by Emma Otheguy
Every night, Carolina showed her drawings to Gabriela, who learned important things—where Abuela Carmen, whom Gabriela barely remembered, had stored the chocolate Kisses, and how the yagrumo leaves were green on one side and silver on the other.
Carolina stayed up in the kitchen with Gabriela when the grown-ups went outside or upstairs. She showed her cousin how to make a ketchup-and-mayonnaise dipping sauce, whose absence in upstate New York baffled Carolina, and which Gabriela proclaimed delicious. They stirred chocolate powder into their milk, and Carolina was shocked at how perfectly it dissolved: at home, there had been clumps that withstood even the most vigorous stirring. “It must have been the humidity that made it so hard to dissolve,” Carolina said, surprised.
“See?” Gabriela said. “That’s another thing I don’t know about, what humidity does to chocolate powder. When we go to Puerto Rico, I’m going to drink nothing but chocolate milk.” And so they added it to the growing list of things Gabriela would see and do the next time, on their someday trip to San Juan.
Carolina didn’t tell Jennifer about her midnight meetings with Gabriela, or the shy new friendship between the two of them. It wasn’t that she thought Jennifer would mind, exactly. It was more that now her life had two parallel tracks, each its own separate road: Jennifer and the cottage in the forest, Gabriela and the late-night conversations in Tía Cuca’s kitchen. Carolina liked it that way, her two little worlds.
* * *
—
By the last week of July, it was scorching hot even in the early morning, before camp started. On the playground, Carolina gathered her hair in one hand and fanned the back of her neck.
“You need to braid it, like mine.” Jennifer searched her pockets and pulled out a hair elastic. “Gosh, your hair is thick, Caro.”
Carolina had thought that Uncle Porter was wrong, that she would never be glad of the air-conditioning, but today she could barely wait to get into the artificially cold camp center. Hot in New York was different from hot in Puerto Rico—it suffocated.
When free time came, no one wanted to go out. Yuan came over to their table with a box full of art supplies. “Jenn will be happy,” she said, unloading felt and clay and glue onto the table. “We’re going to have extended art time today.”
“Yeah, but how am I supposed to make anything with this place so packed?”
Carolina stared at Jennifer. It was unlike her to resist art supplies for more than thirty seconds, and even more unlike her to whine.
Jennifer leaned over and whispered, “Don’t blow my cover. I’m giving everyone a rational explanation for why we don’t want to craft.”
Alyssa raised an eyebrow at Jennifer. “So now you need a private studio?”
Gabriela busied herself with the art supplies, keeping her eyes focused on the ball of clay she was kneading and not responding to Alyssa.
“That’s right, I do.” Jennifer got up and dragged Carolina toward the kitchen area in the back of the camp center. On the counter Lydia had propped up a binder with Rogan Realtors on the spine, and she was engrossed in reading. Before Jennifer could say anything, George came out of the back room and dropped a manila folder in front of Lydia.
“Finally got those conservation people off our necks,” George said. “They should stop calling you now.”
“Thanks, George,” Lydia said softly, then sighed.
Carolina looked between Lydia and George, wondering who could possibly be calling to bother Lydia. Everyone in Larksville loved her. Before she could ask, Lydia turned to her and Jennifer.
“What can I help you girls with?”
Jennifer leaned over the counter and flashed all three braces colors at Lydia.
“Can Caro and I go explore the farm, Lydia?”
Yuan’s head turned sharply their way, and Carolina suddenly remembered how Yuan had looked at them the day they’d decided to stay out in the rain. Luckily, the little kid Yuan was helping got sick of wiggling a fork in the glue, unscrewed the cap, and started pouring the glue onto his project.
“Devin, no! It’ll get everywhere!”
Lydia glanced at Jennifer, then at Carolina. “As long as you’re together, I don’t see why that should be a problem. Stay in the shade, it’s a hot day.” She went back to her paperwork.
They ran down the path, ignoring the heat and Jennifer’s cheeks, which got redder and redder as they went.
