“Wait here.”
Through the back window, Marisol could see him leaning on the driver’s-side door and poking his head into the vehicle. The whole exchange lasted barely a couple of seconds. “Go on, get your stuff,” he said.
The boy got out of the truck without so much as a glance back.
“Wait!”
He stopped, but she could see his impatience in the way his feet barely committed to the spot of warm pavement. Was there anything she could say that he would hold on to?
“Dios te cuide, mijo.” He was in God’s hands now, after all.
Marisol prayed for him as the van backed out of the parking spot. She prayed for God to protect him, but most of all she prayed that God would help him leave these past several days behind. She hoped Tomás would forget them, even though she knew she could never forget him. Let his aunt be kind in his time of grief, she thought as she tried to catch a glimpse of her before the car drove away. All she saw was a head of thick, blondish hair, the wiry profile of a young man reading a magazine in the passenger’s seat, and Tomás, slouching in the back.
The van looked new and taken care of, the latest model and everything. Its back bumper bore a bright green sticker that said “Guerra Junior High School.” She heard a sigh just then, coming from beside her. She had almost forgotten about Omar, but there he was, staring at the van as it disappeared, while Elda looked away.
CHAPTER 25
The teachers at Guerra High School often sent kids home with forms and flyers that Isabel and Martin ignored, unless it was a report card or required a signature. The red and gray and yellow papers piled up on the kitchen counter, until eventually Isabel tossed them into the recycling bin. If Eduardo was around she would sometimes flip one over and say, “Did you go to this?” and he would look up from his phone and shake his head no.
But now that it was homecoming season, and they were seniors, Eduardo was suddenly excited because Diana was. She would slip a countdown into any conversation: that she had found a dress only a week before the dance, that she couldn’t imagine the homecoming committee would get everything done in just three days.
There was talk of a group renting a limo, of tuxedo fittings and after-parties, and songs that Diana hoped the deejay would play because they were their songs.
“Babe.” Eduardo had started calling her this, much to Isabel and Martin’s amusement, after his birthday. “At least tell me what color your dress is so I can get my vest to match.”
“Just wear one with a bunch of different colors and you’ll be fine.” She was determined her dress would be a surprise. “But don’t go crazy. Nothing too loud.”
“That makes no sense, babe.”
It was like listening to someone else talk. It was so sweet, that Isabel barely kept track of what it would all cost, and when Martin tallied up the ticket fees and limo charges and the cash he’d given Eduardo for the requisite homecoming memorabilia, he only smiled and said, “Can you believe I bought a mum for my first crush for twenty-five dollars in ’95?” Isabel thought even that was too much for the clusters of school ribbons and bows so big they stretched past the girls’ knees and pulled the fabric of their gowns along with them.
“You should get one for Isabel,” Eduardo said. “For her to wear to the game.”
“What game?” she said.
“The football game. You guys are going, right? It’s homecoming. Martin’s an alum,” he said matter-of-factly. As if he had always known.
Pride, relief, and a giddy sense of anticipation came over her. Isabel sorted through the stack of memos, looking for ways to get more involved with his school life. They needed volunteer chaperones for a field trip, and though it was last-minute, it coincided with her day off. Isabel began filling out the sign-up form and stopped when she reached a line that said “Relationship.” She wasn’t officially his guardian, and anyway, it seemed like such a cold way to describe herself. She set aside the paper and decided she would email Eduardo’s teacher instead.
“So you’re into birds and stuff?” Eduardo asked as they drove to school that morning. His science teacher had arranged for a guided tour through the nature preserve. In big, italic letters on the flyer, she had written: “IT’S THE PERFECT TIME TO SEE THE MIGRATORY FLOCKS OF THE SCISSOR-TAILED FLYCATCHER!”
“Eduardo. Please try to contain your excitement. Just a little bit. At least until I’ve had my coffee.” She caught his smirk in his reflection against the window.
