Into the Tall, Tall Grass

by Loriel Ryon

  Yolanda glanced up.

  “They are coming at two o’clock to pick Josefa up, and then you and Sonja are going with Abby.” Mrs. Patel hung her head. “I’m so sorry.”

  Yolanda shut her eyes and shook her head. This couldn’t be happening. Wela was fine last night. Yolanda placed a finger in Wela’s hair and let a butterfly climb onto it.

  “Yolanda?”

  “Fine,” she said without looking up. It wasn’t fine. But what was she supposed to do? Scream and cry? Throw a fit? She was too old for that now.

  “You girls have had to grow up so much in the last year.” Mrs. Patel lingered in the doorway. “I wish Amar and I could care for you girls, but I haven’t been back to India since I lost my mother and I want to be there when my little sister gets married.”

  Yolanda forced the words out, even though she didn’t mean them. “It’s okay, Mrs. Patel. I understand.” Abandonment was a Patel specialty. First Ghita, now her mother.

  “I’m going to the grocery store later. Is there anything you need me to pick up before they come?”

  Yolanda’s head snapped up. “Yes. My epinephrine. I need it refilled.”

  “I will take care of that for you.”

  “Thanks.” Her thoughts swirled about the conversation she’d had with Wela the night before. The tree. She had to take Wela to the tree. Everything would be set right if she could just get her to the tree.

  No matter what.

  The tree would save her.

  Mrs. Patel lingered in the doorway.

  “The huevos are burning,” Yolanda said, glancing over her shoulder.

  “Right-o.” Mrs. Patel flicked the spatula before shuffling off to the kitchen.

  Twelve

  AFTER Mrs. Patel left for the grocery store, Yolanda spent the next few hours searching the house for the box. She wished Wela had told her more about it. Was it made of wood? Metal? How big was it? She looked in all the closets and cabinets and under the beds, but nothing turned up that could be what Wela was looking for. They were all boxes filled with old, forgotten items. Old clothing, books. Nothing that contained anything that would cause Wela so much angst.

  Yolanda and Rosalind Franklin made their way to the workshop. She found dusty old boxes of microscope slides, piles of textbooks, and an old butterfly cage. Deep in the back of the shelves, she uncovered a book of old photographs. As she flipped through the yellowed pages, she recognized a picture of Welo, Wela, and Mamá. Welo’s flop of dark hair peeked from underneath his cowboy hat, and Wela’s butterflies adorned her dark curls. Neither Welo nor Wela was smiling. Welo’s lips were pressed into a thin line as his eyes stared right at the camera, and Wela was looking off in the distance, seemingly lost in her thoughts. Mamá, who must have been about twelve, was smiling. A great big smile that caught Yolanda’s breath. She thought for a moment that she was looking at a picture of herself. They looked alike, their matching dark curls, their brown skin. The way their noses scrunched up when they smiled. Although Yolanda didn’t smile much lately. It was startling at first and then comforting to see her own face reflected in her mother’s. She’d been so used to Sonja and her dad’s looks being compared that at times she felt like she wasn’t even part of their family. But now, seeing her likeness in Mamá made her remember a piece of where she came from. Yolanda tucked the photograph back in the book and placed it on the shelf. She sat back on her heels and bit her lip. The box Wela was looking for wasn’t in the house or in the workshop.

  She didn’t have much time to waste. It was nearly one o’clock. She’d spent hours looking for the box only to come up empty-handed. She hoped that whatever was in it wasn’t that important. She and Rosalind Franklin went outside. If she was going to take Wela to the tree, she had a lot to do.

  She needed to find Hasik. She was going to have to convince him of something. Something he might not believe.

  Ghita and Sonja were lounging on the porch swing with Yosemite between them, their heads resting against each other, the bees orbiting the space over them. Ghita’s eyes were red and puffy, as though she’d been crying, and Sonja ran her finger along the soft spot on Yosemite’s nose. Neither looked up when Yolanda passed by.

  Yolanda and Rosalind Franklin bounced down the steps to the large rectangle of grass. Hasik had cut down an area the size of a small yard and was loading the cut grass into large garbage bags and setting them on the side of the house. The tall grass continued on behind him. Her gaze lingered on the pecan tree. Even in the hazy distance she figured, it couldn’t be that far.