They came to an empty pasture and Jennifer ducked under the fence. “It’s quicker if we cut across here.” She tugged on Carolina’s pant leg and told her to follow, but Carolina had frozen in place.
“It’s George,” she hissed at Jennifer. “He must have left the camp center right behind us, and he definitely sees us!”
“Where?” Jennifer straightened up and shaded her eyes.
George lumbered down the path, leaving deep boot prints in the dirt. He was whistling. “Wandering again, girls?”
Jennifer suddenly started twirling in place, lifting her face to the sun. “It’s just so peaceful in this pasture,” she said. “Carolina and I decided to come here and dance.”
George shook his head. “Suit yourselves. I’m headed to my car. Don’t let me hear that you were out of bounds, though.”
When his back was turned, Jennifer stuck her tongue out. “Nothing is out of bounds at Silver Meadows, that’s what Lydia used to say. We’re neighbors.”
“He’s awful,” Carolina agreed. “I don’t understand how someone as nice as Lydia could be someone like George’s mom.”
George glanced over his shoulder, and Jennifer resumed her dramatic twirling.
“We’ll have to wait here a few minutes, at least until he’s out of sight,” Carolina said nervously. “I hate lying to Lydia.”
“We’re not lying,” Jennifer said confidently. “We’re just going a little bit off the trail. Besides, the way to the cottage is like our own trail. Just because it’s not marked doesn’t mean it’s not a real path.”
George was not in a rush, and twice he looked back at them. Carolina joined in on Jennifer’s dancing each time, and she saw George shaking his head in the distance, no doubt grumbling about people who twirled in fields on scorching-hot days.
When George had been gone a long time, they cautiously made their way to Cooke’s Hill. The heat made everything drowsy and still, even in the forest. It seemed to Carolina that all the living things, the birds, the squirrels, even the deer, were too warm to move or rustle and chirp like they normally did. Even as the girls approached the cottage, there was no sound of the tarp flapping in the window, and no jingle of the wind chimes, only mosquitoes buzzing around them. For the first time since she’d found the cottage, Carolina felt like she was trespassing in the woods. It was so silent that it was like nearing hallowed ground, whose sanctity they ruined just by being there.
Jennifer gripped Carolina’s elbow with her free hand.
“Caro.” She pointed.
The leaves cast a dancing pattern on the cottage, and in between the shadows, the fresh paint gleamed, clean and white. The pond was still.
But the door to the cottage was open, just a crack. A sliver of blue light escaped from inside.
“Maybe it was an animal,” Carolina whispered.
Jenn put her finger to her lips. “Animals can’t turn knobs,” she breathed, and Caro remembered how Jenn carefully closed the door whenever they left the cottage, pulling the knob tight. Caro remembered the click of the latch catching each time they said good-bye.
The door was still, the tarp’s blue light steady on this breezeless day.
Finally, Caro whispered, “I’m going in.”
Jennifer squeezed her elbow tighter. “You can’t,” she hissed back. “What if it’s a robber?”
Carolina loosened her arm from Jennifer’s hold. “There’s nothing in there to rob,”
she hissed. Holding her breath, she tiptoed across the tiles.
There was a squeaking sound as Carolina pushed open the door all the way and crossed the threshold of the cottage. She put both hands on the doorknob, willing the door to silence itself.
A dark silhouette blocked the blue light of the tarp over the window. The silhouette was tall, and black hair cascaded down its back. It was humming to itself, a tune Carolina recognized, but this figure had changed it, made the same tune slower: Cha-cha conmigo, it sang sadly.
Carolina’s jaw dropped. “Gabriela?”
“Hi, Caro,” said Gabriela.
“What—what are you doing here?”
“Just don’t be mad.”
Carolina swallowed. She wanted to be mad, she wanted to yell at Gabriela for trespassing into her private world, her perfect, secret world.
“What are you doing here?” she repeated.
Gabriela shrugged. “I just wanted to see what you were up to.”
