Look Both Ways in the Barrio Blanco (20 page)

But I hoped she’d hate herself more.

She sighed. “Give me the name of the motel.”

I let out the breath I’d been holding. “I’m coming with you.”

Nothing
.

“I’m coming with you,” I repeated.

“Bring your passport.”

Miss’s van coughed its way down the deserted street. In the silence of night, I could hear it long before its headlights flashed across Tía’s living-room wall. I wanted to run out and hug the noisy thing. I didn’t know it’d be the last trip Miss and I would make together in that van.

I ran to the front passenger side. But someone was sitting there.

“I got shotgun, small fry. You’re in back,” said Ethan.

I flung open the side door. The seat was empty. I was sorry not to see Cody but relieved that Rosa wasn’t coming. I didn’t want to see the scar I’d left on her face.

With all the politeness I could find in me, I asked, “Do you have your phone, Miss? I need to call Mamá. To tell her we’re on our way, so she doesn’t try to leave.”

Miss handed it over.

I took the envelope with my scribbled notes out of my pocket and punched in the number for the motel.

Miss asked, “Do you want a blanket or a pillow? It’s a long ride.”

She was trying to be
considerate
, but I didn’t want her to be nice to me. I wasn’t ready to give up my anger. I
had
to forgive her, but I didn’t have to
like
her.

Anyway, Mamá’s sweater seemed like enough protection. Later I’d wish I’d brought Abuelita’s afghan. I’d want that warmth, that security. But right then, I wanted to hurry. With the phone to my ear, I said, “No. Let’s do this.”

Like in the movies.

Miss snorted.

“Roger that!” said Ethan.

They were making fun of me.
Let them laugh. After tomorrow I never have to see them again
.

I must’ve been asleep, because I woke with a start when the van went over a bump. My feet stuck to my flip-flops where the van’s heater pumped hot air under the front seat, but my back was cold and stiff.

In the glow of the dashboard, I saw the green outline of Ethan’s face on the passenger side. Even though he had on headphones, I heard his music. I lay on my back and stared through the van’s sunroof at the stars. They were much brighter in the New Mexico desert than in the barrio. Two of the brightest ones looked like eyes. Mamá’s eyes.

“How we doing?”

Ethan’s voice startled me. He’d pulled an earpiece out and was looking into his mother’s face.

Miss shook her head. “I wish we knew what time checkout is.”

Checkout? Would Mamá be gone before we got there? No, we won’t be late. Miss is never late
.

Almost never
.

“You could kick it up a notch,” said Ethan.

“I’m driving as fast as I dare. We can’t afford to get stopped.”

Then the GPS from Miss’s cell phone spoke. “Take exit 339 for U.S. 84 South toward Santa Rosa.”

“Mom, have you thought this through?”

“If I’d
thought
about it, would we be in the middle of nowhere at three thirty in the morning?”

I could almost hear Ethan grinning. “I get my ‘impulsivity thing’ from you.”

Miss groaned. “Oh, God, what am I doing?”

Then she jumped, straining to look in the rearview mirror. Voice lowered, she asked, “Is she asleep?”

I closed my eyes, hearing movement from Ethan’s seat as I worked to keep my breathing steady.

He whispered, “Yeah, she’s asleep.”

“You should sleep. You might need to take over driving.”

“I slept.”

“Sleep some more.”

The GPS interrupted again. “Continue on U.S. 84 South for forty-one miles.”

“What happens if we get stopped with an illegal alien?” Ethan asked.

“Undocumented immigrant,” she said, correcting him.

“So, what happens?”

“It’s not your problem.”

“Fine.” But it wasn’t fine. Ethan was angry. He was dealing with grown-up problems while being treated like a little kid. I knew what that felt like.

I had started to drift off to sleep again when he asked, “But — what do I do if you get arrested?”

“You didn’t have to come.”

“You — you think I’m worried about
me
?”

I opened my eyes a crack. He moved to put his earpiece back in, but Miss spoke. “I can’t believe she lied to me.”