A row of buses was already parked at the side of the school, and students chattered by the entrance, clutching giant paper-bag lunches and water bottles. Everyone had been instructed to wear clothes they didn’t mind getting dirty and appropriate shoes for hiking. A few wore hats and sunglasses.
Eduardo joined his friends, while Isabel said hello to the other chaperones.
“I’m Nicole, Henry’s mom.”
“Tamara, Jasmine’s mom.”
“Nick, Angel’s dad.”
None of their names fully registered, and after a pause Isabel blurted out, “Isabel. I’m with Eduardo.” She turned away from them and pointed in his direction.
The teachers assigned each chaperone to a bus and had them do a head count once the students were settled. Eduardo’s teacher, Mrs. Moyer, clapped to get everyone’s attention, and when that didn’t work, she pulled out a whistle, brought it to her lips, and took a back-arching breath of air. The kids grew silent, like magic. One whispered, “She’s gonna blow!” and a wave of hushed giggles traveled the length of the bus.
“Guys and gals, y’all are in for a treat today.” She paused for dramatic effect. “Now. I know your bellies are all aflutter with excitement for homecoming. And pretty soon the school stadium will be packed with alums flying home to their alma mater, but I assure you none of that compares to nature’s spectacle as the butterflies and the birds fly away before the winter. Who can tell me what that’s called?”
From the back, a student yelled, “Migration!”
“Exactly. And where’re they going?”
“To get a date for homecoming!”
The group erupted into laughter. Kids clapped, high-fiving and hugging their bellies. A boy sitting on the aisle fell over in his seat, and even the adults failed to keep a straight face.
“Okay, okay. Besides that. Who can tell me where they’re going?” Mrs. Moyer asked.
“South,” a young girl said.
“Exactly. And what’s south?”
“Mexico.” This time, it was a voice she recognized. Isabel locked eyes with Eduardo, who seemed embarrassed that he had said anything at all.
“That’s exactly right! They go south to Mexico, and sometimes they keep going through Central America into Panama. Pay attention, because later we’ll be drawing their route on our maps.”
They parked among a row of RVs just outside the park entrance. Mrs. Moyer pointed out a trailer with a Minnesota license plate, explaining that the Valley was home to so many rare species, birders trekked from all over the country to catch sight of them. A little farther down the way, a pair of Border Patrol trucks crept along the road. A jogger waved hello to one of the agents, and he lowered the window of the green-and-white SUV for some friendly banter. They moved in tandem until the road split, and they went their separate ways.
The teachers assigned each chaperone to a small group of kids for a guided hike along the trail. Each group was joined by a park ranger, who shared all sorts of fascinating facts: that the way a rock cracked could tell a story—had it been water, or the earth shifting, or both? (The river was just a few miles away.) That a bird’s song could tell its name, even when all the group saw were branches shaking high above their heads.
“Nature is a mystery, and we are its observers. Detectives,” the guide said.
They met back at the welcome center for lunch. It was a perfect day to be outdoors; cool gusts of wind and just enough clouds to provide cover without turning the sky gray. Isabel caught the parent chaperones t
ouching up layers of sunscreen while their children tried to swat them away like flies. She was glad she wasn’t one of them.
The parents must have sensed this. While they were cordial to her, among themselves they had long-winded conversations on subjects she knew nothing about, and they didn’t seem to mind her silence. For a while Isabel nodded sympathetically as they complained about their kids’ schedules, about how difficult it was to coordinate drop-offs and practices.
Isabel watched Diana lean into Eduardo’s chest as they both straddled a picnic bench several tables away. He wrapped his arms over her shoulders and whispered something into her ear.
“That Diana’s made a world of difference for Eduardo,” Mrs. Moyer said, her voice, for the first time all day, quiet. “Opened him right up like a flower.”
“She’s a very nice girl. My husband and I have enjoyed getting to know her,” Isabel said.
“She’s whip smart, too. Definitely going places. Seems to be giving him just the push he needs.” Mrs. Moyer stood up to address the group again. Lunch was over, and it was time for the kids to explore the preserve and chronicle their findings. She wished them all luck in spotting the scissor-tailed flycatcher.