Jennifer burst through the door. “Carolina! Are you okay—?” She stopped in her tracks when she saw Gabriela.
“It’s fine, Jenn. It’s my cousin.”
“What are you doing here?” Jennifer asked suspiciously.
“Nothing,” Gabriela said. “I didn’t touch any of your stuff, I promise. I haven’t even sat in your chairs. I was bored, okay? Alyssa isn’t talking to me because I told her to keep her big mouth shut about how I look, and I can’t talk to Jamie when Alyssa’s around because you know Jamie just does whatever Alyssa wants, and I knew you had been sneaking off somewhere all summer.”
“What did you do, track our footprints?” Carolina asked.
“Of course not. It wasn’t that hard. Yesterday when I saw you leave I followed you. I wasn’t being secret, honest—I just saw you crossing the stream and knew you’d probably gone into the woods, and you know everyone’s worried about us being here since Paul died, and then when I saw you leave the trail I got really nervous, but then I saw you come in here and it looked—I don’t know—safe.”
“How did you get here so fast?” Carolina asked. “You were still in the camp center when we left!”
“I took a shortcut,” Gabriela said. “I could tell George was going to catch up with you, so I skipped the cow land and cut through the fields.”
“George,” Carolina groaned. “He held us up.”
Jennifer was still hanging on to the door. She hadn’t yet set foot in the cottage. “You never talk to me,” she said to Gabriela suddenly. “We’ve been going to the same camp since we were really little and you never talk to me. Now you want to follow me to my cottage? Look, I’m sorry that Little Miss Angel Pants isn’t talking to you—”
“Jenn, knock it off!” Carolina held up her hands in a truce. “Gabriela’s my cousin, remember?”
Gabriela flipped her hair over her shoulder. “It’s not your clubhouse, anyway, Jennifer.”
“It’s not a clubhouse at all!” Jennifer shot back. “It’s an artists’ house! You can’t just come here to gossip and read magazines, you know.”
“Who said I was going to read magazines? I’ve sworn them off, anyway.” Gabriela crossed her arms. “I’m saying it’s not your clubhouse—okay, artists’ house, whatever you want to call it—because the farm belongs to Lydia.”
“How do you know we aren’t on my parents’ side of the hill right now?”
Gabriela shrugged. “Just a guess.”
Nervously, Carolina inched over to the left, putting herself in between Jennifer and Gabriela, who were glaring at each other. Jennifer looked like she was about to cry. “Does it really matter? Lydia wouldn’t care if we were up here.”
Gabriela knelt in front of the fireplace and examined the elf figurines.
“Don’t touch those,” Jennifer said.
“I wasn’t going to touch them. They’re cute.” Gabriela sat back on her heels. “Look, even if Lydia doesn’t care that you’re here, she’d want you to share the clubhouse, wouldn’t she? It’s not fair if you don’t let anyone else up here.”
“Well…” Carolina looked at Jennifer. “She has a point, Jenn.”
Jennifer stomped outside. Carolina and Gabriela followed her, and found her sitting on the burnt-orange tiles, staring at the green pond. “You’re just ganging up on me because you’re cousins.”
Before Carolina could answer, Gabriela strummed the wind chimes, and a cascade of music sounded, like a waterfall, or a stream running by.
“Caro. It’s like your house—wind chimes.” And Gabriela looked around, at the tiles and the green pond and up at the sky that could not be seen through the canopy of trees, and said, “Just like the terraza. All you’re missing are the goldfish.”
Gabriela understood the importance of this place to Caro—in her little cottage, in the depths of these woods, Caro felt close to Puerto Rico, and to home.
Gabriela gave her a pleading look. “Alyssa will get over it soon. I just want to hang out a little while. Just until then.”
Carolina rubbed her temples and sat down next to Jennifer. “What do you say, Jenn?”
Jennifer shook her head. “It’s like Alyssa Rogan owns the whole world.”
