Clipped Wings

by Toby Neal

  “Your brother and sister. Sleeping in Momi’s office.”

  Josef’s head flew up like a startled deer. “We never meant no harm.”

  “I know that. And I want to help you.”

  But Josef was backing away, the metal rice scoop held up in front of him like a sword as he tried to angle around her toward the office door. “Please don’t turn us in. They’ll put us in cages at the border. Separate us . . .”

  “I know, Josef, I know, and I’m so sorry for whatever’s happened to make you have to do this. Live like this.” Rosario held out her hands to try to cut him off from making a dash to the door, alerting his siblings. “Please. Sit down with me. Let me fix us a cup of hot chocolate and talk things over. I have an idea I’d like to run by you.” She slowly closed her arms and made prayer hands, letting her emotion show in her eyes as she pleaded with him. “Please, Josef. Have I ever done anything to hurt you?”

  The boy slowly lowered the metal spoon. “No, Aunty. You’ve been so good to me.”

  “Well then. Trust me a little, won’t you?” She let a little of her hurt creep into her voice as she took a couple of big china mugs off the rack and held them under the instant hot water tap, filling them with piping-hot water. “You know where the chocolate is. And get us a couple of marshmallows, too.”

  Josef cocked his head, eyeing her from beneath the floppy black bangs on his forehead. Rosario paid no mind, opening a nearby drawer for a pair of spoons, but she let out a breath of relief when he turned and went to the dry goods storage cabinet, bringing down a canister of excellent quality chocolate she saved for special desserts—and moments like these. He grabbed the bag of marshmallows as well.

  “Go sit down at my little table.” She pointed.

  Right next to the swinging doors that separated the kitchen from the restaurant’s dining room was a small square table covered in oilcloth and stacked with restaurant supply catalogs. Whenever she wasn’t cooking or in Momi’s office, Rosario could be found there, keeping an eye on the dining room and resting her feet on a footstool under the table. A second folding chair leaned against the wall, for when she had to talk to an employee for some reason.

  She and Josef had already had several sit-downs at her “conference table,” as the staff called her special spot.

  Rosario heaped their cups with a generous portion of cocoa, stirred it in, and decorated the tops with marshmallows. She carried the mugs over to the table. Josef was already seated on the folding chair, his long legs extended but flexed, as if at any moment he would jump up and run.

  And he might still do just that.

  She pushed a mug over to him, along with a spoon. “I like to let mine sit for a few minutes. Let it cool a bit, let the marshmallows melt.” She stirred hers gently.

  Josef made no move to take the cocoa. “How can you help us?”

  “You and your brother and sister can come live with me. We don’t say anything to anyone unless we have to.” Rosario blew on her cocoa, and took a careful sip. “You are already known here as my busboy, someone I regard as a hanai son. If we have to, we will tell people that you children are staying with me for a while, since your parents are working out of town.”

  “What is hanai?”

  “In Hawaii, hanai is an informal form of adoption. We can ‘adopt’ a child of a friend or relative and it becomes as if they were blood.”

  Josef’s eyes dropped and his lower lip trembled. He picked up his spoon and tentatively stirred his cocoa. “You think of me that way? As a son?”

  “I do,” Rosario said steadily. “Where are your parents, Josef?”

  “They’re dead.”

  She had suspected that might be the case, but the flatness and finality with which he said the words made her clutch her heart. “Auwe! I’m so sorry.”

  Josef kept his eyes down. He took a sip of cocoa. “They were killed by a drug gang.”

  “Why?”

  “My father carried drugs across the border for one of the cartels. He did it to pay for Mama and us kids to get passage into the United States. Then he got caught by a rival gang. They made an example out of him and Mama. At least, that’s what I think happened. That’s what the newspaper said.”

  “Oh no.” Rosario covered her mouth with a hand. “How did you escape?”

