“I’m so sorry I couldn’t have y’all over to the house for a bite to eat,” Barbie says. “It’s just that my man here is painting the kitchen cabinets for me.” She leans over to kiss him on the cheek.
“It smells awful over there,” Bo says. “Phoenix said I had to use oil-based paint, or it would all come right back off. But I don’t know what the hell I’m doing.”
“You’re doin’ just fine, baby.” Barbie pulls a pack of Oreos out of the desk and offers them to Ty, then to me.
Ty takes a big handful and grins wide. I can tell that he likes this couple. I think I do too.
“My kitchen’s gonna look so pretty,” Barbie says. “He helped me pick out the color.”
“You mean Phoenix?” I ask quietly, taking a cookie.
“Well, yes, sweetheart.” Barbie sits down next to me and sets the cookies onto the floor.
“That kid knows damn near everything there is to know,” Bo tells me. “I mean, about fixing places up and building and shit like that.”
I guess that’s another thing I didn’t know about Phoenix. I thought he just knew gardens.
“How’s our Phoenix doin’?” Barbie puts her hand gently on my knee.
I appear unable to produce an answer, because I don’t know. Oh God. I wish I knew. I haven’t spoken to Phoenix—not since I screamed at him and called him a liar. I want to talk to him, but I don’t think he wants to talk to me. He told Sally and Amanda it would be better if we didn’t talk, and I think maybe he was right. Not because I was mad at him, but because I needed to pull myself together, to work on getting better. The last thing Phoenix needs right now is to deal with my messes, my issues, my stupid drama.
Ty jumps in to say something. He’s good at that—breaking awkward silences. “He got really lucky. His ICE officer—you know what that is?”
“Phoenix explained it all to us,” Barbie replies.
“Anyway, he arranged it so that Phoenix could go out to California, to be with his brother until he gets deported.”
I didn’t realize Ty had been paying so much attention to all this. I’m sort of impressed.
“That’s what he told us,” Barbie says. “He calls sometimes.”
Phoenix calls Barbie but doesn’t call me. That feels sort of like a punch in the gut. But it’s my fault—I know that now.
“Did Phoenix tell you that never happens. Like, never?” Ty asks. “I guess it was because his brother had some problems. And they thought Phoenix could help.”
“Ari?” Barbie asks. “That’s his brother’s name, right? He’s talkin’ again?”
“Yeah,” I say quietly. “I saw Amanda and Sally yesterday—do you know who they are?”
“Yes, honey. We know,” Barbie says gently.
“They told me he’s much better now. He’s in a foster home out there.”
“So, our Phoenix is living the life out there in Cali,” Bo says.
“Not for long,” Ty says. “If he doesn’t agree to appeal by the end of the week, he’ll be sent back to El Salvador, like, soon.”
I told Bree all this last night, after I got home from Sally and Amanda’s. Needless to say, it’s surprising that she’s shared it all with Ty, and that he paid enough attention to get the facts straight.
“Well, that’s just downright crazy.” Barbie stands up and starts to pace. “He didn’t tell us that! He can’t do that!”
“That boy’s gonna get himself killed if he goes back. You know that, right?”
Yes, I know.
“I’m going out there,” I whisper, looking down at my hands. “To see if I can get him to appeal.”
It’s the first time I’ve said it—to myself or to anyone. I don’t know if it will work, but I need to try.
“That’s awesome,” Ty says, and at the same time, Barbie sighs.
“Oh, baby,” she tells me, “that’s a good idea. He’ll listen to you. I know he will.”
I wish I were so sure. He won’t even talk to me. But he doesn’t have to talk. That’s what I keep telling myself. He just has to listen, and I need something to tell him—some piece of information, some argument that will convince him.
“Phoenix doesn’t think he has a chance,” I tell them. “And he doesn’t want to waste the money. Sally and Amanda would have to pay for it, and I guess he’s sort of having a hard time with that.”
