Where I Belong

by Marcia Argueta Mickelson

  I only see Charlie at school, and sometimes it’s hard to remember that he has a life here at home . . . with Mami. They see each other and talk every day, say things to each other that I know nothing about.

  Mami walks over to me where I’m still standing in the entryway. “Y tú, mija? Cómo estás?”

  I look over at everyone seated at the table, busy doing their homework, and meet Charlie’s eyes. He quickly grabs an apple from a fruit bowl in the center of the table and says something to Caroline.

  “Bien, Mami,” I say even though I don’t think I’m okay, but how can I complain about my day at school when I know she’s been dealing with the aftermath of our tragedy?

  Dr. Wheeler comes in, dressed in scrubs, followed by an African-American woman in a police uniform. “Sandra, this is Detective Blake. She’s been assigned to the case.”

  Mami wipes her hands on a dishcloth and walks over to the two women. “Hello, Detective Blake. Thank you for coming.”

  “You’re welcome to talk in the living room,” Dr. Wheeler says, pointing.

  I follow Mami and Detective Blake into the living room, where they both sit down on the couch. I linger near the doorway, wanting to hear the conversation. Mami doesn’t object, so I take a few steps closer.

  “Mrs. Vargas, we are looking into all possibilities. We’ve had a team out all day looking for evidence, interviewing neighbors. We want to find who did this.” Detective Blake pulls out a small notepad.

  “Did they find anything?” Mami asks.

  I quietly take a seat next to Mami.

  “Nothing yet,” Detective Blake says. “We’re still looking, but I wanted to ask you if you could think of anyone who has made threats to you or your family.”

  Mami looks at me and nods, but doesn’t say anything.

  “There was a note in my locker at school,” I say, looking at Detective Blake. “It said the same thing that was written on the sidewalk.”

  Detective Blake turns a few pages. “Go back to Mexico?”

  I don’t want to repeat the words. So I just nod.

  “So, when did you find this note?”

  “Last week. I gave it to the principal. He might still have it.”

  She makes a note. “Where do you go to school?”

  I tell her.

  “Okay, I’ll talk to your principal. Was there anything else?” She looks from me to Mami.

  I look at Mami again. “On Instagram. There were trolls—a lot of them, saying racist things.”

  “Okay,” says Detective Blake. “We have a team of cyber experts that can take a look at these comments, try to unmask them. I’ll need your usernames for all your social media accounts.”

  I give her that information. She leaves soon afterward, promising to call with any information that turns up.

  Mami closes the door behind her and pulls me into a hug. “They’ll find something, mija.”

  “I hope so,” I say, holding Mami tightly.

  “Mr. Zambrano called today,” she says as we step apart. “To offer his sympathy.”

  I wonder if he’s offered sympathy because his story has stoked the hate that’s being directed at us. But I don’t say this.

  “He wants to talk to you,” Mami says.

  “About what?”

  “He wants to do a follow-up interview about what’s happened since you first talked to him.”

  “No, Mami. I can’t do that. I’m sorry.” I think about elaborating, telling her that I’m afraid more notoriety will lead to more danger for my family, but I don’t have the energy to plunge into a long discussion. “Lo siento.” I offer the apology before turning around and heading upstairs. She has to understand I’ve done everything she’s wanted me to up to this point. I can’t do any more.

  Chapter Twelve

  Dinnertime at the Wheelers’ is going to be another big production. Dr. Wheeler has picked up Chinese food so Mami doesn’t have to cook. I overheard Mami tell her that our family can just eat in the kitchen, but Dr. Wheeler insisted that we join them in the dining room. I really hope we won’t have to do this every night.

  I walk in to find Charlie and Dr. Wheeler setting the long oak table. Charlie looks up at me as he’s folding a napkin to place beside a plate.

  “Millie! Come in and pick a seat for dinner,” Dr. Wheeler says to me. Her hair is in a loose bun, and she has changed into yoga pants and a white tee. “We got you sweet and sour chicken. Your mom said that’s your favorite. We have plenty. Please eat as much as you’d like.”

