“Good. Give her a snack and try to distract her. I’ll call you in an hour or so.”
I turned to go inside for Maggie when Nana grabbed hold of my arm. “Please light the Santa Ana and Mary candles when you get back to the house.”
Nana had said an hour, but that hour grew fat and round until it felt like it would explode. Each second ticked by at the pace of Earth rotating around the sun. Outside, the trees bent to the wind’s command. I wanted to run with it all the way to Costa Rica. Or to anywhere that death and sickness couldn’t climb the walls and come inside.
“You wanna play a game?” Maggie asked as she stroked Frida gently on her lap.
“You know how to play Go Fish?” I asked.
“Yeah. I know where the cards are.” She set Frida down and ran to the kitchen. She returned with a deck of cards with little cherubs’ faces on the backs.
We sat on the floor around the coffee table in the living room. Maggie scattered the cards on the table and pushed them back into a neat pile.
“Hey, Maggie, why do you call her Gip?”
“When I was really little I couldn’t say grandma, so I put grandma and her name, Pauline, together to make ‘Gip.’ Sounds better, don’t you think?”
I nodded.
“You deal,” I said.
Maggie was intent, dealing out the cards one by one, but her shoulders, slumping into her chest, and her arms hanging like limp spaghetti noodles made her look small and hollow, as if there were nothing inside to hold her up.
I studied her little face. She had a small brown spot on her left cheek.
“Is that a birthmark?” I pointed at the spot.
She touched her cheek. “Yeah. Gip says it’s where Jesus kissed me before I left heaven.”
“I have one too. I stuck out my lower lip to show her the small white dot I’d had since birth. “See?”
She frowned. “Jesus loves you more.”
“Why would you say that?”
“’Cause he kissed you on the lips.”
I rubbed my bottom lip and wondered if Jesus really had favorites. If he did, I didn’t feel like one of them.
Maggie won six games of Go Fish before she grew bored and plopped onto the sofa. “Will you tell me a story?”
“I don’t know any good ones.” I yearned to create a story just for Maggie, to make her feel better, safer. But nothing came to me.
Maggie rested her head on a pillow, yellow curls circling her face. She pulled her knees into her chest, her small arms wrapped around Frida, and soon gave in to sleep. Her pale face appeared ghostly in the afternoon’s gray light.
I stood at the back window watching the cottonwoods sway to the pulse of the wind. Steel-gray clouds loomed above the village and the scent of rain and earth floated into the house.
When Nana finally got home, her shoulders slumped, making her seem smaller than usual. My heart twisted like yerba roots plowing into the ground to see her face so limp and long.
“How is she, Nana?” I whispered as we walked past Maggie.
Nana took me out back and we sat under the long portal. Silence filled the space between us. Even the cicada bugs settled into a hush, saving their song for a sunnier day.
Nana gazed across the yard as though the words she needed hung at the edge of the approaching storm, close enough to taste but too far to touch. “Each of us comes into this life with only a thread of time to live our essence. Some threads are shorter than others.
“Like your father. His thread was short, his journey interrupted. Gip’s has been long and it is time for her to leave this world.”
Nana patted my leg. “We must help Maggie now, so that her journey is one of joy. We are all she has.”
“I don’t understand. Can’t you heal her?”
“Gip has been sick a long time, mija. We knew this day was coming. She has an illness in her brain that cannot be cured, and sometimes she loses her eyesight and falls, like today. And it has only gotten worse.” Tears eased down Nana’s worn face. “You see, mija, when it is your time to leave, nothing can stop that. Even the brightest star in our universe will burn out someday.”
“How long does she have?”
“I prayed for another day so that Maggie could say good-bye. I will take her tomorrow. And you too, if you’d like.”
We sat hand in hand in the worn leather chairs that, just weeks before, had held the joy and laughter of a birthday celebration. I could almost hear the echoes of that memory on the tips of the breeze, but within minutes rain plunged from the sky and washed them away.
