by Emma Otheguy
Caminante, son tus huellas
el camino, y nada más;
Caminante, no hay camino,
se hace camino al andar.
Al andar se hace camino,
y al volver la vista atrás
se ve la senda que nunca
se ha de volver a pisar.
Caminante, no hay camino,
sino estelas en la mar.
Traveler, this path is a wave upon the sea,
only your own wake, and nothing more;
Traveler, there is no path,
you make your path by walking.
By walking you make your path
and when looking back,
you see the road
you’ll never pass again.
Traveler, there is no path,
only your wake upon the sea.
—Antonio Machado (1875–1939), “Proverbios y cantares XXIX”
The days dragged on and on. July turned into August, and at camp, Carolina kept her head down, borrowing paper from the art supply closet and spending free time drawing inside. She’d dreaded having to tell Jennifer what Mami had said, but without their trips to the woods, she found that she and Jennifer didn’t have much time to talk. It wasn’t even that Lydia’s new rules kept them from going back to the cottage, it was that Lydia herself was transformed. The day after they got lost, she had tacked the easel paper that listed the day’s activities onto the wall, and she now followed it meticulously, checking her watch constantly to make sure they transitioned at exactly the listed times. She posted a new schedule every day, and every day their afternoon free time was shorter and shorter, until camp felt like a factory assembly line. They moved from crafts to garden to swimming like clockwork, but there was no joy in any of it.
One day Lydia gave them fifteen minutes before dismissal, and Carolina settled at her now-usual station, drawing at the table indoors. Jennifer sat down next to her and pulled out the felt figure she was making, while Yuan stood nearby, between their table and the window. Carolina watched as Jennifer worked. She squinted and hunched over when she was focused, and Carolina noticed that these days she was weaving colorful strings of beads into her braid. It reminded her of sea princesses, with starfish and pearls in their hair, but when she opened her mouth to say so, Jennifer motioned to Yuan. Of course she thought Carolina wanted to talk about the cottage, but there was nothing they could say, not now that the counselors wouldn’t let them out of their sight.
At Tía Cuca and Uncle Porter’s house, it was as if everything had gone back to normal, to before the mishap in the woods, but Carolina sensed the differences that no one mentioned out loud. Mami had thrown herself into teaching wholeheartedly, spreading her students’ assignments out on Tía Cuca and Uncle Porter’s dining room table every afternoon, and once she went out to dinner with the other teachers. She came home that evening flushed and happy, eager to repeat their stories to Tía Cuca, who just as eagerly took in any tidbits of town news that Mami could share with her. There was a flurry of activity surrounding Papi’s interview, too: Uncle Porter asked Papi practice questions, and one rainy day Mami picked his suit up from the cleaner, making sure to keep it under her umbrella.
Gabriela was back to spending all day at camp with Alyssa and Jamie and messaging them every second they weren’t together. Gabriela wore Alyssa’s Chiquifancy pendant every day, but Carolina noticed that her magazines never reappeared.
Best of all, when Jamie’s birthday came around, the sparkly dress emerged.
“Are you sure you don’t want to come to the party?” Gabriela asked as she changed her dangly earrings.
“Nah, I want to read tonight.”
“Suit yourself.”
Gabriela had stopped trying so hard to pull Carolina into her circle, and she was nicer for it. After Jamie’s party, she sat with Carolina on the deck, cheering Daniel on as he leapt around the yard trapping fireflies in a jar.
* * *
—
A few days before camp ended, the campers moved their chairs away from the tables, making a circle that stretched all the way around the camp center, while Lydia perched on a stool. Carolina thought how she had never met anyone quite like Lydia, someone who could be so dignified while wearing work boots, whose hair was gray but whose voice was bright and whose body was strong. She envied Jennifer a little bit, for being from a place like Silver Meadows, a place where people were painters and farmers, where people’s history stretched back for generations. Stay on the trail, Lydia had said, because Silver Meadows was all well-worn paths.