“Stubborn kid.” Bo shakes his head. “Wouldn’t let me take off that damn tattoo, either. Not until he earned it doing odd jobs around this place.”
I look up at Bo. “He wanted you to take it off?”
“Hell, yeah. That’s why he came in here in the first place. He hated that thing with a passion—brought back a lot of memories he’d rather keep buried, if you know what I mean.”
Yes, I know what you mean.
“Did he tell you?” I ask. “How he got it?”
“I know,” Ty says.
Ty knows?
“He told me that day in the garden, after we went Downtown, you remember?”
Do I remember the night we went Downtown? Yes, I remember.
“He was worried about you. I asked him if you two were, like, a thing and he said he wanted to be, but he felt like he should tell you some stuff about his past.”
“What stuff?” I ask.
“He pretty much got forced to join a gang when he was thirteen. They were trying to take money from his grandma—you know, like extortion?”
“He told you this?” I’m feeling a little dizzy, so I grab my seat with both hands and grasp tight.
“Kid didn’t do anything,” Bo adds. “He helped them with some petty theft for a few weeks. They got him drunk and gave him that ugly-ass tattoo, and the first time they tried to make him do some truly bad shit, the kid ran away.”
“He told you, too?” I ask Bo.
“He wanted you to know.” Barbie leans over to touch my knee. “He wasn’t hiding it. He was just so worried he would upset you. He didn’t want to upset you.”
“I told him to wait and tell you later,” Ty says. “I’m sorry. I guess maybe I did the wrong thing, but it didn’t really seem to matter much. Phoenix was such a stand-up guy—I mean, he’s, like, so honest and real. And, I felt like he was so good for you, and you were so—”
“Oh, baby,” Barbie breaks in. “He thought you were just too—“
“Fragile.” I whisper. “I was—I guess maybe I still am.”
“You’re a lot better, Gretchen,” Ty says. “Dudes!” He’s talking to Bo and Barbie now. “When I first started hanging out with this girl, she was a total wreck—a real basket case.”
“You mean, when you bit me in preschool and I had to get a tetanus shot?”
“Nah, I’m talking about once Bree and I got together.” He gives me a little shove. “Sorry about that, by the way,” he says, grinning sheepishly.
I laugh, and so do Bo and Barbie. “We go way back,” I explain to them.
Ty leans forward and exclaims: “See, girl! I’m telling you: you’re way better now.”
And even though he called me “girl,” I’m okay with it, because I know he’s right.
“Anyway,” I say, “Phoenix’s lawyer says he could have a chance of getting asylum in California. I guess the judges out there are nicer, or more lenient, or something.”
“And it’s just the money that’s stopping him?” Barbie asks. “That’s not right.”
“Not just the money,” Bo says quietly. “The boy messed up. He was around when some bad shit happened, and even though he left it behind, he can’t forgive himself for letting it go down.”
“Do you have any information, maybe?” Ty says. “Did he tell you anything that could help Gretchen convince him to appeal?”
“Information?” Bo leans forward and grabs the edges of Barbie’s chair. “Here’s what I know. Phoenix Flores Flores is a good kid. But all he sees is the bad—thinks he ain’t worth shit—to no one. Thinks the whole world would be better off without him.” He pause
s and puts his hand on Barbie’s shoulder. “I know what that feels like, don’t I, baby?”
She looks up at him, takes his hand in hers. “Yes, you do.”
“All that boy needs,” Bo says, squeezing Barbie’s hand, “is somebody to show him what he’s worth.”
Ty puts his arm around my shoulders, and Barbie pats me on the knee.
“I don’t know how.”
“It’s easy, baby,” Barbie coos at me. “It’s real easy. All you have to do is love him.”
I look up at her. She’s so kind. “I can do that.” I nod. “I can love him. I mean, if he’ll let me.”
“Yes, you can,” she says, “and he will let you. I know he will.” She leans over and wraps me in a hug. I stay there for a while, not wanting to move. Her hug feels good. So we hug, and we listen to Ty and Bo talking.
