Fireside

by Susan Wiggs

  “I don’t have a towel.”

  “There’s a clean one in my gym bag.”

  Great. AJ followed the others to the pool. Best just to bite the bullet, he decided.

  He left his shoes and socks under a bench, then peeled off his shirt one-handed. As fast as he could, he streaked through the shower and ran and dove into the deep end. He wasn’t a good swimmer, but he was fearless. Growing up in Houston, every kid had to learn to swim, or risk drowning in an apartment complex pool.

  Bo joined in, doing giant cannonballs off the diving board. He made huge splashes and swam like he’d never left Texas, with long, easy strokes.

  “Your dad’s cool,” said Lehigh, treading water next to AJ.

  “I guess.”

  “You guess? What? It’s not cool enough to have a dad on the New York Yankees? Does he beat you or something?”

  “Only at basketball,” AJ said quickly. “He’s okay. He’s just... We’re new to each other,” he said, not wanting to elaborate. “I’ve never spent any time with him before.”

  “Where’s your mom?” Lehigh asked.

  “She’s...away. Kind of going through a bad time. So I’m staying with my—with Bo for a while.” AJ couldn’t believe he was able to talk about her without bawling like a baby.

  “Heads-up,” somebody called, lobbing a water-polo ball at them.

  AJ didn’t think, just snatched the ball out of the air. Bo was right about that, at least. Things were easier when you didn’t think so much.

  Chapter Eleven

  AJ quit asking about his mom, because every time he asked, there was more bad news. Another delay. A report that additional documentation was needed. Another that the documentation was insufficient. A few days ago, she’d been transferred with a large group from temporary holding to something called a contract detention center. From there, she wasn’t allowed to call out, but he could leave a recorded message for her each day. Big whoop. Like that was supposed to make them both feel better. He sounded so phony, saying the same thing every time—I’m fine, don’t worry about me, we’re getting you help. The lawyers are really good. AJ worked hard to sound confident. Bo had not had to warn him that it did no good to complain.

  Although he knew it was no use, he dialed their home phone number. He just wanted to hear her voice, even though he knew how much it would hurt. “It’s Yolanda. Leave me a message, and I’ll call you back.” It wasn’t the words, but the sound of her voice, followed by the open invitation signaled by the beep. “Mom,” he said, “Mami, where are you? I’m really scared and I want to be with you again.” He knew she wasn’t home to hear the message, but he added, “I love you, Mom. Te quiero. Okay, bye.”

  Every time he turned off the phone, he would study the only photo he had of her, the shot taken at last year’s Houston Livestock Show and Rodeo. It was just by luck that he had the picture in a pocket of his backpack. Otherwise, he’d have nothing at all.

  After studying the photo, he would close his eyes and conjure memories of her, trying to bring her closer to him. Her smell and the way her hand felt, brushing the hair off his forehead. The sound of her voice when she sang along with the radio. The frown of worry that creased her brow when she didn’t think he was watching, and the way she twisted the phone cord around her finger and talked in a low voice so he couldn’t hear. He remembered the good times, too. Like in the summer, when it was so hot you almost couldn’t see straight, she’d take him to a secret place for swimming—a big holding tank called a rice well, fed by cool, clear water pumped from the ground.

  “This place is special to me, niño,” she’d once told him.

  “Why?”

  A faraway look had softened her eyes. “It reminds me of a special time in my life.”

  “What special time?” he persisted, but instead of answering, she’d laughed and ducked him under water. Afterward, they’d stop at the Sonic for soft ice cream cones, and AJ would find himself wishing his mother had more time off work.

  Each Fourth of July, she used to take him to the bayou spillway west of town, and they would sit at the top of a steep bank, watching the fireworks, soaring in patriotic colors. He could still picture the glow on her face and the way her eyes sparkled as she lifted them to the sky and watched in wonder. “Do you see, hijo? Flowers blooming in the sky. Anything is possible. When I was your age, my parents used to take me to a place by the Rio Grande, to see the flowers.”

  “Tell me about when you were little.”