“As you all know,” Lydia began, “last spring my husband, Paul, passed away.”
There was a stir among the campers, and Daniel crawled into Carolina’s lap, where she held him as Lydia told her story.
“Paul loved Silver Meadows, and so I’ve tried to keep the farm alive, especially having all you kids. Camp was the highlight of Paul’s year, his whole life long.
“But I’ve come to a fork in the road.”
Carolina watched the faces of the kids around her. She watched them wiggle in their chairs and twirl their hair. Some of them had been coming to Silver Meadows every summer for years. She wondered if they knew what Lydia was about to say, and she wondered what they would do next summer.
“As some of you have already heard, I have a chance to sell Silver Meadows. It’s a chance to start a new life, one that I hope will bring me joy—” Lydia rubbed her eye. “Some of the joy that’s been lacking.” Lydia’s face was suddenly blank, and Carolina was struck by her eyes, how wide they were, big and round.
“There was a bit of poetry my husband and I used to like. Paul loved Robert Frost, a poet who was also a farmer, and we learned this one as children. We always thought of it when it came to decisions.”
Carolina steeled herself, and Lydia began once more,
“Two roads diverged in a yellow wood…”
And in Carolina’s mind again the response arose, Caminante, no hay camino…
“And sorry I could not travel both,”
You make the road by traveling.
“And be one traveler, long I stood,”
A traveler is a walker, a caminante.
“And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth.”
But Carolina didn’t see the road like Lydia did; she didn’t see it going on and on. Now Carolina saw like Papi saw it: white crest of salty water, foam and mist, a wave upon the sea, and one foot in front of the other. Cuba, Puerto Rico, New York, Carolina’s roots were not in the soil but in the rhythm of her family’s movement, step after step.
“I’ve come to a place where the roads diverge, and decided to sell the farm—”
Kids cried in outrage, and Carolina joined them, though of course she had already heard what Lydia was telling them. She wished that Lydia could see anything but this crossroads, one choice or the other, with no possibilities beyond.
That night Carolina couldn’t sleep. Robert Frost and Antonio Machado went round and round, their words chasing each other: Two roads diverged—no—Caminante, no hay camino, the poems argued in her head, looping through her mind again and again, interspersed with worry about Papi’s big interview. The interview was tomorrow, and Carolina knew that Papi wanted this job from the way he cleared his throat whenever it came up: it was almost like a nervous cough, which Papi tried to stifle. Papi was ready, but something was missing. It gnawed at Carolina, made her jittery and kept her wide-awake.
She finally kicked off the covers and went downstairs.
Papi was already down there, reading silently by the light of a single lamp.
“Papi, don’t you have to go to bed? You don’t want to be tired tomorrow.”
Papi pulled a bookmark off of the end table and ca
refully marked his place. He put the book down without making a sound. “I should, but I couldn’t sleep. Neither can you, it seems.”
“At home we would have prayed before your interview,” Carolina said. “And we would have lit a candle next to the virgencita so that she could help you tomorrow.”
Papi smiled and rose to his feet. “Tía Cuca must have a virgencita here somewhere.” He took Carolina’s hand, and she felt small and safe as he led her through the dark rooms of the hollow house. “Tía Cuca and Uncle Porter are Catholic, too, you know.”
“But they don’t have any statues or saints,” Carolina said. At home, the virgencita had been there always, standing over the goldfish, and inside Mami had kept the Caridad del Cobre, the virgencita who had appeared to fishermen in Cuba, on her dresser to watch over their family. The saints had been mixed up in every part of their lives, but here the church seemed far away, something you did on Sundays and forgot the rest of the week.
They came to the kitchen, and Papi led her into the garage. They found one box labeled Christmas, and another labeled Nativity, like Tía Cuca’s neatly marked sewing bins.
“There has to be a María in here,” Papi said. “She’ll be happy to come out a few months early.”