14
Becoming a Big Sister
The next morning, Nana sat silently in the front passenger seat as Mr. Castillo trailed the long line of cars on the highway. Maggie slumped against the window, staring out at the humming traffic.
The city of Albuquerque hurried all around me. There was no whispering wind, no safe cocoon, only black asphalt and concrete buildings. The buildings and bridges had no roots; they just sat on the surface of Earth, temporary tenants of the desert.
I turned my baseball over in my hand, staring at the words. In the afternoon sun, the blue ink appeared even brighter as I traced my finger over the two humps of the letter M.
Suddenly M Street seemed a million miles away. And right then, I knew it would never be home.
When we arrived at the hospital, the smell of bad things pushed up my nose. I wondered how long we would have to be here.
Gip lay so still that I thought we were too late. Maggie crawled up into the bed and laid her head on Gip’s chest. I had never seen anyone die and I didn’t want to. Nana followed me into the hallway.
“It’s not right,” I said, shaking my head back and forth. “How can this happen—and in a hospital?”
“What do you mean?” Nana asked.
“Gip should die at home, in the village. It’s so lonely here, and white. There’s no color at all.”
Nana wrapped her arms around me, and I wanted so much to let out the hot stinging tears welling up inside of me, but they refused to come.
“You are right, mija. We need to take her home.”
The smell of death had silently crawled into every crevice of Gip’s house. In the distance a dog barked and Frida’s ears perked up. Then she blinked her shiny green eyes at me and crawled into my lap. The world grew silent again except for a ticking clock hanging on the wall. I was sitting sprawled on the floor just outside of Gip’s bedroom, rolling my baseball beneath my palm. A cool wind floated through an open window and settled beside me.
Frida’s belly rose and fell slowly, and in no time she was asleep. Soon my breathing matched hers, and my body became still and quiet. I felt weightless, like I might float away on the lingering wind while Nana and Maggie prayed over Gip. I wanted to thank her for the piece of happiness she had given me when she talked about my dad, but I couldn’t bring myself to watch her die.
Gip died on a Saturday. She’d held on through the night, one day longer than Nana had prayed for. Maggie stayed with her until the end, stroking her hair and tickling her face with yarn.
Monday, we bowed our heads to pray as we sat down for lunch.
Nana spoke softly, “Dear Lord, thank you for—”
“I don’t like God. He’s mean. He takes everyone away.” Maggie slithered off her chair and collapsed on the floor sobbing.
I felt so helpless watching her. Nana fell to her knees, scooped Maggie into her arms, and rocked her back and forth as she sang:
“Sana, sana, colita de rana.
Si no sanas hoy, sanarás mañana.
Get well and feel better little frog.
If not today then maybe tomorrow.”
Nana stroked Maggie’s hair, and tears spilled into the yellow swirls as she chanted the same song over and over until Maggie slept.
I helped Nana carry her to my bedroom. “I’m sorry about Gip, Nana.”
Nana looped her arm in mine as we walked down the hall. “Death sweeps the earth,
but has no power in el cielo. Heaven is where we will really know those we love. She is gone only for a short moment. Remember that.”
I didn’t understand what Nana meant. I felt like my dad had been gone for more than a short moment. Sadness climbed up my bones and I wondered if color would ever come back into this house again.
Two days later, everyone in the village gathered to celebrate Gip’s life. She hadn’t wanted a burial, so we scattered her ashes in the Rio Grande. Standing on the riverbank as the rushing water pounded at my ears and the scorching sun burned my bare arms, I thought a lot about my dad. I didn’t hear any wind whispers that day. Instead, the air felt tight and hot.
After the river ceremony, I passed around trays of tamales, chile rellenos, tacos, and pan dulce to all the friends who came back to Nana’s.
“It was a beautiful service, Izzy. Don’t you think?” Tía asked as she reached for the last piece of pan dulce.
“Yes.”
“Reminded me of your papa’s funeral. So beautiful to celebrate a good life.”
But it didn’t seem beautiful at all—just empty.
