Gaby picked up Feather and carried her to the refrigerator. “This is the fridge.” She opened it and put the half gallon of milk back onto the top shelf. “It’s kind of empty.” An open carton with two eggs, half a loaf of bread, and bottles of ketchup and mustard sat on the second shelf.
Feather meowed and Gaby closed the refrigerator. She spun around and faced the sink. “Well, that’s it for the kitchen. Not much, I know. When my mom was here, the kitchen always smelled great.” She walked over to a cabinet and opened it. Piled on top of one another were mismatched ceramic plates. “My mom is from Honduras, so when she was here she always cooked fried plantains, empanadas, and tortillas with rice and beans.” Feather nudged Gaby’s face with her head as if saying, “Tell me more about those tortillas.”
“My mom is in Honduras right now.” Gaby kissed Feather’s head. “Hopefully, she’ll be home soon and you can try a homemade tortilla.” Feather reached out and touched Gaby’s face with her soft velvet paw and mewed. “Let’s see the rest of the house.”
Gaby opened the door to her father’s room. It used to be her mom’s room. Bedsheets were strewn everywhere. A mirror leaned against the wall. His shoes and belts were scattered on the floor. “My dad better clean this room before my mom gets back. She will not be happy.” Gaby shook her head. “My dad is always looking for a new job because he says his bosses are nut jobs. He thinks cats are nut jobs, too, so you should avoid his room.” Feather seemed to understand and produced a long shaky cry. “Don’t worry. You’re going to stay in the basement when I’m at school. I’ll make a nice bed for you. You’ll see. It’ll be super cozy and it’s only until my mom comes home.”
She took Feather to her room. The walls were lavender. A folded comforter, sheet, and pillow sat on top of a mattress on the floor. “This is my room, but I don’t sleep here anymore. One night, I had a dream that my mom was knocking on our door. She was trying to come back, but I didn’t hear her knock, so she left.”
Feather gave a gentle head butt to Gaby’s chin.
“Lately, I have a lot of weird dreams like that. Always, my mom is knocking on our door. Now, I sleep on the couch so that when she comes back, I’ll hear her.”
Gaby grabbed a framed picture from the dresser. “That’s me and my mom. Everyone says I look like her, which is good because she’s pretty.” The photo was from Gaby’s ninth birthday. In the photo, her mom held a tres leches birthday cake decorated with candles. Gaby kissed the picture. “There are girls at school who call my mom illegal because my mom isn’t a U.S. citizen.” Feather rubbed her head against Gaby’s neck. “But if they’d known her, they wouldn’t call her names, because she loves everyone and everyone loves her.”
Gaby put her mother’s photo down and picked up another. “This is me and Alma. You met her earlier. She’s the one that threw you in a closet.” Feather pawed at it. “We’ve been best friends since first grade, but I guess that’s all over.” Gaby swallowed hard. “She can be impossible sometimes.”
Feather gazed up at Gaby and meowed.
“You’re right. I can be impossible, too.”
In the living room, the only sign that her mom had ever lived there was the picture on the wall of all three of them. It was taken when her parents were still together. In the picture, her father seemed happy. His hair was slicked back with gel and he wore a blue shirt that matched his eyes. Gaby was in a yellow dress and sat on his lap. She’d never forget that day, because later that night she woke up crying. Back then, her father stayed home at night with her while her mom worked late. Gaby had cried because she had to go to the bathroom, but was too scared of the cockroaches that darted out of tight corners. Her father took her by the hand and walked her to the bathroom. As soon as he switched on the light, cockroaches scurried for cover. Gaby backed away and screamed.
“You’re bigger than them, Gaby,” he told her. “They’re more scared of you.”
The next day, her father fumigated the entire house and the roaches never came back. It was the last time she remembered holding her father’s hand. It had felt warm and safe. Maybe once upon a time he had wanted a daughter, but now he looked at Gaby like she was just another job he wanted to quit.
It was sort of like the cats at the shelter. Everyone wants the kittens, but no one wants the cats. And now that Gaby wasn’t a kitten anymore, her father wasn’t interested in hanging around.
