by Emma Otheguy
It was a cradle, but it wouldn’t have fit any doll Carolina knew of, only maybe a thimble, or a marble. It was painted to look like vines and flowers were growing all over it, painted so perfectly that Carolina nearly didn’t believe that Jennifer, blaring with her multicolored braces, could have made anything so quiet and small.
But she had, Carolina knew. The cradle was sweet at the same time it was wild, and that was like Jennifer had been this morning, friendly but zany. Carolina felt as if she had found the missing pawn in a set after searching the entire toy bin, and she didn’t want to let the cradle go.
“Who sleeps in it?”
“Elves, of course.” Jennifer took back the cradle and pocketed it. “My dad had to help me with some of the carving, but just because my mom thought I might get cut.”
Carolina sighed. “It’s wonderful.” She took a deep breath. “Jennifer—if your house is on the other side of Cooke’s Hill, then I guess you’ve been to the top of the hill, right?”
“Of course I have. We were just there today, remember?”
Carolina shook her head. “I mean the top of the hill on the other side. Heading back down—you’d have to hike up from your house to get there.”
Jennifer wiped her hands on her jeans. “Oh. Is that where you went? Yuan thought you were in the front with your brother.” She hesitated. “You know we aren’t really supposed to go that deep into the woods, right? Lydia doesn’t like it.”
“I didn’t mean to go there,” Carolina explained. “It was an accident.”
“I love the woods,” Jennifer said. “If it were up to me, kids would spend all day there, underneath the trees.” She wrinkled her brow, scowling at the sky. “Do you know about Lydia’s husband?”
“I know she had a husband.” Carolina recalled Lydia’s speech earlier in the camp day. “He liked kids.”
“Paul. He was my favorite. You could go and sit in the barn and talk to him while he worked, and he didn’t even expect you to help. Now Lydia just has Brian and her grown-up son, George, helping her, and they never talk to anyone.”
Carolina gulped. “What happened to Paul?” But she knew the answer already, knew from Jennifer’s stormy face what she was about to say.
“He died,” Jennifer said matter-of-factly. “He was clearing a tree way back in the woods and he slipped on a ledge. That’s why we’re not supposed to go off the trail. Not that my parents ever let me go that far in the first place.”
Carolina was speechless, imagining Paul—a man gray-haired like Lydia, strong and friendly—sprawled out on a bed of pine needles and dead leaves. It made her stomach flop.
Jennifer rolled over to face Carolina. “What did you see back there? Was it something incredible? Were you scared?” Jennifer seemed to have set aside the sadness from a minute ago, and now she asked questions eagerly. “Were there wild animals back there? I mean, of course there weren’t any wild animals, but there might have been, you never know—”
“My mom would say you have an overactive imagination.” Then, scared for a minute, Carolina asked, “Are there wild animals back there?”
“No,” Jennifer answered promptly. “Well. Deer. Lots and lots of deer.”
“So then—”
Jennifer shrugged. “You never know.”
“I did find something,” Carolina said boldly. She told Jennifer about the little green pond, and the wind chimes, and finally, all in a rush, she told her about the tiny house and what she had imagined—the old woman in the rocking chair, and the elves tidying up at night. “I thought maybe you knew something about the cabin—like why it’s there, or who it belongs to.”
Jennifer shook her head slowly. “I’ve never heard about it. No one told me.” She sat up and hugged her knees. “I bet no one even knows it’s there. The woods are full of abandoned places. We could even fix it up!” Jennifer’s eyes were shining, and she clasped her hands over her heart. “Can we go see it?”
“Won’t we get in trouble?”
Jennifer grabbed Carolina’s hand. “Come over after camp next week. Come on Tuesday. My mom works late on Tuesdays, and my dad won’t bother us.”
* * *
—
After camp, Carolina went straight to her desk in her room and closed the door. She turned to a blank page in her sketchbook and drew clouds, using the side of her pencil to shade them in. She tried to make them seem round and fluffy instead of flat. If the drawing came out well, she’d show it to Jennifer.