Later, after all the celebrating, I found Nana on a stepladder, stretching a strip of black crepe paper across the top of the front door.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“It is an old tradition. Our mourning is over when the sun, wind, or rain takes the paper away.”
We stared for a moment at the black strip.
“Did you do this for my dad?”
Nana wrapped her arm around my waist. “Sí.”
Nana pointed to the black paper. “I do this because my mama did it, but like the paper, these traditions will someday float away. There was a time when women went into mourning after a family death and could not be seen in public, only in church.”
“I’m glad that tradition floated away. You think it’s possible to miss someone you never even knew? Can you ever be really happy after someone dies?”
Nana stepped down and gave me a squeeze. “You will always feel his absence but you can still find joy. Like now, we are sad but that doesn’t mean we can’t smile or that life won’t ever be normal again.” She folded the stepladder and set it against the house. “You shouldn’t feel bad for moments of joy. Gip would want us to be happy. And so would your papa.”
Nana unwound the hose and sprayed water over the garden in the front courtyard; a faint rainbow appeared in the mist. “We must find our way back to joy. Bit by bit. And some of us will find it sooner than others.”
I wondered how long it would take Maggie to find her way back. “What will happen to Maggie now?” I asked.
“Gip asked that I raise her. She made legal arrangements a few months ago. We are the only family she has now.” Nana looked me in the eye and smiled softly, “You must be a sister to her for the rest of the summer.”
I bit my lower lip. A sister? Wasn’t a sister someone you were friends with forever and ever, not just a summer? I pinched a small petal from a pink geranium in a nearby pot and caressed its smooth, velvety surface between my thumb and forefinger, careful not to tear it. I wasn’t sure if I liked the idea of being a big sister to someone. But even though Gip was gone from this world, the little piece of happiness she had given me on that first day was still in my heart, and I held it as a treasure. I knew I owed it to Gip to be the best sister possible to Maggie.
15
$9.50 Under Budget
Each new day pushed scraps of sadness out of our lives and invited little bits of joy back in. Maggie seemed to absorb the joy the best. Maybe it was Nana’s tortillas, or maybe she was too young to stay sad for long. Mostly, I think it was the stories Nana whispered to Maggie at night before bed.
One Friday night, Maggie lay in my bed. I learned part of being a good big sister meant sharing my room. Maggie rested her head in Nana’s lap and made circles in the air with her yarn for Frida to chase.
“Do you have any new stories about Gip?” she asked Nana.
I sat at my desk and doodled on a story card, unsure of what to write.
Nana stroked Maggie’s hair slowly.
“Sí. What kind of story would you like to hear?”
“What about one with Gip and Izzy’s dad?” Maggie rolled her head to the left and glanced at me before turning back to Nana. “Do you have that kind of story?”
I set my pen down and waited. I never grew tired of Nana’s memories.
Nana folded her small hands in her lap. “Well, one summer, Gip wanted to reset the tile floors in her house, but she couldn’t do it alone. Gip didn’t have much money that year. She received many quotes from different tile layers, and with each new one she would throw her hands in the air and say, ‘Can you believe the money these people want? Do they think I’m the queen of England?’
“One night, I went to Gip’s with Izzy’s mama and papa for a small dinner, and there she was—on her hands and knees with a chisel and hammer—tearing up the whole floor.”
I smiled a little at the memory of Mom tearing up our kitchen counter. Maybe Gip had given her the idea.
Nana laughed. “We had all thought we were coming for dinner, but really we spent the whole night tearing up that old floor until we had no choice but to fix the mess we’d made.” Nana scooted Maggie’s head onto the pillow and tilted her chin upward so she could look her in the eye.
“And that’s the kind of spirit Gip had. She always found a way. And that same week she and Izzy’s papa went all over Albuquerque searching for leftover tile from building supply stores. She’d said that if he could help her stay under budget, she’d pay him all the money that was left over.”
“Didn’t she want her floor to match?” I asked.
Nana shook her head. “She didn’t want perfection, just comfort.”