She sighed. Besides that photo, there was nothing else about her mom to show Feather. The small vase of fresh-cut flowers her mom used to set at the center of the dining room table was now her father’s penholder. The hardwood floor that her mom swept and polished every weekend was now dull. The reclining chair her mom bought at a garage sale and napped in after a long day at work remained unused.
She slumped down on the couch and grabbed the phone from the small table next to it. “Of all the things here, this phone is the most important,” Gaby said. “Some girls sleep with teddy bears, but I sleep with the phone.” Feather stared with both ears perked up. “I tuck it under my pillow so that if my mom calls, I’ll hear it,” she said. “I can’t wait till I don’t have to sleep with it anymore.” Feather tilted her head like she understood every word.
“Look at us! We’re both temporary strays, Feather!” She kissed Feather on the black M. “M for mom,” she said. Feather got up on her hind legs and rested her front paws and head on Gaby’s shoulder. It was the cat version of the eraser hug.
“Thank you, Feather,” Gaby said. “We might be strays, but we’ve got each other.”
Gaby hated putting Feather in the basement, but it was the safest place for her. If her father came home, he’d never go down there. She arranged newspaper on the floor, careful not to take her father’s classified ads. She topped off a bowl with water and left an open can of tuna mixed with the leftover dry cat food she had taken. Gaby had barely finished making Feather’s new bed, a laundry basket cushioned with an old blanket, when someone pounded on the front door. She hoped it was Alma.
“Coming!” Gaby yelled. More pounding. She took Feather with her and rushed upstairs. She looked out the peephole and growled. It wasn’t Alma. It was Marcos.
She dropped Feather off in her bedroom. “I won’t be long, Feather. It’s only Marcos.” Gaby brushed fur from her shirt, snatched her notebook from the couch, and opened the front door.
“Hey, what took you so long?” Marcos handed her a plastic container. “Cheese enchiladas from the Gomezes.”
“Gracias.”
“De nada,” Marcos said. He looked past her and toward the inside of the house. “Aren’t you going to invite me in?”
Gaby stepped onto the porch and shut the screen door behind her. “Why? It’s so nice outside.”
“Whatever.” Marcos pulled his jacket’s hood over his head and took a seat on the porch steps. He fiddled with his jacket zipper. “I was just at Alma’s house. I figured you’d be there. It’s Friday night, you know? What’s up with that?”
“She knew you were coming to my house?”
“Duh! That’s why they sent me with the enchiladas.”
“Did she tell you anything?”
“About what?” Marcos shrugged. “Wait a minute! Are you and Alma mad at each other?” He shook his head. “What are you two fighting about? Not me, I hope.”
Gaby narrowed her eyes at him. “Never happening.”
“So what, then?”
“Nothing. My dad said he’d bring me dinner tonight. That’s all.”
Another lie.
Marcos tugged on the strings of his hoodie and looked out toward the street. Her father’s car wasn’t there. He looked back at the house. Gaby hoped that he didn’t notice the ripped window screen. The last thing she needed was him opening his big mouth to everyone about the condition of her home. A month ago, the porch light wasn’t working. Marcos told Enrique. The next day, all of Enrique’s uncles showed up and turned her house into a day-long project. They fixed the light, unclogged the kitch
en sink, chopped the tree branches that hovered dangerously over the porch and power lines, and even took out the trash. She was grateful, but her father came home and acted insulted. He had sulked and muttered, “I was going to get around to it.”
Marcos didn’t seem to notice her unease. “My mom said I should apologize to you for what I said the other day about that sick cat being kaput. I was just being a jerk. Big surprise.”
“You told your mom?” Gaby sat down next to him.
“I tell my mom everything.”
Gaby envied him. She used to tell her mom everything, too, but now she could fill a whole notebook with all the things she was keeping from her mom. Like how her father was never home, how she slept on the couch every night, how some girls bullied her after they found out her mom was “illegal” and got deported. Every time her mom called, she wanted to tell her how hard it was, but Gaby didn’t want her mom to worry.
“I’m over it.” She shrugged.