She was porcelain, and a little cheesy-looking, but Carolina hoped the real virgencita wouldn’t mind. They carried her into the kitchen and lit a single birthday candle at her feet, and Carolina prayed in front of the counter, closing her eyes tightly.
Meanwhile, Papi took out his phone and played his music. The whistle of the Cuban flute wove its way into her, behind her eyelids and into her prayers. Let Papi get the job. Let him get it. The music and the prayers brought the lapping of the water in the little fountain to her mind, and made the gulf between here and there feel small and insignificant.
Papi put his hand on her shoulder. Let him get it, let him get it.
She realized now that she wasn’t praying for only Papi; she was praying for herself, for the growing part of her that wanted to be here, in Larksville.
They blew out the candle, which made the kitchen smell of ice cream cake. And after that, they both slept soundly.
* * *
—
The evening before their last camp day, Carolina and Gabriela sat at the kitchen island eating pistachios and spitting the shells into a bowl. From time to time Gabriela’s phone would light up with a new message from Alyssa or Jamie, which she would respond to with one hand, but most of the time the screen was dark. Everyone was waiting for Papi to hear back from his interview, which meant Mami and Tía Cuca were cleaning everything in sight, anxiously scrubbing and polishing each already-pristine surface of the house.
Tía Cuca was putting away the dishes and Mami was wiping the counter when a door slammed out front. Tía Cuca looked up from the dishwasher. “Are you expecting a friend, Gabs?”
Gabriela shook her head just as the doorbell rang.
They all went to the front window, as if the news about Papi’s position would be coming by mail, and looked at the pickup truck that had just pulled up in front of the house.
“I have a toy truck just like that,” Daniel said conversationally. “Except mine’s red, and we didn’t bring it to New York.” He tugged on Mami’s sleeve. “Did you put my red truck in storage, Mami?”
Mami shook her head, still staring out the window. Jennifer was walking through the hedges, down the path toward the front door of the house, while her dad waited in the car.
“I’ll go talk to her dad.” Mami handed the dishtowel she was holding to Carolina.
Before Mami could get to the entry, Daniel bounded to the door and opened it a crack.
“Who’s there?”
“Daniel!” Carolina pulled him away. “You’re supposed to ask that before you open.” Uncle Porter and Tía Cuca might leave their doors unlocked, but she thought Daniel should probably still get in the habit of asking.
Mami came up behind them, and Carolina let herself fade into the corner, holding Daniel by the shoulders. She heard the engine of the truck start again, and through the paneled windows on either side of the entry, she saw it rumble away, leaving Jennifer alone.
Jennifer stood in the doorway, not asking to come in, just standing there.
“Jennifer,” Mami said stiffly. “How nice to see you.”
“Hi. Can I see Carolina?”
Carolina gripped Daniel’s shoulders more tightly. A part of her wanted to shout hello, but another part of her wanted to shrink even farther into the corner, and disappear.
Mami sighed. “Jennifer, Carolina can’t come play right now.”
“I know you’re mad at me for getting Carolina in trouble,” Jennifer said, “but I promise that won’t happen again. I’ve never, ever gotten into trouble at camp before, and I’ve been going there since I was eight years old. Can’t I talk to Carolina for five minutes? Just five minutes? Please?”
Carolina saw that Mami was considering, torn between not wanting to say no to Jennifer’s face and not wanting to give in. “I think that’s enough for now, Jennifer,” said Mami quietly.
“Mami, wait.” Carolina let go of Daniel, and he ran away, back to the kitchen. “I want to talk to Jennifer. I think I should be allowed to.”
Mami raised her eyebrows. “You haven’t exactly inspired trust and confidence, Caro.”
“But we’ll stay right here this time. We’re not going to go anywhere, we’re just going to hang out at the house. Tía Cuca said I could have a friend over, remember?”
Shyly, Tía Cuca came into the entry. “I did say that, and I meant it.”