“When’s she headed out to California?” Bo asks quietly.
“I don’t know,” Ty whispers. “But it’s gonna have to be soon.”
They’re quiet for a few seconds, and I’m still resting in Barbie’s hug.
“Listen,” Bo says to Ty. “Do me a favor.”
“Sure, yeah.”
“Come by here in a couple of days, before she heads out there. I got somethin’ I wanna send out to Phoenix.”
“Yeah, absolutely,” Ty says, his voice animated. “I can do that.”
That makes me feel good, hearing him say that.
We stay for a while, and Bo and Barbie tell us about the first time they met Phoenix, about how he was trying to convince them he was an ex-con, and all they saw was a scared kid. Phoenix talked to them about a lot of things, I guess all the things I never let him tell me, because I was too wrapped up in my own messed-up head. Anyway, it’s not easy to hear those things, but it’s good, too. It makes me feel like I know him better. It makes me miss him too.
God, I miss him so much.
Ty and I say our good-byes and promise we will keep them posted on any news. He and Bo exchange phone numbers, and Bo says he’ll text when he’s ready for Ty to come by.
After a few more hugs, we get into Ty’s car.
“That was—”
“Great!” Ty says. “Those two are awesome.”
“Yeah,” I tell him. I put on my seat belt and then dig Phoenix’s phone out of my purse.
There is one other number in the call history. It’s an international number, probably from El Salvador. Phoenix called it every morning at the same time. Usually, he only talked for two or three minutes, but sometimes the calls were longer. I have been trying to work up the nerve to call, or to find a Spanish speaker to do it. I figure whoever he has been calling every day probably doesn’t speak much English. And if I want information, I need to be able to say more than Me llamo Gretchen.
“Hey, Ty,” I say. “You wouldn’t happen to take Spanish, would you?”
“Hell, yeah!” he replies. “AP Spanish, baby! Just got a five on my exam.”
I laugh out loud, mostly at myself, for getting Ty so wrong. “Wanna do me one more favor?” I ask him.
He nods vigorously, and I hand him the phone.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
PHOENIX
ARI AND I ARE OUT here getting pummeled by the waves.
It’s turned into sort of a thing for us, ever since we got to California. Ari’s not in school yet. He starts next week, so we have a little time to explore. We wake up early every morning and walk down to Balboa. We go into Dunkin’ Donuts, and I buy him a doughnut and me some coffee. I like doughnuts and all, but I can’t put that shit in my stomach before the sun’s even up. Especially not the kind Ari gets, those ones with a bunch of icing on the outside.
We take the bus down to Newport Beach. It’s a long ride. Ari always falls back asleep, even with all that sugar in his veins. I watch out the window and think about how lucky I am to have this time with Ari. It feels good—moving fast out of town.
I have to get my ticket back to El Salvador tomorrow, so that I can show it to my new ICE officer. She’s a lady. She doesn’t joke around with me like Officer Worth did, but she’s all right. Just doing her job. Since I’m not gonna appeal, I need to go into her office and show that I have a ticket, or else I go back to detention. I’m not going back there.
I have to fly out in three weeks. I’m not sure what scares me more: getting back on an airplane or landing in San Salvador. Both are gonna suck. At least I don’t have to go on the government plane, though. At least I won’t be handcuffed, chained to a bunch of strangers.
I’m not letting Sally and Amanda pay for the ticket. They’ve done too much already. I’m gonna borrow the money from one of the priests who works with Sister Mary Margaret. I used to help out around his parish when I had free time. She’s pissed at me for not appealing, so she wouldn’t give me his number. I found it on my own, though, and he was pretty cool about helping me pay for the ticket. He owes me, I guess—for all the free labor I gave him, fixing sinks and toilets in that old, run-down church of his.
Until I leave, I can go anywhere in California. I’m still wearing a stupid ankle bracelet, but I have a radius of way more than twenty miles with this one. It doesn’t matter. I don’t really have anywhere else to go—not yet.
