The Same Sky (11 page)

I turned to Junior. He was fast asleep, his eyelashes fanned across his cheeks. Perhaps he was already too far gone, but if we did not leave, there was only one way his life could proceed. I had seen it happen again and again:
the evolution of flesh-and-blood children into dim-witted monsters who cared for nothing but glue.

I thought of my mother. The dream of being next to her, of climbing into her lap … it made me feel light with hope. Resting my head against her chest as she ran her fingers through my hair …

“Get up,” I whispered to my brother. “Wake up. It’s time.”

“Is Mom really waiting for us?” whispered Junior.

“Yes,” I said.

He turned and stared at me, our faces inches apart.

“Do you promise?” he asked.

I had never lied to my brother before. I swallowed. “Yes,” I said, “I promise.”

He allowed himself a tiny smile, then he sat up and stretched. “They have ice cream at Texas Chicken,” he said. “They have a thing where you put a cookie, then ice cream, then whipped cream.”

“Oh, yeah?” I said. He nodded fervently.

I had dressed in many layers of clothing the night before, and now I helped Junior do the same. We shouldered our packs, gathered our many water bottles, and walked outside. Ernesto was already awake, hiding behind the bushes smoking a cigarette. He stood as we approached, tossed the cigarette to the ground, and pressed it out with his foot. He touched his injury, testing it gingerly. He needed a disinfectant, but this was the least of our worries. “Follow me,” said Ernesto.

We passed Humberto’s house on the way out of town. I wanted to go inside to say goodbye, but I did not know how. I could only believe we would be together again someday, and keep moving behind Ernesto. You had to follow God’s plan when it revealed itself to you, and that was that. I touched the cinder-block wall of Humberto’s house, pressed my love inside.

We walked for a very long time, hours, first on dirt roads and then through jungle. It grew very hot and humid; Junior did not complain, but his face was mottled. At one point he pulled the baby-food jar from his pocket. I made a move to take it away, but Ernesto said, “Leave him.”

I set my jaw and kept going. My feet became blistered, and as we pushed on through jungle, it was hard to see anything before us but unyielding vines and their large, sticky leaves. Bugs whistled in my ears and flew into my eyes and mouth. I was glad Ernesto was with us, as I would not have known in which direction to continue. “Will we stop for the night?” I said. The pain from my feet was growing raw; I could see blood when I examined my ankles.

“We must reach the river,” said Ernesto.

I stopped maybe two hours after this exchange, sitting down and drinking from a bottle. Junior sank next to me, reaching for the water. Ernesto was ten feet in front of us, and he turned, saying, “Don’t rest! I’m warning you.”

We stood. We continued. It was sunset by the time we reached the river. Despite the misery in my body, I was moved by the sight of the mountains of Guatemala, outlined by cinnamon clouds.

“Take off your clothes,” said Ernesto.

“I will not!” I said.

Ernesto put his face very close to mine. “Don’t be stupid,” he said. “If you listen to me, we might make it to Texas.” Since my grandmother died, I was not used to taking orders from anyone. Though Ernesto scared me, it was a relief not to be in charge. “I’m not looking at your chest,” said Ernesto dismissively. This was true. He was staring at the large waves that surged across the river. Maybe he understood how to move through the current, I told myself unconvincingly.

Junior and I stripped to our underwear. (I kept on my shirt. I barely had breasts, though the area around my nipples was hot and a little puffy. Still, I wasn’t going to expose myself like a prostitute.) We copied Ernesto’s movements, jamming our clothes in our backpacks and holding them overhead as we slid down the side of the riverbank, our feet growing slimy with mud.

Ernesto strode forward, seemingly untouched by the water, which reached my rib cage. Junior cried out, terrified, and I put my arm around him, pulling him alongside me. The water was brown, forceful, smelling of earth. Fear made me strong, even as it made my mouth bitter. My feet lost touch with the ground and I tried to swim forward.

I prayed we would not drown.

“Hold on, Junior!” I screamed. He wrapped his skinny body around my back as I tried to propel myself with my arms and legs. I swam toward the opposite bank, where Ernesto stood on dry land, pulling on his pants. Junior’s
tight grip pulled me under the waves. I struggled to keep my mouth above water.

“Help me, Ernesto!” I yelled. Junior’s flailing arms circled my neck. Ernesto turned around and met my eyes. Then he stepped back into the water and held out his hand. I took it, his grip a solid thing. He pulled us both to safety.

In Guatemala, I lay on the muddy bank, breathing hard. Junior did not release me, but burrowed closer. His backpack was gone. “Thank you,” I said, looking up. But there was no answer. Ernesto had already begun walking down a brushy path, headed for the next country, which was Mexico.

We stood, and we followed him.

18
 

Alice

J
AKE WAS ASLEEP
in his bathing suit when I got home, half an iced tea in front of him on the coffee table, a Yankees game buzzing on the television. The striped towel he took swimming was damp, hung over a chair at the kitchen table. I let myself be still for a minute, watched his chest rise and fall. Jake wasn’t
fat
, exactly; he was strong and loved to swim and play touch football. Like his father, Jake had been a star quarterback. His parents’ giant brick house in Lockhart (located across the street from the football stadium) was filled with framed pictures of Jake in his Lions uniform, posing with the team.

High school football was a big deal in Lockhart; Jake had once hoped he’d play in college, maybe even pro. But a knee injury had derailed him, leading him to New York, and to me.