Guilt twisted in my stomach.

Ethan snorted. She shot him a look, but he didn’t flinch. “You make people lie to you.”

“I
make
people lie to me?”

“You’re so perfect all the time. You expect everyone to be like you.”

Is he right? Is it Miss’s fault I lied?
I wanted to believe it.

“I’m not perfect. I know how to lie. I’m not proud of it.”

“When have you ever lied?”

“Tonight. I couldn’t tell Maury the real reason I was leaving. He’s mad enough about being forced to put me back on the anchor desk. So I stuck my finger down my throat to make myself throw up in my trash can and went home ‘sick.’”

“Great. So even if we don’t get arrested, we gotta worry about you losing your job. Way to go, Mom.” Ethan folded his arms and stared out his window, not looking at her.

At last Miss spoke again. “You know what she said to me? ‘I broke your stupid sprinkler, and I had to make it right. Or is it just
Mexicans
who are
obligated
?’”

They turned to look at each other. I saw the green outline of her face, etched in pain. Ethan must have seen it, too. He switched off his music.

“Sure you wanna do this?” His rough voice was gentle.

“
No!
I’m
not
sure! But kids growing up without parents is — it’s just wrong.” Then she whispered, “Did I wake her?”

I closed my eyes before Ethan could look around. I let my mouth gape open. Drool leaked onto my arm. It tickled, but I didn’t move.

“No, she’s out.”

“If I can fix this one thing, I’ll let it go. All right?”

He snapped. “How is this
your
fault? Her dad had a busted taillight! And the ‘policeman’ who came to their apartment? He could’ve just been a truant officer! Rosa told me she’d been cutting school so the aunt could work.”

My eyes popped open.
A truant officer?
We skipped school that day, waiting for Papi!

“Not so loud.” Miss hushed him. “You may be right, but I’m not talking about that. It’s the gymnastics. The French lessons. Pushing college on her.”

“And all that’s . . . bad?”

“I thought I could ‘fix’ her. Fix her life, anyway. How arrogant is that? Thinking I can fix her life when I can’t even manage my own? I’m a — a Well-Meaning Church Lady.”

“Which would make a really good name for a punk rock band.”

“I’m being serious here.”

“Jeez, Mom. Who died and left you in charge?”

And then Miss said the one thing that made
me
shut up.

“Jacinta would’ve been better off if I’d minded my own business.”

The same thing I’d been thinking for weeks. But hearing it from Miss was different. Like she’d gambled her last dollar on me to win a race, and I’d let her down. Then she said, “It was a one-year commitment, okay? It’s just about over. I’ve done enough damage.”

Ethan nodded, then stuck his earpiece back in. A small click, and I heard his music mingle with the sounds of the van on the highway.

Miss ruined my life.

She said so with her own mouth. She made it so I could never be happy with my old life, and her promise of a new life was one she couldn’t keep.

Stop thinking about Miss. Focus on Mamá. Once she’s back I can forget that Miss and I ever met
.

THE VAN ROCKED
as it pulled off the highway. Light streamed through the sunroof, making me blink.

Ethan yawned. “Where are we?”

“Whites City,” said Miss.

I sat up.

The sun felt closer somehow, beating down on the highway, telephone poles, rocks, and dirt. The Middle of Nowhere.

Then Miss turned into the parking lot of a yellowing building with faded blue awnings. The sign read
BUSY BEE MOTOR INN,
but it looked like the least busy place in the world. The dog on the stoop didn’t raise his head when we drove by. His eyes flicked over to the van, then closed again. He let out a breath that made his jowls flutter. Then he was still.

“Jacinta, what room’s your mom in?”

I pulled the soggy envelope from the pocket of my jeans. It was sweaty from my hand gripping it through the night — to reassure myself that Mamá would be rescued. But I didn’t need to unfold it.

“Seven.”

Miss pulled up in front of a door. She didn’t turn off the motor, which continued its
repertoire
of gurgles and moans.