  “We had a secret place under the house they had made for us if we had to hide. I was here at the restaurant, working, when it happened. My brother and sister hid when the men came to the house. When I came home from work, I found them.” Josef still wouldn’t look at her, but now his hand was shaking so badly the cocoa spilled out onto the tablecloth. “I got Isabella and Carlos out of the house. I didn’t let them see anything, what happened to our parents. But since then, we have been going to school during the day, and then hiding here after dark.” He sipped his hot chocolate, and the cup rattled against his teeth. “I didn’t know where else to go, what I could do to take care of them.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me? Let me help you sooner?” Rosario reached over and caught his hand in one of hers. “Surely you knew I would help you.”

  “I couldn’t take the chance,” Josef said woodenly. “My brother and sister—all we have is each other. Our family is gone in Mexico. All from the cartels.”

  “You’re hiding from them?”

  Josef nodded. “I was afraid to go to anyone. They could find us. And if it was immigration, we would be separated. Deported . . .” Fear widened his eyes. “You won’t turn us in? Or kick us out? You promise?”

  “Josef.” Rosario patted the back of the boy’s hand as she held it. She wished she could hug him, but he was too afraid, too traumatized. Maybe someday. “You are going to find out what ‘ohana’ means in Hawaiian culture. We care for our own. You and your brother and sister are family now.” She stood up. “Take me in and introduce me.”

  “Yes, Aunty.” He stood, and led her to the door of the office.

  “How did you get in?” she whispered, pointing to the door’s keyhole.

  Josef ducked his head in shame. “I made a copy of Aunty Momi’s key. I’m sorry. But we never took anything except things you were already throwing away.”

  “I know.” Rosario laid a hand on his slender shoulder, unable to keep from touching him. “It’s okay.”

  Josef opened the door, and turned on the lamp on the desk.

  Immediately the children sat up.

  Rosario stifled a gasp—they were so adorable! They both had Josef’s large, brown, long-lashed eyes. The little boy’s hair was a tangled mass of curls, the girl’s fell down her back in a thick black braid. They’d only taken off their shoes and were still wearing street clothes that looked like they’d been worn for days. Covered by flour sacks, they looked like what they were—beautiful, sweet, scared orphans in need of love, food, and a clean home.

  Her heart melted as she smiled. “Aloha, keiki. That means ‘hello, children.’”

  Clearly terrified, the two huddled together, darting glances between Josef, Rosario, and the door.

  Josef smiled. “It’s okay.” He gestured to Rosario. “Esta Tante Rosario. She help us.”

  Rosario squatted down to their level, wincing at her arthritic knees. “You kids like hot chocolate?” Slowly, hesitantly, the keiki nodded.

  Soon she’d fed them all breakfast made on the big grill. She drove them back to the house for showers, and showed them the bedrooms she’d made up for them.

  All three were silent but compliant, cleaning up and allowing her to wash all of their dirty clothes. Once she had the clothes in the washer, she breathed a little easier. They couldn’t run away with all they owned in her washing machine!

  Once the children were clean and dressed, she handed each of them a brown bag lunch of neatly packed restaurant leftovers. “Your clothes will be clean and dry when you get home from school.” She shook a finger at Josef. “The key is under the rock by the back door. And I expect you at the restaurant this afternoon at the usual time.”
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  She watched the three of them walk down the street toward their schools.

  She could only hope they’d be here when she got home from the restaurant—and she already cared too much that they would be.

  Chapter Eleven

  Consuelo — several weeks later

  Consuelo took a shuttle from the San Francisco airport to San Rafael with Lei, who had been appointed her temporary guardian ad litem, an advocacy role used in orphan cases by the Hawaii courts. They then took a rideshare from the bus stop to her aunt’s little house on D Street. “Aunty couldn’t get us because she’s at work at the restaurant,” Lei had explained to Consuelo. She had spent a bit of their plane flight from Honolulu telling Consuelo more of her story, and why Rosario was the closest thing Lei had to a mother. “She has a big heart. She’s taken in three kids who would have been deported. They are all living at the house with her now. She says it’s going great.”

  “They were lucky that your aunt was so understanding,” Consuelo said, fiddling with her ever present notebook.

  “You’re right about that,” Lei said. “Aunty is really something. I think you’ll like her.”