“Can I come in?” Gabriela stood in the doorway.
“Oh. You don’t have to ask.” Carolina closed her sketchbook quickly. Gabriela hadn’t said a word to her on the car ride home. “I just took a wrong turn during the hike. I didn’t go anywhere,” Carolina lied.
“Don’t be friends with Jennifer,” Gabriela blurted out.
“Huh?”
“She’s nice and all, but did you look at her? She’s totally nuts.”
Carolina could feel heat charge up her neck. “I didn’t think she was nuts. Who cares what she looks like?”
“Seriously?” Gabriela shut the door and sat down on the bed. “Everyone cares what she looks like—why does she have to dress that way? One of these days there’s going to be an animal in that braid instead of a paintbrush.”
“Her dad’s a painter, and she likes to make art. What’s the big deal?”
Gabriela crossed her arms. “Look, Carolina, I’m trying to be nice to you, because you’re new here. But everyone in all of Larksville knows that Jennifer is a weirdo, and so is her artist dad. Wait until you see their house. When we lived over on that side of town we would drive by it sometimes, and it’s a wreck.”
Carolina shrugged and opened up her sketchbook again. “I’m going there next week.”
“You don’t get it. We already stick out in Larksville—in case you hadn’t noticed, it’s not like there are tons of other Puerto Ricans walking around here.”
Carolina said nothing. If that was the problem, she didn’t know what she was supposed to do about it. Gabriela was half-white; she could ignore the Puerto Rican half sometimes. But she, Carolina, was all Puerto Rican, all the time. Then she had a thought. “Chiquifancy is Puerto Rican.”
“That’s different, she’s cool,” Gabriela retorted. “Don’t you even care what people think?”
Carolina felt tears gathering, and wished they wouldn’t. Gabriela was probably thinking what a baby she was. She pressed her eyes with the heel of her hand.
There was a knock, and Mami pushed the door open. “Papi and Uncle Porter just—” She noticed Gabriela, then Carolina’s face. “What’s wrong? Have you two been fighting? It’s only been one day!”
Gabriela crossed her arms and didn’t answer.
Mami did a double take. “Caro! You’re filthy!” She looked back and forth between Gabriela and Carolina, confused. “They said you might get dirty, but—you’re muddier than Daniel! Did you fall into a pigsty?”
Gabriela giggled, then straightened her face. “Tía Ana,” she said seriously, “it’s this girl at camp. Jennifer. She’s a little—unusual, and Carolina went off with her today, I’m sure that’s what it was.”
Carolina shot Gabriela a look. Thanks for nothing, she thought to herself.
Mami threw her hands up. “You couldn’t play with someone less messy?”
“We weren’t playing—”
Mami raised her eyebrows and Carolina looked down at her shoes.
“Jennifer invited me to her house.” She didn’t dare look up.
“I see,” Mami said, clearly torn. “You know I can’t let you go to anyone’s house until we know the parents, Caro.”
“But, Mami, Jennifer’s an artist,” Carolina pleaded. “Just like me.”
“Ay, Caro,” Mami said. “Enough with the art. You should be socializing, and getting to know your cou
sin. It’s the perfect opportunity for you and Gabs. I don’t want you to spend so much time with your head in the clouds, mi vida.” Mami took a deep breath. “I want you to have your playdate. But we’re new here, and if Gabriela says there’s something wrong with this girl—”
“There’s nothing wrong with her!” Carolina exploded.
Gabriela grabbed her bag. “Fine. Hang out with whoever you want.” She slammed the door behind her.
“Caro,” Mami said disappointedly. “I don’t want you talking to your cousin in that tone. You have to calm down, okay? Ven.” Mami patted the bed, but Caro stayed in her chair. “Come on,” Mami said coaxingly. “Tell me about camp! How was it?”
Carolina crossed her arms. She wasn’t falling for Mami’s pathetic attempt to distract her. “Gabriela was the one talking to me in that tone, Mami.”
Mami shook her head. “It’s her house, Caro.”