“Do the owners still want her back?”
“Let’s just say the problem has been resolved,” Gaby said. “Anyone who leaves their cat at a rest stop shouldn’t get it back.” Gaby crossed her arms. “That’s all.”
“Cool.” Marcos nodded. “Still feeding the strays, huh?”
“What?” Gaby froze. She looked back at her front door. Did he see Feather? “What are you talking about?”
Marcos shoved the white saucer on the porch with his foot.
“Yeah, that’s right,” she answered. “They don’t come around anymore, though. When my mom is back, I’m sure they’ll return.”
“Is your mom coming back?”
Gaby’s shoulders dropped. “Not you, too.” Why was everyone asking her that?
“What do you mean? I’m just sayin’. It’s been like forever, you know?”
“Yes, I know.” She rolled her eyes. Gaby gazed at the big tree in front of her house. Sometimes in the summer, when it was too hot inside the house, Gaby and her mom used to sit on the porch and watch the tree sway in the breeze. Her mom told Gaby about her life in Honduras. How they lived in a house made of cement blocks, plastic bags, and scraps of wood, and how after her mom died, she and her brother struggled to eat. Then her brother got involved with bad people and did bad things for money. She moved in with her aunt, but she felt like a burden. Her aunt was working two jobs and raising three children. Despite her aunt’s pleading, Gaby’s mom left for the United States, where she hoped she could find work and help her aunt. These memories were like chopping onions. They always made her mom cry.
Now it was Gaby’s turn to stare at the tree and cry.
If someone had told Gaby that someday her mom would be taken away from her and she’d have to wait months to see her again, Gaby would never have let her go to work that day. She would have climbed that tree’s highest branch and got herself stuck in order to keep her mom home. Marcos watched her like he knew what she was thinking. His hazel eyes usually twinkled between light green and amber, but they were a serious dark green now.
“I dream about her every night. That’s how I know she’s coming home,” Gaby finally said. “It always starts the same. She knocks at the door, but when I open the door she’s not there.”
“That could mean lots of things. Every detail in a dream means something. It’s like the lines on the palm of your hand. Each tiny line … like this, see?” He took her hand and traced a line on her palm. Gaby nodded. “That’s like your dream telling you something.”
“I think it means my mom will be home soon.”
“It means you miss your mom. And if it helps, I miss your mom, too,” Marcos said.
Gaby frowned. It was nice to hear, but it didn’t help anything.
“Remember how she used to call me Marquito?”
When they were smaller, Gaby’s mom watched the four of them after school. That was when her parents were still together. Her mom earned money babysitting and cleaning houses. Gaby had forgotten the affectionate names her mom used for everyone. Alma was “Almita” and Enrique was “Enriquito.” It had only been three months since her mom had left. What else had she forgotten about her mom? Gaby bent the edge of her notebook.
“If you read my palm would it tell you when she’s coming home?”
“It doesn’t work like that,” Marcos said.
“What good is it, then?”
“Look, Miss Fussy-Butt, it tells your path, not your mom’s path.” Marcos rolled his eyes. “You shouldn’t worry so much.”
Not worry? That was like asking her not to grow fingernails. She worried she’d never see her mom again. She worried about her dad losing his job. She worried about bullies like Dolores and Jan. She worried about being a stray with no mom, no father, no home, no best friend, and no way to take care of Feather. The only thing that could make all that go away was her mom coming back once and for all.
“I’m going to wait here with you until your dad gets home, okay?”
“You don’t have to do that,” Gaby said. She wanted to get back to Feather.
“I have some new card tricks.” He smiled and pulled a pack of cards out of his jacket pocket.
“I have a better idea.” Gaby opened her notebook. “No phony British accent required.” Marcos chuckled. She sat up straight and read Finch’s profile.
“That’s a good one.” Marcos gave her a fist bump. “It’s getting late. C’mon, I’ll give you a ride to Alma’s house.”
“My dad will be home any minute.”
“You can use my phone and tell him you waited.” Marcos extended his cell phone to her.