She continued. “After about a week, Izzy’s papa had found tiles on clearance that were a bit damaged, but Gip didn’t mind. She said they would just add to the uniqueness of her home.”
“Did he get all the tiles under budget?” I asked.
“No. But he never told Gip the actual cost. Instead he asked a few villagers if they would donate some money for her new floor, and when it was all said and done, he had more than enough. Your papa knew Gip was very proud and probably wouldn’t take anyone’s money, so he kept the villagers’ donations quiet. And when he told her he had managed to stay nine-fifty under budget, Gip grabbed her purse and paid him right away.” Nana’s eyes danced the way they always did when she shared a happy memory. “He spent the next few weeks finding the right fit for each tile and setting them beautifully. Gip always said that wherever you labored with love, a small piece of you would stay there forever. So Izzy, a part of your papa still lives in that house.”
My heart swelled with pride as Nana’s words wrapped themselves around us like a quilt, each piece sewn together with hope and love.
16
Fireworks
By the next Saturday, we’d found a different reason to celebrate. Mateo stood in front of the grill waving the smoke with one arm as he turned the hot dogs.
Nana skulked behind him, watching everything he did like a mama bird. “Do you know what’s in those things? A whole lot of factory grown nonsense.”
“Come on, Nana. You always cook for us, and now it’s the Fourth of July so we’re grilling California style.” I giggled at how uncomfortable she looked having someone else do the cooking. “We even have fresh watermelon from the farmers’ market.”
“Is this what your mother feeds you?” she asked.
“Sometimes.” I looped my arm in hers as we walked across the lawn toward the shade of the portal. “When we lived on Paradise Place there was this little grill by the laundry room outside that all the tenants shared. But you couldn’t use the grill for more than fifteen minutes at a time, so we always cooked hot dogs since they’re so fast.”
Nana shook her head. “Cooking is an art. It’s not about how fast it gets done.”
Under the porta
l, Tía fanned her face with a red, white, and blue striped paper napkin and patted Nana’s arm as she sat down next to her. “Oh come on, relax for once.” She took two slices of cucumbers from the tray on the table, leaned her head back, and placed them over her eyes. “It’s like a day at the beauty shop, right here in your own backyard.”
Bubbles floated across the lawn and Frida leapt in the air to catch them. “You have to be faster, Frida,” Maggie called from beneath the large cottonwood tree in the middle of the yard where she sat with her bubble wand.
“Look what I have!” Mr. Castillo shouted as he walked across the lawn balancing an armful of colorful boxes, the top one teetering. Mateo and I both ran to meet him and we each took a box.
“Fireworks!” Mateo shouted.
Maggie dropped her bubble wand on the lawn and dashed toward us.
“Cool,” I said. “You’re allowed to set off your own?”
“Up on the mesa above the village, where there aren’t any trees. The whole village comes to watch. It’s a tradition,” Mateo said.
Mom and I didn’t really have any Fourth of July traditions in California—except eating hot dogs. Every year she had a new plan for how to spend the holiday: We’d watch fireworks at the park, the beach, or even a grocery store parking lot because they were offering free hot dogs that year. The summer we lived on Elm Street, we tried to watch them from our third-floor apartment balcony. I had to lean over the edge and really far to the right just to see the tip-tops of the fireworks. That made Mom nervous, so she made me sit and listen to them, instead, while she tried to grill dinner inside on a new skillet she’d just bought.
Now, the familiar smell of hot dogs smoking on the grill made me miss Mom. She would’ve eaten two, with salsa on top, instead of ketchup or mustard.
After grace, we dug into the dogs, chips and salsa, sliced cucumbers—or what was left of them—and fresh cut watermelon. I watched Nana sprinkle salsa across her dog and smiled.
Tía stood and smoothed her hands over her tight green dress. “This is not at all good for my figure. I look like a sausage! I have to start exercising.” As she fanned her face her body jiggled like a column of lime Jell-O. Maggie giggled, and a blob of ketchup dribbled from the side of her mouth.
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