“So?”
“So you have to be patient with her! Caro, I thought you wanted to help Papi and me. We’re going through a lot right now, and Tía Cuca and her family are being very generous letting us stay here!”
“It’s not like they could say no, not living in this mansion!”
“Lower your voice!” Mami looked over her shoulder, as if the size of the house were some kind of state secret. “They’re being very nice, and you have to find a way to get along with your cousin,” Mami hissed. She stood up and held the door open. “Can you please go talk to her?”
Carolina wanted to slam the door and stomp like Gabriela had done, but she couldn’t, and that was the most unfair part. She could hear the other grown-ups downstairs, and as much as she hated to admit it, she didn’t want them to know that she and Gabriela had been fighting any more than Mami did. She knocked on Gabriela’s door and allowed herself just one impatient foot tap.
“Come in.”
Carolina pushed the door open. The room was a total mess. There were piles of magazines in every corner. A nail polish bottle had spilled, and the enamel had hardened on Gabriela’s desk. Gabriela was sitting in the middle of the floor, typing on her laptop.
“Sorry.”
“That’s okay,” Gabriela responded coolly. “I was just trying to help.”
“That’s all I had to say.” Carolina turned to go.
“Wait!” Gabriela pushed her laptop aside and stood. “Look, if you want to go to Jennifer’s, fine. Just— Don’t advertise it, okay? Alyssa’s my best friend, and she can’t stand Jennifer always tagging behind us with her weird games.” Gabriela scuffed the polished wood floor with her foot. “Besides, my parents and I only moved to this part of Larksville a little while ago. I don’t want Alyssa to think that we still belong out in the backwoods.”
“You have just as much a right to live in this part of town as Alyssa does,” Carolina said.
“Not really. Alyssa’s dad owns the real estate company my dad works for. They built all these houses.”
“Oh.” Carolina shook her head. “Still.” She studied Gabriela, then took a deep breath. “But if it’s what you really want, I won’t say too much about Jennifer to your friends. Or I’ll try, at least.”
Gabriela picked her laptop up again. “Thanks.” She flashed Carolina a small smile.
* * *
—
It was lucky that Tía Cuca could talk for several people at once, because Carolina didn’t feel like saying much when she went downstairs to help set the table. They sat down to eat early, because Tía Cuca said that was when Uncle Porter liked his dinner.
“Everyone here eats early,” Mami said, as if she had some kind of human antenna for what “people here” did.
Carolina muttered under her breath that she wasn’t even hungry yet.
“Are you mad?” Daniel asked.
Carolina served him a helping of salad. “Not at you, silly. Just— I don’t like that we have to do everything just like everyone else here. Have you noticed that?”
Daniel’s eyes were big and wide. “Ben’s parents make brussels sprouts three times a week, and he says they’re disgusting. We’re not going to have to start eating brussels sprouts three times a week, are we? Because if we are—”
“That’s not what I meant, Daniel. You know, like other stuff.”
“Like what?”
“Oh, forget it. It’s not important.”
Tía Cuca finished passing around the salad. “Okay, now tell us absolutely everything about camp today. How was it?”
Before anyone could answer, Carolina cleared her throat. “I was invited to someone’s house.”
Mami gulped down a swig of water, but Uncle Porter asked mildly, “That’s nice. Whose house?”
“Her name is Jennifer. I don’t— I didn’t ask her last name,” Carolina said.
“Murry,” Gabriela volunteered.
“I told Caro we have to know the family before she can go anywhere, of course,” Mami said. “She knows she can’t go to strangers’ houses.”
Uncle Porter chewed his meat thoughtfully. “Murry. Do we know them?”
“You know her, Daddy,” Gabriela supplied. “She’s the one who always has that stuff in her hair.”
Mami’s eyebrows shot up.
Uncle Porter slapped his knee. “Oh yeah! Jennifer! Her mom works at the diner; we see her there sometimes. And the dad’s an artist, a little washed up, I think. I know Jennifer, she’s a character. You kids will have a great time.”