  Her face had grown sad, her eyes soft with a faraway gaze. “We lived in Laredo, down in the valley, and there was music every night, and wonderful food... My papa was hardworking and stern, but he loved me, and my mother was a wonderful cook. It was not such a big problem to cross the border in those days, and sometimes we visited my mother’s family in Nuevo Laredo, on the other side of the river. The Mexican side.”

  According to his birth certificate, he’d been born in Laredo, though AJ barely remembered his abuelos. He hadn’t seen them since before he started kindergarten. He remembered his mother’s sadness when she told him his abuelito had died, and his grandmother was moving back to the valley, to live in Mexico. By then, his mom had married Bruno and they moved to Houston for work.

  When AJ would ask if they could go visit his grandmother, the sadness returned to his mother’s eyes. “It’s not safe,” she said, and now he understood what “not safe” really meant. It wasn’t safe to be Latino, and poor. Sometimes you had to show proof of who you were, and he was fast finding out how hard that could be for people like his mother.

  People seized in the raid were told they could agree to immediate voluntary deportation, or choose a hearing. Mrs. Bellamy-Shepherd, the blond lawyer, had explained that a hearing was when you went to a federal judge and explained why you should have the right to stay in the country instead of being forced to leave.

  The bad news about that was, waiting for a hearing could take a long time because of something called a backlog. Even though the lawyers had filed emergency papers, the delay might last for weeks or months. Plus—and AJ had figured this out by looking at the internet on Bo’s MacBook—the detention center was pretty much a jail.

  A jail. He couldn’t picture his mom in jail. He could picture her listening to him read a poem aloud. He could picture her sitting in her bathrobe on a Sunday morning, sipping coffee from a mug and listening to the radio. He could picture her waiting in the school hallway for a parent-teacher conference. She always wore her nicest blouse, the sleeves pressed with a crisp crease, her hair pulled back in a clip, her mouth shiny with lipstick. He could picture his mom coming home late from the plant, so exhausted she had to fight to find a smile for him. And he could picture her brushing the hair from his forehead and saying, “You need a haircut, mi hijo, so I can see those beautiful long eyelashes.”

  He could picture his mom a hundred ways. But he couldn’t picture her in jail.

  Even worse, Mrs. Bellamy-Shepherd had explained that challenging detention was risky because they would almost certainly accuse his mom of doing something illegal.

  “She hasn’t done anything illegal,” he said.

  “I believe you’re right,” she said. “But something might come up—a parking violation or an expired tag, littering or filling out a form wrong. There are cases on the books of people who were deported for voting. Or taking a class in English without proper documentation. Sometimes, people get in trouble just by being in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

  “She was at work,” he said. “Same as every day.” He knew what the real problem was—his mom had brown skin and spoke English with an accent.

  “I’m sorry, AJ. The system is extremely flawed, and sometimes people like your mother pay the price.”

  So here he was, a few thousand miles from the only home he’d ever known, living in this crazy house with a group of strangers.r />
  And here was the weird thing—it was sometimes like having a great big family.

  Of course, he would consider it way cooler if he wasn’t so worried about his mom. If he was back together with his mom, maybe if he could live at a place like this with her, then that would be awesome. He’d always wanted a bigger family, even though he knew brothers and sisters fought with you and took your stuff. He just liked the noise and the feeling of being surrounded by a big group of people in a place where he belonged. After Bruno left, it was just AJ and his mom, which meant it was really just AJ most of the time, because he was home alone so much while Mom worked.

  Being in this snow-white small town, in this big crazy house, meant that at least while he waited for her to come home, he wouldn’t be bored. So that was something. The house itself was like a mansion out of an old-fashioned novel, both elaborate and slightly creepy. The place had a turret—a round tower three stories high, and old-fashioned rooms with tall ceilings and carved woodwork. The furniture was old, too, but well cared for, and the yard was crisscrossed by fresh tracks from some small animal or other. And the whole thing was presided over by Mrs. van Dorn. She had an open face and kind eyes, and she was a pretty good cook, judging by the nightly dinners around here.