Isabel’s group was Eduardo, Diana, and two others. The boy, Seth, clutched a pair of binoculars around his neck, while Julia, a tall, lean, girl with the air of someone much younger and smaller, followed behind. Isabel recognized them as the stragglers. The ones who were always picked last and pretended not to mind. She slowed down so the group could stay close together.
“Cool binoculars. Have you seen anything?” Eduardo asked. She was so proud of him for this small kindness.
“Not yet. Just a lot of leaves and moss.”
It was true. Strands of moss hung from everywhere, thick and long as ropes, and Isabel had to push them aside with her arms to let the kids through. The moss was dry, and it swallowed the light as they passed, but it added a sense of adventure. She could tell the kids liked it, too.
They heard a rustling of leaves overhead. Chins up to the sky, they searched the trees for the telltale signs of the flycatcher: black on top, white along its belly, a tail shaped like an open pair of scissors. Isabel looked at the group as their mouths opened in anticipation. In the distance, she saw a small group crossing over the trail they had just traversed. They seemed lost, their movements hurried but indecisive. Perhaps a few students had gotten separated from their chaperones. The leaves crunched beneath their feet, and the kids, startled, turned their attention away from the trees to the silhouettes.
The group stopped several feet away from them. They were not students or hikers at all. They were a family: mother, father, little girl. They were all younger than she. The father locked eyes with Isabel, his face dripping with mud and sweat and water, and she understood.
“Are you all okay? We were just heading back to the entrance. That way.” She gave a slight toss of the head backward. “The school bus and park security will be waiting for us.”
“Yes. Thank you.” He placed his arm over his wife’s and child’s shoulders, gathering their soaked bodies into a line and turning them in the opposite direction. Slowly, they walked off the path, their bare feet stepping over split trunks and dried leaves. The little girl dropped something—a water bottle or a doll, it was hard to tell at first—and Diana lunged forward to pick it up. She was about to call after them when Eduardo stopped her.
“Be right back,” he said, taking the crumpled fabric, which had been knotted to form the shape of a small child.
“Did they fall in the river?” Seth said. “Should we call for help?”
“No, they’ll be fine,” Isabel said. “They’re just finding their way through.”
Eduardo returned to the trail and started walking in the opposite direction. Isabel and the kids followed.
No one mentioned it the rest of the way. It felt important to forget, or at least pretend to forget, what they had seen. They focused on other things with the kind of enthusiasm Isabel was used to seeing in parents who were trying to be strong for their children. They smiled with their whole faces, voices pinched with cheer along the edges.
Everything around them became far more interesting. A sprouting plant cordoned off with chicken wire became poisonous or an endangered species. A trail of splattered berries hinted at deer nearby. They came upon a stream that cut across the trail, and Eduardo leaped over it, extending his hand to her and Diana. It was no wider than a sidewalk; along the way it grew deeper, and the water rushed through the earth as if nothing could stand in its way.
Isabel wondered where the water came from, where it was all headed. To think it was strong enough to carve canyons and polish rocks. To think it was simply once water, and now a border so fluid they could barely swim in it without drowning.
They merged with another group on their way back to the welcome center. Quiet disappointment spread over the students as they formed a line to board the buses. A few whispered among themselves, “Did you see the birds?” They shook their heads or answered with a low “no.” As she took roll, Isabel caught Seth taking one last glance through his binoculars, scanning the sky and the miles of trees ahead of them.
“Before we go, make sure you’re not forgetting anything!” Mrs. Moyer shouted. “Remember the first lesson of nature: make like a tree and leave it the same as when you arrived.”
She paused, as if expecting a laugh or at least a few groans, but the students were no longer paying attention. They looked past her at something behind the bus.
Across the sky, a sheer-black blanket looked like it’d gotten caught and tangled in the wind. It grew long and thin, stretching in waves over a bed of trees.