  Lei located the house key, hiding under a rock like it had been for years, and unlocked the side door.

  The little three-bedroom bungalow felt cozy and smelled of ginger and cinnamon from a big bowl of potpourri on the round kitchen table. Lights strung around the living room and a brightly decorated Christmas tree added to the festive feeling.

  Consuelo glanced around the tidy house, filled with Hawaiiana decor. Nineteen forties-era koa wood furniture dressed in Hawaiian print slipcovers filled the living room. A lamp in the shape of a pineapple decorated a side table. The kitchen was bright with tile squares painted with palm trees and tropical fruit. They headed through the house, and Lei pointed in through a doorway to a small bedroom, crowded with a set of bunk beds and a single twin separated by a tall chest of drawers. Clothing and backpacks hung neatly on hooks on the wall. “That used to be my room. Aunty said she offered to split up the kids so the boys, Josef and Carlos, could be in one room and the girl, Isabella, in another, but they wanted to all stay together.”

  Consuelo could easily imagine that, after what she’d heard had happened to them. Consuelo and Lei dropped their bags on the two twin beds in the guestroom.

  “I love this house,” Consuelo said. “It feels like being in Hawaii, even though we’re in California.”

  Lei smiled. “It was a refuge for me, too, when Aunty took me in. I was about Isabella’s age. I have a little bit of an idea of what they are going through.”

  “So do I,” said Consuelo, peering in at the bunk beds. “Only I didn’t have any brothers or sisters. It might have been easier if I had.”

  Lei pulled her in for a brief hug. “They say what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. We must be really, really strong.”

  “I guess we are.” Consuelo smiled. Her face felt stiff, like she hadn’t done that in a while.

  They walked the six blocks to the restaurant through the yellow, orange and brown leaves that blew along the sidewalk, and Consuelo slid her hands into the pockets of her jeans and hunched her shoulders in her thin parka.

  She glanced at Lei. Her guardian’s curly hair was the color of the fall leaves, all of those dark, warm tones, matched by the smatter of freckles across her nose and set off by her big smile. Lei was better than pretty to look at—she was interesting.

  “It’s going to get colder than this here in California. I’ll make sure the folks at the group home get you some warmer clothes.” Lei said. “Are you worried about the new setting?”

  The place Consuelo was transferring to after their holidays together was only an hour away, in a town called Walnut Creek. Consuelo had seen the brochure; it looked pleasant enough. “Anything is better than ‘the shoe’ at OYCF.”

  Lei shook her head. “I have to agree with you there.”

  They reached the restaurant, a nice but unpretentious-looking storefront in a strip mall, with a sign trimmed in neon spelling out Aunty’s Hawaiian Food Place.

  The back door was unlocked and tinkled as Lei opened it. Consuelo followed her into a solid wall of delicious smells. She inhaled deeply, and Lei turned to her with a sparkle in her eyes. “Aunty has been cooking for days to get ready for this dinner.”

  “The restaurant isn’t normally open on Christmas Eve?”

  “Just once during the day, which we are preparing for. Aunty opens it to do a big meal for the homeless, a free Christmas dinner for anyone in need. And when you to get to know Aunty, you’ll realize that she never does anything halfway.”

  Consuelo followed Lei through a cluttered storage area, and into the kitchen.

  A short, plump older woman, wrapped in a large plumeria print apron, was wielding a spatula to toss sweet onions, macadamia nuts, and water chestnuts on a huge iron grill. Her warm brown skin gleamed with perspiration. Salt-and-pepper curls sprang from underneath a chef’s hat, to surround her smiling face. “Aloha, Lei! You here at last!”

  “We got here as fast as we could.” Lei embraced her aunt.

  “Well, you two got here just in time to help me with the final prep. Not that I don’t have plenty of helpers.” A dimple appeared in Rosario’s cheek that mirrored the one Consuelo had noticed in Lei’s cheek, too. “This must be your friend Consuelo.” Rosario wiped her hands on her apron, and held one of them out. “Welina ʻia kā mākou home a me ko mākou ohana.” Welcome to our home and family.