  I look at the white serving bowls brimming with steaming food, and I think back to the last time I had sweet and sour chicken. It was the night we watched Mr. Zambrano on TV. Which led to the note in my locker and was followed by the burning of my house.

  “Thank you, Dr. Wheeler,” I force myself to say. I grab the chair in front of me and lean into it. I’m grateful for everything the Wheelers are doing, but I just don’t want to be here.

  She reaches out and touches my arm. “You know you’re welcome to anything in the house, right? Anything you need. It’s your home now. Feel free to go anywhere, do anything.”

  I’m so relieved that Javi comes bounding in before I have to say thank you yet again. Caroline and Ceci are right behind him.

  “Come sit by me, Cecilia,” Caroline says.

  Mr. Wheeler comes in too; his tie is gone and the top button on his white dress shirt is undone. “This smells delicious, Belinda,” he says, as if she’s cooked it, as if she had any part in it other than making a phone call.

  Mami and Sele walk in last and sit down on either side of me. I’m still standing, holding onto the chair. Finally, I pull the chair out and sink into it. Charlie is sitting right across from me, looking at me again. He’s probably wondering if I’m going to stop acting weird.

  “Sandra,” Mr. Wheeler says as he starts passing dishes around clockwise, “have you heard back from the investigators? Do they know anything yet?”

  Mami shakes her head. “No, they’re going to call me again tomorrow.”

  Dr. Wheeler reaches over and puts a hand on Mami’s arm. “Well, you just focus on that for right now. I don’t want you to worry about a single thing around the house. And just let me know if there’s anything else that you need.”

  Mami forces a small smile. “We’re fine. Thank you.” Javi scoops out a huge spoonful of fried rice, and Mami gives him a look. I only scoop out a little when the bowl of fried rice comes to me.

  Caroline leans forward in her chair. “Mama, I want Cecilia to live here. Can they all just live here?”

  Dr. Wheeler smiles at Caroline. “Oh, baby. We love having everyone here, and they’re welcome to stay as long as they like, but I think Cecilia will want her own room again.”

  “But she said she’s never had her own room,” Caroline says.

  Dr. Wheeler’s smile shrinks a little. “You know what I mean, baby. Her family wants their own home.”

  Caroline seems unsatisfied, but she lets the topic go and dives into her fried rice.

  “Did the clothes fit all right?” Dr. Wheeler asks, putting her fork down next to her plate.

  “Yes, thank you,” Mami says with that same small, strained smile. “I’m going to have the kids write thank-you notes to your friends.”

  “Oh, that’s so nice,” Dr. Wheeler says, picking her fork up again. “Millie, is it working out okay for Charlie to take you to school?”

  “Yes, thanks.”

  “Well, you just let him know if you ever have to stay after for any extracurricular activities, okay?”

  I try to return Dr. Wheeler’s smile, but I’m not sure I succeed. My main extracurricular activity throughout high school has been babysitting my brother and sisters. I was on the swim team briefly, but I had to quit after Papi died and Mami started working full time. I would’ve thought Dr. Wheeler would know that, but such a reality doesn’t seem to belong in her world.

  ≈

  After school the next day, Mami
needs to call Detective Blake and the insurance company, so she asks me to watch the kids.

  “I want you to see my playhouse, Cecilia,” Caroline says. “It has a little kitchen in it, and we can pretend to make cookies.”

  Ceci looks at me, and I smile at her as I kneel down to tie her new shoes. They’re pink, sparkly tennis shoes that light up when she walks. Dr. Wheeler’s friends guessed right on that one, and I suspect Ceci will never want to wear any other shoes. Caroline puts on her almost identical pair of shoes and hurries us along.

  “I keep telling Mama I want to sleep out there one night, but she says no. Maybe if we sleep there together, she’ll let us.” Caroline pushes the sliding door open, and Ceci and I follow her outside to the tile patio. The girls bound down the patio steps, past the lawn chairs with overstuffed cushions and the large table made of wrought iron and glass. The lawn slopes toward the water’s edge, which is only a fence away. Caroline’s pink-and-white wooden playhouse is in the far corner of the yard, right next to the pool. I marvel that the little kitchen in Caroline’s playhouse has such an amazing view of the bay.