Mami paused, and Carolina tried to make her face look angelic, as angelic as Alyssa looked with her pink barrette. Mami checked her watch. “Okay, girls. You can talk for a little while, then Carolina has to help us get ready for dinner and I’ll drive Jennifer home. Agreed?”
“Deal!” Carolina thrust the door open the rest of the way, resisting the urge to give Jennifer an enormous bear hug. She grabbed Jennifer by the wrist. “Come on, we can go to my room.” For the first time, she was grateful for the bare, sterile room in the big house, now that she had Jennifer to share it with.
In Carolina’s room, with the door shut firmly behind them, Carolina did squeal with happiness. “I’ve missed you!” she gushed, surprised at the sound of her own voice. She sounded like Tía Cuca.
“Me too.” Jennifer took off her backpack and dropped it on the floor. “Lydia has us on such a tight leash, we can’t talk about anything anymore.” She turned to Caro. “I just wanted to see you again.”
Carolina breathed in deep. Shyly, as if she and Jennifer hadn’t been friends all summer, she said, “My mom is taking us to register for school next week. Maybe we’ll be in the same class.”
“Classes,” Jennifer corrected her. “Middle school, remember? We start changing classes every period next year.”
A rush of joy flooded Carolina, one like she hadn’t felt in months, maybe ever, at the thought of going to school, and of having a best friend. Gabriela was right: Mami could think what she wanted, could like different houses and different clothing, but that didn’t change Carolina and Jennifer. Carolina knew right then that she would always find a way to be with her best friend.
Sunlight bounced off her desk, and Carolina noticed how the wood gleamed without the familiar presence of her sketchbook to soften it. Melancholy crept back, and she looked at the floor. “What about the cottage? What will happen to it?”
Jennifer laughed darkly. “I don’t think Rogan Realty is going to keep it.”
There was a sharp rap at the door, and Gabriela let herself in the room, shutting the door behind her. “I couldn’t help overhearing what you were saying.”
“How?” Carolina asked. “That door is, like, made of titanium!”
“I was listening in,” s
aid Gabriela without a trace of guilt.
“Gabriela!” Jennifer said.
“I have an idea.”
“Gabriela,” Jennifer protested, “If you hadn’t gotten us lost—”
“Please, you were just as lost as I was.” Gabriela hopped onto Carolina’s bed. “I had an idea about how to save Silver Meadows. It just came to me last night.”
“Does it involve your and Alyssa’s dads not buying the farm?”
“Jennifer, that wouldn’t work anyway. Come on, you have to admit that Lydia wants to sell the farm. She’s old. She’s tired. She’s sick of cleaning up after cows.”
“You make it sound so awful,” Jennifer muttered.
“But here’s the thing,” Gabriela said. “Someone else might want to farm that land one day.”
“They can’t, not if there are a bunch of new houses,” Carolina said.
Gabriela grinned mischievously. “That’s just the thing. What if Lydia made sure that it can’t be filled up with houses, even after she sells it?”
Something clicked in Carolina’s mind. “You mean”—what were they called—“the conservation people?”
“Exactly.”
Carolina turned to Jennifer. “Do you remember that day we were asking Lydia permission—George said something about the conservation people?”
“My dad talks about them all the time,” Gabriela went on. “They buy the rights to farm on the land, so even if Lydia moves, or sells it, the land has to be used for woods and farms. Sometimes all of it, sometimes just a part.” Gabriela beamed. “Isn’t that a great idea?”
Carolina wrinkled her brow. “But if the conservation people already called Lydia, why didn’t she just do it?”
The house phone rang, and Carolina jumped to her feet. It could be Papi calling from his cell phone. He might have heard about the job already. She opened the door and ran to the top of the stairs, Jennifer and Gabriela close behind her. Listening intently, all they could hear was Mami saying, “Uh-huh” and “Okay” from time to time. Her voice didn’t reveal any emotion.