was awful, but the cancer’s gone now. Or at least in remission.”

  The tightness in my chest lets up, but only a little, because of the somber tone of Ruby’s voice. “The chemo damaged her vocal cords. She can barely even whisper now. That’s why there’s no point in me giving you her phone number. And …” Her voice grows quiet. “She can’t sing.”

  I swallow hard. “Oh, man. Bummer.” And then I flush, because what kind of stupid thing is that to say?

  “It is a bummer,” Ruby agrees. “The doctors said she might get her voice back with therapy, but she’s been really weak and depressed and … I don’t know. We don’t know. She says she’s no one without her voice.” There’s a pause, and then she adds, “It’s like she’s on the verge of giving up. On everything. On life. It scares me.”

  Silence. I study the pattern on the tile floor, black-and-white linoleum squares, speckled with bagel crumbs. I wish Mom were making this phone call; she’d know how to handle it.

  Ruby speaks again, forcefully. “You need to come soon. Like, today!”

  “Today?” I sputter. “But—”

  “Nothing’s impossible!”

  I glance at Grandpa’s stricken face and draw in a deep breath. Pennsylvania’s just a state away, right? It can’t take that long to get there. “Okay,” I say, “um, I guess we’ll be there this afternoon.”

  Mom freaks out when I text her to say we’re in Dad’s beat-up old truck, on the highway, halfway to Pennsylvania, on the way to see the Queen of Lightning.

  She calls me immediately.

  “Mateo! What the—? Does that truck even run? And is your grandpa even allow
ed to drive without a U.S. license?”

  “Yup and yup. We looked it up. For the short-term, he can use his Mexican license.”

  “¡Dios mío! How on earth do you know where you’re going?”

  “The GPS on my phone.” I finger the ripped brown vinyl seat. “We’re fine, Mom.”

  “Mateo, put me on speaker. No wait, don’t! I don’t want to distract my dad and cause an accident. Has he ever driven on anything bigger than a one-lane road? Or over thirty miles an hour?”

  I grin. He’s grasping the steering wheel, knuckles white, eyes squinting in concentration. “Well, he’s not driving much faster than that now.” Cars zoom by as we chug along in the right lane.

  Mom does deep yoga breathing. “Tell him to pull over to an exit. I’ll pick you guys up.”

  I suck in a breath of sun-baked vinyl, roll down the window for fresh air. “Mom, we’re fine.”

  “Oh, Mateo, why couldn’t this wait till tomorrow?”

  Unsure how to answer, I pull the coin necklace from my pocket, watch it glint and whip in the wind. I’ve brought it along for good luck.

  “Mateo?” Mom says. “You still there?”

  There’s only one way to say this. “Tomorrow could be too late. Esma’s been sick. She needs us now.”

  Silence. “She’s real? You’re sure of it? I mean, my dad hardly talked about her. And all the aunts and uncles made her sound like a fairy tale. And your grandma said it was just imaginary nonsense.”

  “Esma’s real. Look her up, Mom. Esmeralda Rayos, Gypsy Queen of Lightning.” Saying the words sends a little shiver up my spine. A shiver of anticipation and dread at once. Who knows how this trip will turn out? I gather the necklace into my palm, let it give me courage, then slip it back into my pocket.

  More deep breathing on the other end of the phone. “Okay, be safe. Text me when you get there. You have your seat belt on, right, hon?”

  From the floor by my feet, Raindrop suddenly flutters up, chirping, and I drop the phone to catch her. Grandpa swerves and then reaches out his hand for the bird. A car in the next lane over honks.

  I grab the phone, which has fallen into Flame’s box. Fumbling, I press it to my ear.

  “What’s going on there?” Mom screeches. “Are you okay?”

  “Just dropped the phone for a sec.”

  “But what was that honking and chirping? You didn’t bring that bird, did you?”

  “Look, I have to give Grandpa directions. Bye, Mom. Love you.” I hang up, silence the phone, stick it in the glove compartment.

  “Everything all right?” Grandpa asks, stroking Raindrop’s head, now happily poking out of his pocket.

  “Great.” I look at him, his neck straining forward like a turtle’s, focused on the highway. I should prepare him for what we might find. But I still can’t bring myself to tell him that Esma’s giving up on life. I think that, somehow, he already knows.

  According to my phone’s directions, we should have arrived in two hours, at three o’clock, but since we went about thirty miles below the speed limit, we don’t get there till five.

  The rehab center is a low brick building with a fountain in the front and woods in the back. Not too bad from the outside, but when we step inside, I nearly gag on the mix of cleaner and pee smells. I try to hold my breath while I ask the lady at the front desk how to get to room 21. But I have to breathe as we walk down the hallways—we could be in here a while.

  The patients freak me out, big-time. They’re scattered in wheelchairs along the hallways, just watching us go by, some drooling, some muttering. One old lady is clutching a baby doll. Creepy. If the opposite of magic exists, this place is it.

  Grandpa senses my discomfort and keeps one hand on my shoulder as we search for room 21. His other hand moves between Flame and Raindrop in his suit pockets. Birds and turtles have to be against the rules, but Grandpa insisted that they’d get heatstroke inside the parked truck. The nurses are too busy to notice the creatures’ beaks poking out, even when the patients point and exclaim.

  Grandpa Teo pats my shoulder. “Mateo, just wait till you hear Esma’s voice in real life. It’ll make everything better.”