  I sit on the cool grass and watch as the two girls disappear into the house. My gaze is automatically drawn to the vast expanse of water before me.

  This is the same view I’ve seen from just down the street at Cole Park, but it never ceases to astound me. This is the Wheelers’ backyard; this is what they get to look at every day and into the night. That amazes me. Tonight I’m going to look at it from my bedroom window—watch the moon’s light dancing on the ever-moving water. It wasn’t something I allowed myself to indulge in last night, and even now I feel slightly guilty about looking forward to it.

  Still, my eyes stay on the water. I can see and hear the waves crashing against the rocky shore just below the fence. I never tire of it. I occasionally glance at the playhouse, but the girls haven’t emerged from it. I kick off my flip-flops and rub my feet into the grass, letting the cool blades in between my toes. I wrap my arms around my legs and throw my head back a little, letting the ever-present ocean breeze hit my face.

  Javi comes outside, dribbling a basketball. I turn around to look at him. “Charlie said I can use his basketball,” he says. He picks up the ball and walks to a concrete half-court on the far end of the yard. I watch as he misses his first few shots. Instinctively I wonder if he’s finished his homework, but I don’t ask. Mami is here; I don’t have to play mami today. Besides, it really is only the second day after the fire. I can’t expect everything to be back to normal already.

  I hear the sliding door behind me again, but I don’t turn around, thinking it’s Sele wanting to explore the backyard too. But it’s Charlie Wheeler, and he sits down on the lawn right next to me. There are at least ten dozen other places he could sit.

  “Mind if I sit here?” he asks me, as if I spoke my thought aloud.

  “Of course not,” I lie. “It’s your house.”

  “I know, but if you just want to be alone, I don’t want to bother you.”

  I shrug and look back toward the playhouse. “I’m just watching Caroline and Cecilia.”

  “It’s great to see Caroline using her playhouse,” he says. “I built her that house.”

  “Wait, for real? From like a kit?”

  “From scratch. I like to build stuff.”

  I pull myself forward to get a better look at the house, to see it from a different perspective, now that I know Charlie built it. “What kind of other stuff do you build?”

  “Well, I was a master Lego builder when I was a kid. You should’ve seen some of the stuff I made. Bridges were my specialty. I built one that was like four feet long, and I used to drive my Matchbox cars across it.”

  “Nice.”

  “Then there was the toothpick one. The Popsicle stick one. That was a suspension bridge, even more difficult.”

  “So building bridges is your thing then?”

  “Yeah. That’s what I want to do with my life. So, your thing is like swimming? The ocean, right?”

  “Basically,” I say. He must remember that I was on the swim team freshman year. Or he’s thinking of the interview clip that Mr. Zambrano played on Sebastian Smith’s program.

  “What do you love about the ocean?”

  I’m not sure how I feel about Charlie quizzing me this way. Part of me wishes he’d just leave me alone. Part of me loves having an excuse to talk about this. To talk about anything normal. “Just how vast it is, how varied. There are probably over a million species in the ocean, and so many of them haven’t even been classified yet. I just love the idea of being a part of that—learning about different species, you know?”

  “That sounds pretty cool. I’m sure you’ll be great at that.”

  “I hope so.” I fiddle with my watchband, not sure what else to say.

  “Well, I guess I’d better go do my homework . . .” He shifts position on the grass. “Oh, by the way, some of my friends are coming over to watch a movie on Friday, if you want to join us. You could bring a friend too—Chloe or Jen or someone.”

  “Thanks . . . but I don’t really think so.” Being around Charlie’s rich friends is the last thing I want right now.

  “Well, no pressure, but if you change your mind you’re welcome to come. It’s just going to be a small group. Maybe four or five people.”

  “Thanks, but no,” I say, hoping this will be the last time we will discuss it.

  “Okay,” he says, pulling himself up to his feet. “See you at dinner.”