Gabriela swung her tote bag over her shoulder. “She doesn’t own me. Look, Jennifer, I won’t bother you. I could talk the counselors into giving us free time tomorrow. Everyone trusts me—I haven’t been sneaking out in the rain and the heat and every other chance I get. I bet I could even get Lydia to give us packed lunches to bring up here. We could spend practically the whole day tomorrow.”
Carolina remembered Yuan, and the sharp jerk of her head when she and Jenn had asked permission earlier that day. She thought of Tía Cuca’s house, of the hectic talking and the sterile cleanliness, and the yard, flat and exposed. All Carolina wanted was for this woodsy cottage to stay hidden, to remain her secret spot. Maybe Gabriela was right; maybe they needed her cover.
“Pretty please?” Gabriela pressed Jennifer. “I could help with your fairy village. My mom has these little houses—”
“Elf village,” Jennifer corrected her.
Gabriela cracked a smile. “So I can come back tomorrow?”
“Not a peep to anyone, though. You can’t tell your friends.”
Gabriela zipped her lips and threw away the key, but she looked over Jennifer’s head at Carolina, and she couldn’t stop the grin from bursting out anyway.
Tía Cuca drove them home from camp that afternoon, and when they got to the house, Mami thrust open the door. “Guess what?”
Daniel launched himself toward Mami and she scooped him up.
“What?”
“I found a job!”
Gabriela immediately put down her backpack and kissed Mami’s cheek, but Carolina stayed planted where she was.
“Congratulations, Tía Ana,” Gabriela said.
“Caro, come here and give me a hug!”
“I thought—I thought Papi was the one looking for a job.”
“He is, but this way we’ll have a little bit of income, and it’s so nice, we’ll get to know more people around here.”
“What kind of job?”
“It’s at the school. One of the teachers had to leave summer school unexpectedly, so I’m taking over her English language arts class, but it may be extended into the fall, if someone takes a leave!”
Carolina tried to sound excited. “That’s great, Mami.” She fluttered a kiss somewhere near her mother’s cheek, then drifted up the stairs, backpack still on.
They were staying. Papi had said there was no path, and yet Caro could see that they’d come to a fork in the road, and chosen New York. Of course, it was what Mami and Papi had said would happen all along, but somehow she’d never really expected it to happen, never expected that they would stay.
Daniel bounced into her
room. “Mami got a job!”
“Daniel, don’t you realize what this means?”
“What?”
“We’re not going back. We’re not going home to Puerto Rico.”
“Yeah, because we moved here.”
“But don’t you miss home?”
Daniel wiggled onto Carolina’s bed, then lay down, his chin propped in his hands. “I don’t know. We’ll go visit. But I like it here. There’s a whole farm here, and I’m allowed to walk to the pizza store by myself here, and we have a yard—”
“It’s not our yard, we’re just sharing it until we get our own place.”
“Yeah, but all the houses here have big yards, even the little ones. Ben has, like, six big trees.” Daniel spread his arms like tree branches. “Really wide ones. Oak trees—those are the ones with acorns.”
There were acorns on Cooke’s Hill. Even at the height of summer, acorns and brown leaves decorated the forest floor. Come fall, the hill would burst with color—and at the thought, an image of the cottage wrapped in autumn yellow and fiery crimsons sprang into Carolina’s mind, and against her will she felt a leap of excitement. For the first time in her life she would see the autumn of cartoons and of picture books, the autumn of changing leaves and crisp air. She brushed the thought aside, guilty at her own disloyalty. “But, Dani!” she protested. “At home we had a terraza, and you had goldfish to feed.”
Daniel shrugged. “We could get some goldfish in our new house.”
“They’d freeze in the winter!” Why didn’t Daniel understand? After all she’d done, getting the ratoncito and everything, he didn’t even seem sad.
A dreamy look passed over Daniel’s face, and Carolina knew she wouldn’t be able to reason with him, wouldn’t be able to bring him back down to earth.
“Ben and I are looking for elves in our yards. They can talk to squirrels, you know.”
“What about the Ratoncito Pérez? He’s Puerto Rican. There’s no Ratoncito Pérez in New York.”