Gaby didn’t like to be home alone, but she wasn’t alone anymore. She had Feather now. Plus, she wasn’t sure she could face Alma right now. She had said things she didn’t mean. “No, it’s okay.”
“You’re stubborn, you know?” Before he got up, he grabbed her hand and squeezed it tight. “Everything is going to be all right, Gaby.”
She nodded, but felt like crying again. She’d known Marcos forever. If he said everything was going to be all right, she wanted to believe him, but how could anything be all right?
He got on his bike. “If you change your mind, call me.” Marcos jumped off the curb and pedaled away.
Gaby went inside and found Feather curled up into a ball, asleep on her mattress. She spread out her comforter to cover the sleeping cat. The comforter was the last birthday gift from her mom. Gaby had seen the bright purple-and-orange floral comforter at Kmart and loved it. She remembered how her mom inspected the price tag and frowned. The next day, she put it on layaway. Now, the comforter was the only thing that helped Gaby sleep.
While Feather purred, Gaby sat at the dinner table and dug a fork into the enchiladas Marcos had brought. She hadn’t eaten since lunch. Even cold, they were the best cheese enchiladas she’d ever tasted. Before she knew it, the plastic container was empty.
Gaby woke up to banging. Her bedroom door was open, which was strange. She was pretty sure she’d closed it last night. She got up and walked to the doorway of the kitchen. Her dad, dressed in a wrinkled gray T-shirt and jeans, opened and slammed shut the cabinets. He was talking on his cell phone.
“Look, she’s fine. I’m taking care of her and she’s getting along …” He slammed another cabinet. “You need to stop worrying about her —”
“Who are you talking to?” Gaby rubbed her eyes. She looked at the clock on the stove. It was eight thirty.
He turned around and gave her a quick glance. “She’s up. You want to talk to her?”
Gaby grabbed for the phone. “Is it Mom? Let me talk to her.” He passed her the phone.
“Mom?”
“Buenos días, Gaby! How did you sleep?”
“I slept fine. Everyone wants to know when you’re coming home.”
“I’m sorry, princesa. I still don’t have enough money —”
“Oh.” Gaby’s heart sank. “I thought Mr. and Mrs. Gomez sent you money?”
“They did, but I met a coyo
te and he said I need more for him to get me on a train. I’m working as hard as I can, but jobs don’t pay here like they do in the States. You understand that, right?”
Gaby did understand. In the States, her mom made more for a full day of work at the factory than she did during an entire week in Honduras.
Suddenly her father yelled at her from the kitchen. “Where did the last can of tuna go?”
Gaby gasped. Yesterday, she had opened the last can of tuna for Feather. It was still in the basement. Feather! Gaby spun around and rushed back to her room with the phone still pressed to her face. Where was she? She scanned her room and looked under her bed. No sign of her.
“Gaby, you understand, right?” her mom asked again.
“Yes, Mom.” Gaby walked to the living room, still searching for Feather. “Mom, I got to go.”
“Is everything all right? Is your dad taking care of you?”
“Yes. Love you. Miss you.”
“I was hoping to hear another one of your animal profiles.”
“I’ll read you one later. First, I have to do something.”
“Okay, te extraño mucho, Gaby.”
“I miss you more.” Gaby hung up the phone. “Did you open my door?” she asked her dad.
“I might have,” he grumbled. “Alma’s mom called me. She said you didn’t stay there last night. I got home late and expected to find you on the couch, but you were in your bed. I don’t think I’ve seen you sleep in your room since I moved in. So, why aren’t you at Alma’s?”
“I don’t … uh … really know …” Gaby answered absently as she searched the dining and living room. There was an odor that reminded her of the shelter. She followed her nose until she saw it. There it was. In the corner of the living room was a puddle. She was close on Feather’s trail.
Gaby darted to the bathroom, unfurled half a roll of toilet paper, and came back out. She looked toward the kitchen. Her father’s back was to her and he was pouring a glass of milk. She bent down, wiped up the puddle, and flushed the paper down the toilet. She returned with a can of lemon-scented air freshener and sprayed it around.
Gaby, Lost and Found Page 7