  “Okay,” I say, not looking up as he walks away from me. Another meal with the Wheelers to endure. At least Mr. Wheeler won’t be here tonight—he’ll be out of town for campaign appearances for the next several days.

  Ten minutes later Mami calls out for the girls to come in for dinner. They run, barefooted, toward the sliding glass door, but I send them back to get their shoes from the playhouse. They come back quickly with a shoe in each hand, and Mami sends them to wash up.

  “What did the detective say?” I ask Mami as I lean against the counter beside her at the sink.

  She places a large, stainless steel pot in the sink and turns the faucet on. “There isn’t much evidence,” she says.

  “They have to know something.”

  Her eyes are focused out the small window above the sink. “They found traces of chemicals.”

  “What chemicals?”

  The water is quickly approaching the top of the pot. “I don’t remember the names, but now they know it was done on purpose.”

  I reach over to turn off the water, and she lifts the pot out of the sink and places it on the counter. “How can they find out who did it, though?” I ask.

  “Mija, we may never find out.” She turns away from the stove to face me. “Detective Blake said she’s going to have her team do some more computer analysis on the people commenting online, try to find out their identities to see if any of them are local. That could lead to something.”

  The idea that someone who brought so much destruction to my family may get away with it is considerably more than I can process at the moment. I shove the thought aside momentarily. “What about the insurance people?” I ask.

  “They’re sending people out to investigate and assess the damages. Then they’ll let us know how much they can pay.”

  “Will it be enough to get a new place?”

  She leans away from the counter and pats my cheek. She used to do this all the time when I was little and would come to her with a worry. All of a sudden, I feel five again. “Don’t worry, mija. We’ll have our own home again soon. We just need to be patient right now.”

  “I’m trying, Mami. It’s just so hard to live here.”

  “I know. It’s hard for all of us, but hard things make us stronger.” She pulls away from me and walks over to the stove. “Want to help me with the beans for tomorrow?”

  I nod behind her and resign myself to cleaning beans, knowing that the brief moment she allowed me to feel sorry for
myself is over now.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Wednesday morning, while I shower, I think about Stanford. About how far away it is. I think of Sele having to manage the kids without me every day, I think of Mami trying to deal with another emergency on her own.

  Maybe I shouldn’t go after all. I could take a gap year, stay home and then reapply to TAMU-CC for next year. Lots of people take a year off. And TAMU-CC is a good school. Most of my friends will be going there. I could explore the deep seas of the bay, the Gulf of Mexico, even though it’s my dream to explore the Pacific Ocean.

  I’m still pondering this as I get dressed. Maybe Mami will take us to exchange some of the clothes today. I would like to get some jeans that fit.

  Mami has just left to drop the younger kids off at school when I walk into the kitchen. There’s a container of steaming oatmeal and a tray of fresh fruit on the table. I wonder where the Wheelers picked this up from. Or maybe they had it delivered. It looks packaged, like something from one of those “pretend you know how to cook” kits that so many well-off people subscribe to.

  I pick up a bowl from a stack on the table and ladle out some oatmeal. It’s still hot, so I stir it with a heavy silver spoon and blow on it a bit before tasting it.

  I hear someone plodding down the hall and assume it’s Charlie. When I turn, though, I see it’s Dawson from school.

  “Hi, Millie,” he says, like we’re old friends. “What’s for breakfast?”

  “Hi,” I say, probably looking as off-balance as I feel.

  “I crash breakfast over here sometimes. Don’t mind me.” He has blond hair that goes to his ears, and it always looks like he purposefully messed it up before leaving his house. He sits next to me and picks up a piece of watermelon with his fingers. He puts it in his mouth and then grabs another one.

  “I’m sorry to hear about your house. That sucks.”

  “Thanks,” I say, nodding. It really does suck. Though I’m not sure Dawson, whose family owns more than one home, can really comprehend the extent of what we’ve lost.

  I hear footsteps approaching the kitchen again, and this time it is Charlie. “You’re here already?” he asks the breakfast crasher.