  The sound of Hawaiian language being spoken, and such a warm greeting, brought tears prickling to Consuelo’s eyes—and she couldn’t remember when she had last cried. “Mahalo, Aunty,” she whispered.

  Rosario pulled her into a hug. “You are welcome here. E komo mai.”

  Consuelo let herself rest a moment against Aunty’s well-padded shoulder. She could imagine what it might’ve been like to have someone like Rosario take her in when her mother was hit by a car, when her father passed away from cancer.

  Her life might’ve been a whole lot different.

  But at least she had now, and now was pretty wonderful.

  “You can help Josef set up the tables out in the dining room with the kids.” Aunty turned and hollered out through the swinging doors. “Keiki! Come meet my niece and her friend!”

  The swinging doors opened and three young people appeared, wearing the restaurant’s trademark plumeria print aprons and felt reindeer headdresses that sparkled with LED lights. One was a tall boy with hair so newly shorn that pale skin showed around his ears against his brown complexion. A girl about ten years old smiled and waved, and their little brother held out a felt reindeer headband covered with lights. “For you. Feliz Navidad.”

  Consuelo smiled and pressed the little button on the back of the headband. The festive decoration lit up in a blinking pattern, and she put the antlers on her head. “Hola. Me llamo Consuelo.”

  The little girl burst into a spate of Spanish. The kids clearly thought that she, too, was Mexican. Consuelo held her hands up, waving them in a signal to slow down. “Mi Español no está muy bien. Solo aprendí en la escuela. Yo soy Filipina, from Hawaii.”

  “We are very happy to meet you,” Josef’s gaze was admiring. “Aunty said you would help us with the setting and table decorations?”

  Consuelo glanced back at Lei. “Sure. Whatever you need.”

  Her guardian’s grin was huge. “You kids look so festive. Go on. I’ll help Aunty in the kitchen.”

  Consuelo’s three new friends surrounded her, and she went out through the swinging doors to help set up a room filled with Christmas music, lights, and pretty decorations.

  Chapter Twelve

  Lei

  Lei watched her ward go out into the dining room, and turned back to Rosario. “Oh, Aunty, it’s so good to see you.” They embraced again. Lei was only five foot six, but she was still tall enough to rest her cheek against Aunty’s head. “You’re doing a good thing with thos
e kids.”

  “Glad my FBI niece approves.” Rosario patted Lei’s arm. “Nuff of this. We have a Christmas dinner to get on!”

  An hour later, Lei and Consuelo unlocked and opened the main doors of the restaurant. The homeless folks they’d invited through various social service agencies and by posting flyers around town were waiting outside. The people quickly filled all of the seats in the restaurant, and a buffet line formed with Rosario and the kids dishing up the delicious Hawaiian feast of kalua pork, laulau, lomi salmon, poke, limu and regular salad, poi, rice and a whole table of Hawaiian style desserts. Lei, Consuelo, Momi and her family waited on the large group, wielding pitchers of water, eggnog, coffee and tea. And when each person left, they carried a bag of leftovers and a red fleece stocking, filled with treats and hygiene supplies donated by a local charity.

  Finally, all the serving and clearing were done. Momi and Rosario pushed several tables together so that everyone who’d helped could heap their plates and sit down to eat the remainder of the holiday feast. Hawaiian style Christmas carols played loudly in the background as they exchanged simple gifts.

  After they’d eaten, Lei leaned her chair on its back legs and rubbed her tummy, emitting a little burp. “So ono, Aunty. This is a good thing you’re doing for the community.”

  Rosario patted Momi’s shoulder. “We do what we can.”

  “And we love what we do,” Momi finished.

  “That’s why we have a present for you,” Josef said. He tilted his head at the younger kids, and Isabella and Carlos ran into the back. Lei heard the sound of the walk-in fridge opening, and her brows went up in surprise as she exchanged a glance with her aunt.

  Rosario turned to Momi. “You know what they’re up to?”

  “Nope.” Momi shook her head, bouncing her youngest granddaughter on her knee. A widow, her two grown children had brought their spouses and kids to help out and enjoy the Christmas feast as well.