  All in all, it wouldn’t be too bad, except for the thing with his mom.

  At dinnertime, AJ helped himself to a plate full of spaghetti and meatballs, and a side of salad with big toasted croutons. He took his seat next to Bo in the brightly painted dining room. Music drifted from a speaker behind a plant, mingling with the murmured conversation of people greeting each other, complimenting Mrs. van Dorn on the food. It was weird, in a good way, to be living with this group of people. One big not-happy-but-at-least-not-bored family.

  Mrs. van Dorn sat at the head of the table, with her back to the swinging kitchen door. To her left was a guy called Dino Carminucci, the manager of Bo’s baseball team, some outfit called the Hornets. To Mrs. V.’s right was the Hornets’ catcher, Bagwell, who went by the nickname Early. Bagwell usually played winter baseball in the Dominican Republic, but he had a wrist injury and was sitting the season out.

  Across from AJ sat Daphne McDaniel. He silently called her “Daffy” on account of the pink hair, tattoos and facial piercings. She worked at Mrs. Bellamy-Shepherd’s law office, even though she didn’t look like the type to be doing office work. What she really liked was anime. She was obsessed with drawing, and even had a series going called “Steel Angel.”

  At the opposite end of the table sat Kim, who was Mrs. V.’s daughter. With her long red hair and that face, she was like a movie star or something. She was even prettier than the Miss Texas he’d seen at the Houston Livestock Show and Rodeo. It was hard not to stare at her, but AJ was pretty good at being cool. And Kim just acted like a regular person, although Bo seemed to make her nervous. AJ wondered what was up with that.

  “More milk?” Bo offered, startling him.

  “Uh, no thanks.” To tell the truth, AJ pretty much hated it here. He didn’t quite know what to make of Bo. What kind of guy had a kid and then blew him off for twelve years? Sure, he was trying to figure out a way to help AJ’s mom, but that was just so he wouldn’t have to deal with AJ anymore.

  AJ figured the feeling was mutual, although Bo acted all buddy-buddy with him, even razzing the attendance clerk at the school AJ had no intention of going to. A school full of strangers. He might have to give in and go, though. More than anything, he wanted to keep the focus on getting his mom out of detention. The quicker that happened, the better for everyone.

  The people at Fairfield House didn’t ask him a bunch of nosy questions, so that was something. There was no reason for them to be interested in where he came from and how he’d ended up here. He just wanted to get back together with his mom. Every time he thought of her, he got a lump in his throat, big enough to hurt really bad. He tried not to think about his mom and concentrated on the meal and the people around the long table.

  At a pause in the conversation, Mrs. van Dorn turned to smile at AJ and then Bo. “Now that you’ve had a chance to settle in, is everything all right?”

  “Absolutely, ma’am,” Bo said immediately. “Isn’t it, AJ?”

  “Yeah, sure. Um, yes, ma’am.” AJ figured a show of good manners would get him further than copping an attitude.

  “Well, we’re very glad to have you, aren’t we, Kimberly?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “We’re much obliged to you,” Bo said. “Dino and Early told me you’re the best cook in Avalon, and they weren’t pulling my leg.”

  Mrs. van Dorn’s eyes lit even brighter. “When my daughter said you were a charmer, she wasn’t pulling my leg.”

  Bo grinned at Kim. “A charmer? Did you really call me a charmer?”

  “Indeed, I did.” She was trying to act all cool, but AJ saw her face turn red. “But why would you assume it’s a compliment?”

  “Maybe she means you’re like a snake charmer,” Bagwell said.

  “Dino told me he’s known you for years,” said Mrs. van Dorn. “He knows I’m very particular about my guests.”

  Bo grinned again and caught AJ’s eye. “We’re going to be on our best behavior.”

  “So, AJ, how about your old man?” asked Dino Carminucci, beaming at Bo. “That’s some news, eh?”

  It was weird the way everybody liked Bo so much.

  Bo’s grin disappeared. “Yo, Dino—”

  “What news?” asked Mrs. van Dorn.