I sat next to my husband on the couch, wrapped my arms around his girth. He smelled like sunscreen and chlorinated water. His skin was hot against my face. He had been looking at the
Austin American-Statesman
when he’d fallen asleep, and I narrowed my eyes to see that he’d been reading the classifieds. More specifically, the “Pets and Livestock” ads.

Jake rolled toward me, murmuring something about a spaceship. I nestled close, then had a crazy idea. Carefully I took the paper from under his arm. I moved quietly to avoid waking him, going back outside into the blazing afternoon.

In front of their house, Camilla watched her children playing in a plastic pool. She wore a tiny string bikini and her skin glistened with oil. She waved lazily. I waved back. “Come over!” she cried in her lilting accent. “Is it time for margaritas?”

“Not for me, thanks,” I said, walking across the alley to her house. “I’m on a mission,” I confided.

“A mission?” said Camilla, sitting up. Her thick black hair fell in a braid down her back, and she wore a wide straw hat. “Tell me more,” she said. “This sounds very exciting.”

Her kids splashed each other, somehow energetic despite the heat. “Jake wants a dog,” I said.

“Oh, no,” she said.

“What do you mean,
oh, no
?” I said.

“Dogs,” said Camilla, tossing her hand as if shooing a fly. “What about a fish?”

“Can we get a fishy, Mommy?” asked one of Camilla’s daughters.

“Absolutely not, no,” said Camilla.

“Awww!” the girls cried.

“I had the strangest day,” I said, sitting on Camilla’s front steps.

She made a questioning sound, and I told her all about Evian, Sam, and the movies. I told her about returning Evian to her trailer, where we discovered her mother passed out on the couch, an empty jug of Chablis on the coffee table. “I didn’t want to leave Evian,” I said. “But she insisted she was fine.”

Sadness flared in me as I remembered the way Evian had stepped quickly in front of her mother, embarrassed. “She works really hard, so obviously she’s super sleepy on the weekends,” Evian had said, ushering me back outside. As I drove away, I saw Evian come outside with the empty wine jug, tossing it in the trash, sinking down onto her front stoop, placing her chin in her hand.

“What you need will come to you, Alice,” said Camilla gently. “You don’t have to go trying so hard.”

“That sounds great, Camilla,” I said, annoyance sour in my stomach. “But it’s not so easy for everyone.”

“I know, I know,” said Camilla. “But I thought I was meant to be a scientist, and then Beau ran into me with his bicycle.”

“What?”

“It’s true,” she said. “I was visiting Texas for the summer, taking biology classes at UT and also painting and drawing. I set up my easel along Bee Caves Road to paint the bridge at sunset. There I was, beginning to sketch, and
a man in spandex biking shorts came along and knocked me over.”

“Beau hit you with his bike?” I said.

“Beau hit me with his bike!” she exclaimed. “Worse, he sprained his ankle in the fall. You know how he clips his shoes to the pedals? So I had to take him to the hospital. And, well … here I am. Sunbathing in a yard with American daughters instead of on a real beach with an ocean. I’ll be a U.S. citizen next month.” She sat back, satisfied that she had made her point.

Camilla’s daughters began singing a song called “Party in the USA,” and I stood. “Well,” I said, “if I get a puppy, I’ll come introduce him.”

“Puppy!” cried Camilla’s younger daughter.

“Why not?” I said.

“Well, the dog hair,” noted Camilla.

“Please don’t rain on my parade,” I said.

Camilla stood. “We are not raining on your parade,” she said. And then she added grandly, “In fact, we will join you on your mission, Alice. Girls, get dressed. We are going to find Alice a dog.”

“I wasn’t sure I was going to go right now,” I said.

“Austin Pets Alive! is behind the YMCA,” said Camilla. “Come on, we’ll take my Honda Odyssey.”

“You should put on a dress or something,” I said.

“American prude!” cried Camilla. “But good point, regardless.”

The girls were apoplectic with excitement as we drove toward the animal shelter. I could never remember which was Ella and which was Bella, so I addressed them in the plural. “Girls,” I said, turning around to face them, “I’m not positive we’re getting a dog today. I probably need to do some research first. This is just a fact-finding mission.”

“I love puppies!”
shouted one of them.

“I love puppies, too!”
screamed the other.

“You’re going to have to get the dog right now,” said Camilla. “I’m sorry, but they’ll be too upset if not.”

“Camilla,” I said, “getting a dog is a big decision. This trip … it’s a lark. We’re just having fun.”

“I hear you,” said Camilla. “I wouldn’t want to clean up the shit of the dog either.”

We parked in front of the shelter. When we exited Camilla’s minivan, we could hear the frantic yelping of caged dogs. “Oh, God,” I murmured, remembering the mongrels that had rushed my car near Evian’s house. What the hell was I doing?

“Girls,” said Camilla, “this is a
no-kill
shelter. Which means if Alice doesn’t get a dog today, she can get the dog tomorrow!” She clapped her hands, and the girls nodded seriously.

“You’re a great mom,” I said.

“I love it very much,” said Camilla. “Who knew? This was what I was meant to be, when I thought I was meant to be famous.” She winked. “Like you and Jake,” she said. I blushed; we had been on the front page of the
Statesman
the week before, and
Bon Appétit
was planning a visit. There was even word of Jake joining the cast of a new reality TV show called
Barbecue This!

As we ambled toward the shelter, I tried to ignore an acrid smell of urine and ammonia. I pushed open the door to the office, and a genial man with a ponytail greeted us. “What can we do for you today?” he asked.

“We’re just looking around,” I said.

“We’re getting a puppy!”
cried one of the girls.