There must’ve been thousands of them, and yet, they were one. The flock fanned through the air, shrinking and expanding as it flew and flowed and paused and changed direction, and the group became mesmerized into stillness, every soul afraid to move or say a word because it felt too beautiful for them to witness.
Seeing them, Isabel felt weightless. The birds turned gravity into magic, and only when one straggled and lost its place did she finally look at its wings, and she knew, as it flapped in a desperate fury, that it was no longer flying. It was just trying to keep from falling.
CHAPTER 26
JANUARY 1982
Elda had never been so cold in all her life. The air here was bitter and dry; it made the backs of her hands feel like an old cotton dress that’d been washed too many times. Sometimes, when she was folding Martin’s clothes or pinning his diaper, the cracks in her skin would latch onto the fabric’s fibers. She worried she might scratch the baby with her hands.
“A mother’s touch should be soft. Gentle,” she said to Omar. This place made her hands tough as pot scrubbers, but she dared not say it. She dropped a blanket over the top of the baby’s stroller, hoping his breath would keep him warm as he slept. If only they could raise the temperature just a little, she would be able to tolerate these nights, but the building managers kept the thermostat locked away.
“It’s because there are so many bodies here during the day. It must get warm,” Omar said.
Elda couldn’t imagine. By the time the three of them arrived every evening, the place was deserted. It was three floors of office space, clusters of desks barricaded by plastic, fabric-covered walls.
Elda sat at a bench by the main stairwell while Omar made his way through the maze, vacuuming and dusting and emptying trash receptacles.
The baby seemed to find the constant hum of the vacuum cleaner soothing. He would drift into a calm sleep and wake only during the abrupt pauses of silence when Omar had to switch the plug from one electrical outlet to another. Even then, Martin protested not by wailing but by stirring and whining and gurgling. It was as if he knew he wasn’t really supposed to be here. Omar and Elda’s boss trusted them to come every weekday evening, clean the entire building, and lock up the facility when they were done. He had no idea they brought the baby along.
> She rocked the stroller back and forth until Omar finished the floor and returned. “Did you find any cheese at the end this time?” It was her little joke. Ever since she had first seen this place, she had called it the labyrinth.
“I ate most of it and gave the rest to three pretty mice I ran into on the other side. They wanted to know what took me so long.”
“Did you tell them chubby old rats move slower?” She grinned, and he leaned in to kiss her as he squeezed onto the bench beside her. “See? You barely fit,” she teased. In truth, she found the extra pounds Omar had gained since they’d arrived to be kind of cute, and she often told him so.
She placed her pencil and book of crossword puzzles back in her purse and got up, stretching. “Remind me what my time was yesterday?”
Omar pulled a palm-sized notebook from his shirt pocket. After three straight nights of him forgetting, she had made him start writing it down. “Ten minutes and thirty-seven seconds.”
“Okay.” She took the cart full of cleaning supplies that Omar had pulled out of the closet.
“You’re sure you don’t want me to do it? I don’t mind.”
Every night he tried, and every night she said no. She’d felt bad enough having Omar do her work when she had just had the baby. Now that it had been nearly seven months, she told him it was a matter of restlessness. She got too much rest, and he not enough of it.
“Stay. Admire your son for a bit. I’ll be back in less than ten minutes. Ready?”
Omar looked at his watch, waiting for it to hit the minute mark. “Okay . . . go.”
She rushed off, pushing the cart toward the restrooms.
By now, Elda had a system. With window cleaner in one hand and porcelain cleaner in the other, she would spray the row of mirrors first, then mist the sinks on her way back. She would stuff her pockets with newspaper to clean the glass, and with towels to wipe the faucets and porcelain. She had a similar choreography for the stalls, and at the end of it, when the bathroom walls were gleaming and the toilets had been scrubbed, she would flush them all at once, reveling in the chorus of spinning water. The floors, of course, she mopped on her way out, before moving on to the men’s room. She always cleaned it last, because the urinals didn’t take as long.
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