  When Hasik saw her, he stood up straight and pushed the flecks of grass out of his sweaty face with the back of his hand. “Hey.”

  She caught herself staring at his white smile shining in the sunlight. She blushed and looked away.

  Rosalind Franklin darted in the grass after a lizard.

  “Rosalind Franklin, get back here!” Yolanda was worried about her getting lost in the grass again. Rosalind Franklin popped out from the grass, grunting and snorting, and ran to Hasik. She licked at the bits of green grass on his legs.

  He bent down to pet her. “I’m sorry about … well, everything. When we get back from our trip, I’ll take care of your dogs. Do you know what you are going to do with them?”

  Yolanda hadn’t even thought about it. There was no point, since she wasn’t going to let them be taken away. “I’m certainly not surrendering her. And no one in this town talks to us except you guys.” She shielded her eyes from the bright sun. She could still hear the pops and clicks from the grass. “Why are you cutting the grass anyway?”

  Hasik admired his handiwork. “My mom figured maybe you guys can enjoy it when you come back. When your dad comes back and you are a family again.”

  “Who knows if he’ll ever come back.” They walked to the stairs and sat on the bottom step. “You’ve heard the stories. Soldier on his fourth tour killed by an exploded bomb or an ambush or—whatever. It’s hard to stay optimistic after all this time. And even if he does come back, he’ll just want to leave us again.”

  “You don’t know that.” Hasik’s eyes softened.

  “Sure I do.” It was sweet that Hasik thought her dad would stick around, but she wasn’t going to hold out hope anymore. If he wanted to leave them, then that was his choice. Her priority was getting Wela better.

  Hasik glanced back at the swing. “She’s pretty upset about this—Ghita. She doesn’t want to see you guys taken away.”

  Yolanda glanced over her shoulder. “She doesn’t want to see Sonja taken away. She could care less about anyone else.” When Hasik didn’t say anything after that she knew she had to be right. Ghita cared about only two things: Ghita. And Sonja. That had been clear since last fall.

  Yolanda picked up a stick, dug at the dusty earth, and chewed her bottom lip. “Do you think it’s possible for someone like Wela to wake up and then go back to sleep?”

  “I don’t know. … What did the doctors say?”

  “They said there is no medical explanation for her to be like this.”

  Hasik shrugged. “I guess anything is possible.”

  “I agree.” Yolanda stuck the stick in the ground and it broke. “Anything is possible—I’m just having a hard time wrapping my mind around it.”

  “Around what?”

  Yolanda lowered her eyes and whispered, “Wela woke up last night. I talked to her.”

  Hasik laughed nervously. “What? Yo, that’s crazy. I saw her in bed this morning. She was the same as she has been for weeks.”

  “I swear. I talked to her last night. She asked me to take her to the pecan tree. She said it would cure her and make her better. She and I have had our problems, but one thing I know for certain: She doesn’t lie.” Yolanda stood, walked around in a circle with her hands on her hips, and pointed her finger like Wela would. “No mentiras, she always says.”

  Hasik stood and wiped his palms on his jeans. He brushed his hair back from his sweaty forehead. “I know this is a st
ressful situation. You have a lot going on, but maybe you had a dream.”

  She could tell by the look on his face he didn’t believe her. “She talked to me, Hasik. It wasn’t a dream! She made me promise.”

  Sonja popped her head over the porch railing. “What are you guys talking about?”

  “Nothing,” Yolanda mumbled. The last thing she needed was Sonja getting involved. She lowered her voice. “Wela never asks me to do anything for her. I have to do this.”

  “Yolan—” Hasik shifted his weight and avoided her gaze.

  Yolanda stepped in front of him and made him look at her. “Please,” she pleaded. “I can’t do this without you. I need your help.”

  Hasik sighed, glanced at the tree, and rubbed the back of his neck. “Even if we do this, how in the world are we going to get her there? She’s asleep.”

  Yolanda pointed at the wheelbarrow, and Hasik laughed. “That is so not going to work.”

  “Sure it is. We can lift her in it together. Wheel it next to the porch and wait for me there.”

  “Yo—”

  “Just do it!”