  My gut twists around with guilt. I’m in over my head. He came all the way from the Hill of Dust, dreaming of Esma’s voice, hoping to save her, and now I’ve brought him to this horrible, stinky place. And when he steps into room 21 and sees what’s happened to her, his heart will break.

  I weave my fingers through the necklace in my pocket. “Grandpa, there’s something I didn’t tell you. Esma—she can’t talk anymore. Or sing. Cancer treatments messed up her voice.”

  He stops in the middle of the hallway, his hand to his mouth.

  Being the bearer of bad news is the worst, but I force myself to tell him exactly what Ruby told me. I stare at the pastel pictures of sailboats and seashells on the wall because I can’t meet his eyes.

  Afterward, he nods grimly and pats my shoulder. “Let’s go, mijo.”

  We start walking again and within seconds run into a girl about my age, striding down the hallway like a breath of fresh air. She has chin-length dark hair and silvery eyes lined in black. She looks a little goth, with a ripped black tank and a short black skirt. But there’s a silky pink flowered scarf wrapped around her hair that makes her look like an old-time movie star.

  All our eyes meet and she ventures, “Mr. Teo?”

  I point with my chin to Grandpa, and she throws her arms around him.

  “I’m sorry, sir, it’s just that I feel like I know you. I’m Ruby. I gave up on you coming today, but look, here you are! Come in!”

  I translate her words as she tugs on Grandpa’s hand and pulls him into room 21.

  And there, beside a hospital bed, in a wheelchair, face silhouetted against the window, is Esma, Queen of Lightning. Oxygen tubes trail like vines beneath her nostrils, over her ears, and tangle with an IV taped to her hand. She’s wearing a dress covered in red roses, and necklaces of beads and shells and coins, and a scarf over her head. Just a few short wisps of hair poke out. Her face is made up, and for some reason, it makes me want to cry.

  Yup, she is real, so real I want to run from the room.

  “Esma?” Grandpa says.

  She turns to face him, straightens up, raises her chin.

  Warily, I wait to see what will happen. Will he run to her, drop to his knees, embrace her? It’s been fifty years. Ruby, too, is watching expectantly.

  But there’s only awkwardness, the drone of the news on TV, the beeping of machines, the calls of nurses in the hallway, the rambling of patients in rooms next door.

  Self-consciously, Esma tears the tubes from her nose, rips the IV from her hand. She straightens the scarf on her head. On a pad of paper on a TV tray, she writes something, passes it to Grandpa.

  I look over his shoulder; I can’t help it. It’s in Spanish, in the same old-fashioned handwriting from the postcard and letter she wrote years ago.

  Ruby said you’d be here a while ago. I thought you’d changed your mind.

  Grandpa Teo puts on his reading glasses and studies the paper. He seems to have lost his voice, too. And it’s like he forgets she can still hear.

  I answer for him, in Spanish so he can understand. “My granddad’s a pretty slow driver,” I say over the TV newscaster’s voice. “I’m Mateo.” Mustering up courage, I reach out and shake her hand, spotted purple from the IV.

  “Grandmom,” Ruby says, picking up the remote and muting the TV, “you should probably keep those tubes in, right?”

  I DON’T CARE! Esma writes, pressing hard with the pen.

  She looks at Grandpa, then scrawls more.

  Grandpa gestures for me to read the paper alongside him, leaning on my shoulder, like he needs my support. Poor guy, I’m not the right one to do this. This is a colossal mistake. Why didn’t I just let Mom handle it all?

  It’s too late. I don’t want you to see me like this. I wish you’d seen me onstage for thousands of peo
ple, singing my heart out. Not like this.

  Finally, Grandpa speaks. “But this is when you need me, isn’t it?”

  Something is passing between the two of them. Still, Grandpa seems unable to step forward and touch her.

  And it’s suddenly so sad and awkward, I can hardly stand it. It’s painful, seeing this reunion with the mythical, miraculous girl who turns out to be real and sick and old.

  Uncomfortable small talk fills the silence, started by Ruby and translated by me, the usual boring questions about marriage and children and jobs and weather. It’s not the kind of conversation you’d wait fifty years for, not the kind of conversation you’d even drive a half day for on the highway at thirty miles an hour. During pauses, everyone’s eyes drift toward the TV.

  The small talk topics are nearly exhausted when, thankfully, a nurse pops her head in. “Last call for dinner! Should I wheel you to the dining room?”

  Grandpa shifts to his other foot and says, “We’d better head back now. We should get home before dark.”

  As I translate, tears fill Ruby’s eyes, and the black makeup smears as she wipes them. It makes me feel terrible, so terrible that I mutter to Grandpa in Spanish, “Hug Esma good-bye or something.”

  Tentatively, he steps toward her, bends down, and gives her a stiff pat on the shoulder.

  She gives his hand an equally stiff pat in return.

  Quickly, he steps back. “Pues, adiós, Esma,” he says, not meeting her eyes.

  She offers a half-hearted wave, her eyes already flicking back to the muted TV.

  I’m not big on sappy scenes, but even the sappiest, pukiest scene in the world would be better than this.

  Waving a limp good-bye to Ruby, Grandpa and I trudge back down the hallway.

  “You can only save people if they want to be saved,” he says, catching a tear from the corner of his eye. “Nearly my whole life, I tried to save my mother. Your Other Grandmother. I never could. Looks like I can’t save Esma now either.”