Mami looked back and forth between him and Gabriela. “So, Porter, are they good people? I don’t want to let Carolina play with someone if they’re from a bad family or—”
Uncle Porter reached for his wine. “She should go! It’s great that you have a friend so soon, Caro.”
Gabriela slumped in her seat, but Carolina grinned broadly. Mami would never stop something that Uncle Porter was so enthusiastic about.
* * *
—
Carolina slid open the glass door and let herself out onto the deck. The yard was filled with earthy hues: the deep brown cedar of the deck and the orange of the sun, which drifted still lower on its June journey through the sky. There were marigolds growing in the little planters that hung on the rail, and a brown bunny hopped across the grass below. Carolina went down a few steps to the grassy part of the yard and opened her sketchbook. She wanted to finish her cloud drawing in time to show it to Jennifer tomorrow.
She’d barely started the second cloud when she heard the sliding glass door again. Uncle Porter came out carrying a newspaper, Gabriela not far behind with her phone.
“Don’t let us bother you,” he called, unfolding his newspaper.
Neither of them was looking at her. But still, Carolina felt like she was on a stage, the only thing sticking out of this flat trim lawn. She longed for her own yard and the cover of her flamboyán tree.
When she looked up again, Papi was coming down the steps toward her. He wore khakis and a white linen shirt, crisp and light for the sun.
“Why so sad, Caro?” He sat down next to her in the grass, as if he didn’t mind at all, sitting like this where anyone could see them, didn’t mind at all that his khakis rode up as he attempted, clumsily, to sit cross-legged.
“It’s just…” Her voice faded as she searched for words. “Mami’s changed,” she said finally. “She never cared before whether I was popular, and she used to like it when I talked about art.”
“Mami just wants things to work out here,” Papi said. “She wants to show your tía Cuca and uncle Porter that we appreciate everything they’re doing for us, and that we’re making an effort.”
Carolina pressed down with her pencil, leaving a deep gray impression on the page. “I am making an effort. I can’t help it if I don’t think everything is perfect all the time.”
Papi patted her back. “I know you’re
sad, Caro. So am I. Do you know that, my Carolinita? I miss home as much as you do.”
“You do?” Carolina sniffed. They were speaking Spanish, and she wondered if Papi missed that, too—being able to speak Spanish whenever they wanted, like they could at home. Here, Carolina spoke Spanish only when she was alone with her parents or Dani.
“It isn’t easy to leave. But we’ll be happy here, you’ll see.”
Caro let Papi’s words fall over her, then wash away. “Can’t we just keep the house?” she asked. “Maybe you’ll get another job in Puerto Rico and then you’ll have sold our whole house for no reason.”
She let her questions trail away, knowing there was no answer that Papi could give her, no answer she’d want to hear.
“Will we—will we ever go back?”
“Caminante, no hay camino,” Papi said.
“Traveler, there is no path,” Carolina quoted. The words to this poem were written on her heart, she knew them perfectly. “You make your path by walking….Traveler, there is no path, only your wake upon the sea.” Carolina wiped her eyes. It was Papi’s favorite poem, written by a Spanish poet named Antonio Machado. At home, Papi had liked to play a version of the poem set to music. He hummed it now, and for the second time that day Carolina thought of the sea and of the pastures stretching on and on. The melody soothed her and made home feel closer, as if every mile of field and sea were connected.
“When your grandparents came to Puerto Rico from Cuba,” Papi said, “they didn’t know what would happen to them. They couldn’t plan everything out.”
It made Carolina dizzy, thinking of all these moves—her family leaving Cuba and starting a new life in Puerto Rico, and now this, another move, another new beginning. Papi’s parents had left Cuba long before he’d been born, but Mami’s family had gone to Puerto Rico when Mami was little, and she still remembered some things about Cuba. It was like a game of hopscotch, jumping island to island, and now all the way to upstate New York, with no plans to return. She thought it would break her grandparents’ hearts, if they were alive to know: all that for nothing, all that to move once more.