  Thirteen

  YOLANDA bolted upstairs to her and Sonja’s room. She rummaged through Sonja’s nightstand, looking for the music box with the twirling ballerina. Wela had given them matching pink music boxes for their eighth birthdays. Sonja had covered hers with flag stickers Dad brought from the countries he had traveled to. South Korea, Germany, Afghanistan, Iraq. There was hardly any pink showing anymore. She opened the top and bent the spring holding the ballerina to keep the music from playing. Yolanda hadn’t seen the original ballerina in a long time. With a black marker, Sonja had drawn tall hiking boots to cover up the ballet slippers and a vest and shorts over the pink leotard and tutu.

  She lifted the pink velvet insert, and there it was.

  Mamá’s compass.

  A shiny silver circle bound in rich red leather. It was heavier than she remembered, fitting in the center of her palm. Dad had given it to Mamá after they returned from their first tour of Afghanistan. She was a medic and had saved his life when he was nearly killed by a roadside bomb.

  Dad had given it to Sonja after she showed interest in the outdoors. They bonded over camping and hiking. Yolanda had been jealous, but she’d never said anything, of course. That was how it was for as long as she could remember. When he was home, Dad and Sonja were always together.

  Yolanda didn’t own anything of Mamá’s. And she certainly didn’t know how to use a compass. But maybe Hasik did. She replaced the insert, closed the box, and set it back in the nightstand.

  Next she went over to the camping backpacks. Sonja had already packed for her and Dad, and she assumed they contained most of what she would need inside.

  Yolanda slung the red one over her shoulder and shoved the compass deep in the bottom of the blue one, just as Sonja and Ghita walked in.

  “What are you doing?” Sonja’s hands were on her hips, her eyes narrowed. The bees flew around her head.

  “Nothing,” Yolanda mumbled, and started to leave.

  “Those are mine!” Sonja grabbed the blue backpack and tried to wrestle it away, but Yolanda held on to the strap.

  “I need it.”

  “For what? Camping?” Sonja scoffed. The bees danced around her head and sped up, almost angrily. Yolanda ducked, but held on.

  “No, for something else.”

  “Get it later.” Ghita gently touched Sonja’s arm. “I need to talk to you.” Sonja glared at Yolanda but let go of the backpack. Yolanda used the opportunity to push past the girls, run down the stairs, and slide into Wela’s bedroom.

  She was still tucked in bed, her chest rising with each breath, her eyes closed.

  “Wela, wake up.” Yolanda shook her, but Wela didn’t move. “Please wake up!” The butterflies opened and closed their wings in her hair. “I know you can hear me. We’re running out of time.” Yolanda glanced at her phone. It was 1:45 p.m.

  She left the bedroom and entered the kitchen. Foraging through the refrigerator, she found leftover tamales, naan, and a few bananas. She filled the empty water bottles and stuck them in the sides of the backpack. She popped her head out the window to see Hasik standing next to the porch with the wheelbarrow, just as she’d asked. She zipped up the backpacks and opened the back door.

  “Here, take these.” Yolanda tossed the packs across the porch.

  Hasik shook his head, but he picked up the blue one and then the red and set them next to the stairs. “This is crazy.”

  Yolanda ignored him. “I’ll be right back.” She darted back inside.

  “Sonja! Talk to me.” Ghita grasped Sonja by the arms. They stood near the front door and didn’t see Yolanda. She ducked behind the wall and peeked around the corner.

  “No. I can’t. I can’t do this.” Sonja pushed Ghita away.

  “Please, please don’t,” Ghita pleaded.

  A white van pulled up and parked in the front of the house, its brakes squealing as it stopped. On the side, in blue letters, it said MEITNER PLACE. Yolanda pulled out her phone. It was 1:55 p.m. Abby would be here any minute.

  Yolanda crept into the bedroom. Wela still hadn’t moved.

  “Wake up!” Yolanda shook her by the shoulders. The butterflies flew away for a moment and then settled back in her hair. This was hopeless. “They’re here,” Yolanda said quietly.

  Wela still didn’t wake.

  The ruby-colored sedan pulled into the driveway and Abby stepped out of the car.

  Yolanda rushed to the back porch. “Hasik, hurry. Come inside.”

  “Do I need to bring the wheelbarrow?”

  “No. Come on!” Yolanda ran back inside the house. “Hurry!”