“All right.” She looked at me, and I realized
I
was supposed to get Mamá.

And for some reason, I was afraid.

Will Mamá even know me? Maybe she’s changed, too
.

My heart thumped in my ears. When I opened the van door, everything moved in slow motion. Even though it was still morning, heat coming from the pavement made the air look wavy, like in the movies.

A dream sequence
.

Tar oozing from cracks in the asphalt stank and stuck to the bottom of my flip-flops, holding me back. Mamá’s sweater was sticking to my skin, but it wasn’t time to take it off. Not when I was so close. I staggered around a cleaning cart to stare at the chipped blue number 7. My hand moved to the door and tapped.

Nothing
.

I knocked harder.

After a million years, a voice came through the crack of the door.

“¿Hola?”

“¡Mamá! ¡Soy yo!”

The door opened. A pair of brown eyes.
“¿Sí?”

But the woman in the maid’s uniform wasn’t Mamá. I struggled to breathe, but the oxygen had been sucked out of the air. I was dizzy.
“¿Dónde está mi mamá?”

“No sé.”

The world grew dark.

And through the darkness, Miss’s voice. “Grab her. Like this.”

My face hurt. The pavement burned. I didn’t know I’d fainted until I felt arms around me, hands pulling on me. Miss and the stranger in the maid’s uniform half carried, half dragged me back to the van.

“She okay, Miss?”

“Gracias, señora. Está bien.”

Ethan’s face. Reaching for me, pulling me up. Miss heaved me onto the seat with him. Cold air welcomed me. I closed my eyes.

“Is she okay?” Ethan’s worried voice.

“Slide over.”

“I’m driving?” I heard Ethan scramble over the hump to the other side.

“Keep the air running. I’ll pay the motel bill and get some water.” Miss slammed the door.

“J.J.?”

My hand moved to my throbbing temple. It was tender. I winced and pulled my hand away, blinking the world back into focus. Ethan’s concerned face stared at me sideways.

This can’t be right. Mamá said she would wait. Why didn’t she wait?

Ethan asked my next question aloud. “Where’d your mom go?”

Slowly, testing myself, I sat up. Hammering continued on the inside of my skull. I glanced around. The hotel maid looked back over her shoulder as she pushed her cleaning cart to room 8. She gave me a tenuous wave before letting herself inside.

Ethan and I scanned the emptiness around us.
Where could she go?
Rocks and weeds baked in withering heat — it felt more like August than April.

And I knew.

I threw open the van door, my feet already moving before they touched the pavement. Around to the
back
of the crumbling motel. The
shady
side.

Still faint, I stumbled, my ankles twisting in my flip-flops, over stones and trash clinging to the clumps of dead grass.

A dented green trash bin.

“Mamá?”

The rattle of newspapers. A sun-weathered face peered from around the side of the bin. Before she could struggle to her feet, I was in her arms.

I didn’t know if the tears were hers or mine, if she was shaking, or if I was. I smelled her hair. The smell wasn’t flowers. It was cigarette smoke. I didn’t care. I tasted her salty, wet cheek as I kissed her again and again.

She whispered,
“Mija.”

We were together. Time passed — a year, or maybe just seconds. I clung to Mamá. She was mine. I was safe. I promised myself I’d never let her go again. No matter what.

The sound of the wheezy van made Mamá startle. We turned as it rumbled around the corner, bumping over rocks and weeds — Ethan at the wheel, Miss riding shotgun.

I’d forgotten Miss and Ethan. Forgotten everything. Mamá and I scrambled to our feet, bumping into each other.

Miss climbed out and gave Mamá a weak smile. “
Hola
. Fernanda?
Vámonos, por favor
.”

Mamá nodded, wiping her tears with her hands. She agreed in her little bit of English. “Yes, Miss, we go. Thank you, Miss.”

Miss and Mamá acted like they knew each other, but with both of them right in front of me, I wasn’t sure who
I
was.
Mija or mentee?