I don’t care if people see it anymore—the ankle bracelet. The other day, when I went with Ari to check out his new school, I saw a kid wearing one to registration. The kid was, like, fourteen. He didn’t seem embarrassed at all. He wasn’t even trying to hide the thing. I guess it made me realize it’s not such a big deal.
So I don’t try to cover it, not out here. The stupid tattoo, though. That’s a different story. There are a bunch of guys around where Ari is living now who would know what that thing’s all about. I’m guessing a few of them have the same one. There’s not a chance in hell I’m gonna let them see it—and think I belong to them. So I never take my shirt off. Not even out here on the beach.
We like to get here early—it’s usually just the surfers and us, down by the pier. They pretty much leave us alone. Today there are a bunch of surfers, because the swells are big. I like to sit on the sand and watch them. It’s pretty cool, the way those guys paddle out there and chill on their boards until the right time comes. There are some girls, too. They’re really good surfers, those girls—better than most of the guys out there, to tell the truth.
Ari won’t let me watch for long, though. He’s teaching me how to body surf.
I’m way out here in California, hiding out from all the things—and people—that scare the hell out of me. So I figure I should probably man up and face at least one of my fears. This one seems like an okay choice. Plus, Ari loves this shit. Every time he catches a wave, he screams at the top of his lungs, which is awesome. I mean, hearing him yell, after all those months of silence. It’s worth getting slammed into the shore a few times for that.
Sally was right. It hurts like hell sometimes, but—every once in a while—when you catch the perfect wave, for a few seconds it feels like you’re flying.
The first time Ari and I came out here, I made myself a little promise: I was gonna keep at it until I caught one of those perfect waves. After I catch it—after I fly—I let myself go back up to the shore. Ari, though, he wants, like, fifty of them, every time we come out here. It’s cool, though. That kid deserves a few perfect waves.
Ari and I are out deep, watching the waves roll in. Usually there are three or four waves in a set. The first is never the best. That’s what Ari told me. So we both float over the first one. The second one’s bigger.
“Es mia!”
Ari claims it. It starts to break before it gets to me, so I duck under. It’s amazing, how even a really rough wave can feel so still if you get up under it. You know all kinds of craziness is happening over your head, but it’s calm and quiet down underneath.
I turn around to face the shore before I come back up. I learned that the tough way—a few too many waves slamming into my face. I’d rather not see them coming.
I stand up, and a wave hits the back of my head. No big deal. I jump and look toward the shore, wanting to see Ari cruising out on the edge of that wave, wanting to hear him scream. But the hit must have been harder than I thought, because I’m, like, seeing things.
I’m hallucinating, or something.
She’s standing still at the edge of the surf, looking right at me, through the mist coming off all those breaking waves. The sun is on her cheeks, lighting up her orange-blond hair.
Gretchen.
I run my hand over my face. I blink, feeling the sting of salt in my eyes. When I open them, she’s still there. Her hand is reaching into the air, and she’s waving. At me.
Oh Christ. Gretchen is here, on a beach in California, waving at me.
I move through the surf, feeling it tug against my arms and legs. I’m walking, paddling with my arms to get traction. And then the ocean lets me go, and I move toward her as fast as I can.
I shake the water out of my hair, try to wring out my T-shirt. She’s walking into the water, closing the distance between us.
When she gets close, she reaches out and takes my hand in hers.
“Hi,” she says. I can barely hear her voice, so soft under the roar of the ocean.
I can’t say anything. All I can do is touch her hair, her face.
“I miss you,” she tells me, letting her eyes close.
I nod, and then I wrap my arms around her.
My cold, wet body leans into hers, warm and dry. I feel the wind pushing at us, the water splashing around my ankles. I feel the sand under my feet and the salt pulling at my skin. I feel my shirt, heavy and wet against her. I feel a shiver run through her body. I feel everything.
I don’t want to, but I pull back, worried that I’m making her cold.
“Sorry about that.” I’m touching the damp circle on her T-shirt.
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