  Sonja and Ghita stood in the doorway facing each other, lost in their own world, unaware of all that was happening around them. The bees flew faster and faster, in a hazy blur above their heads. Ghita touched Sonja’s cheek and leaned in. Sonja closed her eyes.

  And then they kissed.

  Yolanda sucked in a sharp breath.

  The bees froze in midair above their heads for a split second, even though it felt like an eternity.

  Then the doorbell rang.

  Fourteen

  AS GHITA and Sonja parted, Sonja opened her eyes and smiled at Ghita. “See?” Ghita said.

  Yolanda’s hand flew to her mouth. She knew there was something going on between them, but seeing it was somehow a shock. She knew she should move, but she couldn’t. She was frozen.

  The bees, drunk from the kiss, flew around their heads drowsily. Sonja glanced over, her eyes meeting Yolanda’s. Sonja’s cheeks flushed, and her lips parted in surprise.

  Yolanda wasn’t supposed to see that. But it seemed that everyone knew already. It wasn’t a secret.

  It wasn’t a secret—anymore.

  Yolanda ran down the hall.

  “Yo!” Sonja called after her. Yolanda darted into Wela’s bedroom and slammed the door, her heart pounding. She hadn’t expected to see them kiss. And it didn’t look like it was the first time.

  “Mija,” a voice muttered. Yolanda looked up.

  Wela sat on the edge of the bed, bright-eyed, her feet hovering over the floor. Yolanda ran to Wela, her arms wide. “You’re awake!” Yolanda threw her arms around her. It hadn’t been a dream after all.

  “We have to hurry,” Yolanda said.

  “My chanclas, mija.” Wela pointed to the vanity. She placed her index finger on the pillow, letting one of her butterflies crawl onto it. Then she placed the butterfly, its wings opening and closing, into her hair.

  Yolanda slipped the brown leather chanclas onto Wela’s feet. “Aye, Rosalind Franklin—” Wela raised an eyebrow at Yolanda. She’d noticed the teeth marks in the leather. Yolanda gave her sheepish grin.

  Just then the bedroom door opened. “Mrs. Rodríguez, you’re awake. How wonder—” Hasik started to say as he looked at Yolanda. She shot him a see? I told you look.

  “Ven aquí, come her
e and help me, por favor.” Wela reached for his arm. He dove under an elbow and helped her stand, her embroidered nightgown flouncing at her feet.

  “My mother will be so happy to see you,” he said.

  Wela, even though she was much smaller than Hasik’s towering frame, righted herself and looked him in the eyes. “Mijito, we aren’t telling your mother anything.” Wela pressed her lips into a thin, stubborn line and placed her hands firmly on his shoulders. “Nada. You hear me? Nothing.” She gently tapped his cheek with her palm twice.

  Hasik nodded, his eyes wide. There was no arguing with Wela normally. But especially not a Wela who just miraculously woke up from an unexplained sleep.

  “Take me outside,” she said, flicking her hand toward the ceiling. “¡Vámonos!”

  The doorbell rang again as they entered the hallway to the kitchen. There were two men in white scrubs, waiting. The tall one peered through the side window. Abby was walking up the driveway when Mrs. Patel pulled up in her silver sedan.

  Yolanda dashed back into the bedroom, grabbed the yellow serape from Wela’s bed, and covered Wela’s head and shoulders.

  “La caja, mija. Did you find the box?” Wela asked.

  Yolanda’s shoulders fell in defeat. “I searched everywhere, the whole house, the workshop, but I couldn’t find it.” A thought occurred to her. The casita. “Could it be at the casita? I know Welo used to do his research there.” He had mentioned the casita that day when his eyes were wild and he made Yolanda promise to take Wela to the tree. Maybe that was what he was talking about.

  Wela tapped her lip and nodded. “I bet you are right, mija. That’s where he took a lot of his work that I did not approve of.” She stared down her nose. “We’ll have to stop there on the way to the tree.”

  “Take her to the edge of the grass, through the back. I’ll meet you there,” she told Hasik. He nodded and helped Wela through the kitchen and out the back door.

  Once Yolanda was sure she heard the back door close, she opened the front door.

  “Hello,” the taller man said. “My name is Adam. I’m with Meitner Place, and we are here to pick up”—he glanced at his clipboard—“a Josefa Rodríguez.”