  Good question, thought AJ. “What news?” he asked.

  Bo set down his fork, used his napkin. “Well now, I meant to talk to you about this today, AJ, but Dino let the cat out of the bag.”

  What cat? AJ wanted to know. What bag?

  “I’m going to be in a special training program for rookies.”

  “Where?” AJ asked suspiciously.

  “Virginia. It’s not for long.”

  AJ turned himself to stone. This was the only way to keep from cracking into a million pieces.

  Daphne seemed to pick up on AJ’s quiet mood. “So are you a baseball fan?”

  He was pretty freaking tired of that question. Everyone he’d met so far just assumed that because Bo played ball, AJ not only was a big fan, but he played, too, and played it well. Which was all a bunch of bull. He couldn’t care less about baseball. “I don’t really like any sports,” he said bluntly.

  “What do you like to do for fun?” Bagwell asked.

  The question cut deep. Nothing was fun. How could anything be fun when your mother was being held at some detention center like she was an international criminal? AJ was tempted to say, “Well, I like pulling the legs off insects. That’s pretty fun.” But he kept his mouth shut.

  Here was the problem. He couldn’t blame this situation on anyone. No, wait. He could, too. He could blame Bo. If Bo Crutcher had done the right thing when he learned he’d gotten AJ’s mom pregnant, and married her, then his mom would be totally legal and none of this would be happening. So this was really Bo’s fault.

  “I see you’re a southpaw like your dad,” Dino observed, beaming at him.

  AJ set down his fork. “Yes, sir.”

  “How about another roll?” Kim offered, holding out a basket. She alone seemed to sense how much he was hating the conversation.

  “Thank you,” he said, and ate the roll in record time. Then he asked, “May I be excused?” Before anyone could say no, he set aside his napkin and left the table. He was blinking fast as he moved, heading for the room Mrs. V. called the rotunda. It seemed like a refuge to AJ, a big round room filled with books. There was a sitting area, and lots of windows hung with lace curtains. AJ flung himself into a big armchair and ground his fists into his eyes.

  Don’t do it, he warned himself. Don’t cry, whatever you do. By pressing hard and clenching his jaw, he mana
ged to stave off the tears. If he let himself get mad enough, the heat of anger would cause the tears to boil away like drops of water on a hot skillet.

  Nobody came after him, not right away. AJ couldn’t tell if this meant Bo was being decent, knowing AJ didn’t want anyone to see him, or if Bo was just blowing him off because he didn’t care. Probably that, yeah. He didn’t care. He hadn’t cared for twelve years and he sure as heck wasn’t going to start now.

  AJ went over to Bo’s laptop, which Bo said he could use whenever he wanted. Back home, AJ hardly ever got to use a computer. The ones at his school were always swarmed, and he always felt out of place at the public library. Having a Mac all to himself was pretty amazing. He looked up stuff about immigration, finding a ton of agencies claiming they could help. And most of those agencies had an address in New York City, which was just a train ride away. He went looking for a train schedule, but then he heard Bo coming and quickly shut the browser. Snatching up a heavy illustrated book about Greek mythology, he acted as though he’d been reading the whole time.

  “Hey,” said Bo.

  “Hey.” AJ didn’t look up. He focused on a story about a guy named Kronos, who envied the power of his father so much he castrated him with a sickle, which totally skeezed AJ out, but that was a Greek myth for you.

  AJ didn’t really know what it was like to have an actual dad. Bruno had never paid much attention to him. Bo was a stranger.

  “You okay?” asked Bo.

  AJ gave a shrug, still not looking up. The sickle thing backfired on Kronos, though, because when his father bled into the sea, the Titans were born, and everybody knew you don’t want to piss off a Titan.

  Maybe he’d better not piss off Bo, either, because stranger or not, Bo was the only thing standing between AJ and a foster home, the only one paying the lawyer and the only one who seemed to give a hoot about getting AJ’s mom back.

  “I didn’t mean for you to hear about the rookie trip that way,” Bo said. “I wanted to tell you myself, without a bunch of other people around.”