The Year the Swallows Came Early (11 page)

F
rankie and I silently watched the
Sea Fever
sail out of the harbor that day.

I could tell he was thinking about what Mr. Tom had said to me by the look on his face because he seemed real serious. It was the same look he had when his mama came back to the Swallow looking for him.

As for me, I kept thinking about the summer I'd turned nine. I remembered when Mama and Daddy and I took a week off to drive to the Grand Canyon so I could see more of the world, and they could get away from it all.

Before we left, we'd gone to the library to get maps and booklets about the sites, and the phone numbers of the different motels where we'd stay. Mama made sure they all had a pool, too, so I could practice holding my breath underwater, and she and Daddy could relax alongside it. She said that that was the number-one question to motel owners: “Do you have a nice pool?” Because people want to find out about the place before they get there.

By the fifth day, though, after seeing Mother Nature's Grand Canyon from the back of a mule while riding down a steep path, Mama told Daddy she'd seen all the rocks and ravines she could take for one vacation. So the two of us went shopping. We made our way toward a little town that sold handmade Indian blankets and God's eyes, which were pieces of yarn wrapped in a diamond shape around two sticks. Mama said the God's eyes brought good luck.

I remember we got lost after she took a right turn down a dirt road that had potholes and
rocks the size of basketballs lying along the sides, instead of taking a left turn at the Gravel Stop store and gas station, like I told her to.

I watched dirt clouds rise and circle up in the sky then settle back to the ground as our car made its way, and Mama started to get real mad.

“We're out in the middle of nowhere!” she yelled to me, wiping bits of dust from her lips and teeth.

“We have to be
somewhere
,” I told her.

“This isn't even on the map.” She pushed the gas pedal harder.

I remember how hot it was and how it seemed that nothing could survive with the rocks and dust and sun but lizards and weeds. I wondered how anyone could've made the road we were on in the first place.

“Slow down, Mama!” I told her.

“For what, baby? There's nothing out here but nothing.”

Then I saw a small sign. There were red painted letters on cracked splintery wood that read,
NEXT
TOWN—27 MILES
, with an arrow pointing in the opposite direction.

I yelled at her to stop.

She put on the brakes hard, and our car slid sideways.

We stopped next to a clump of thorny ocotillo cactus and pieces of green broken glass left from an empty soda bottle.

The dust pushed around us, under us, above us, and rose up in front of our car in the shape of a mushroom. Black crows yelled above in the sky, circling, waiting to see if we'd be their next meal.

“What in the
world
?” Mama gasped, bending her neck to see out the window.

“You almost hit it, Mama. I told you to slow down.”

She got out of our car, leaving her door open and the engine running, and walked up to that sign, good and close, to double-check that we were reading it right.

I leaned my head out my window to watch her. Tiny grains of soft red-brown dust landed
on my eyelashes and cheeks.

“See!” she yelled, with her hands in the air. Her pink bandanna, tied around her hair to keep the desert air from drying it out, waved in the breeze. “The sign is telling us to go back in the other direction, baby! It's a good thing we saw this. Otherwise we'd be long lost in another hour or so!”

Well, that's exactly what Mr. Tom was. A sign to point me in the right direction. To tell me to have mercy toward Daddy.

And for a half second I thought,
I should do what that sign says. I should forgive Daddy.
I felt it deep inside, like it'd been put there when I wasn't watching in a message Pastor Ken had given us one Sunday. Or maybe it'd been there all along, like something I was born with. Like something that comes up when you need it to tell you,
In case you don't know, this is the right thing to do. No matter how mad you feel.

But instead I ignored it. I didn't pay any attention to that sign.

“A
ll this hot weather isn't helping your strawberries stay fresh,” Mama said to me the next day at breakfast. “I hate to see what our summer will be like if this is only spring. Do you wanna do something with these? Soon they'll be rotted.”

I shrugged. “I don't know.” I did and I didn't.

Mama looked me over. “Well, I won't order any more from the fruit market until you're…ready.”

She wiped up the kitchen counter with a pink sponge. I could tell she was waiting for me
to explain why five dozen strawberries weren't dipped in chocolate yet. Why my Fortune 500 company wasn't making a profit at the moment.

“I guess I'll have to think up another way to use them, then,” Mama finally said.

Which was fine with me.

I
walked down to the Swallow the next day. I didn't bother making a list that morning, and Mama seemed not to notice I was directionless for once. I steered clear from the jetty rocks where Daddy and I used to sit while having our usual morning hot-chocolate talks.

Frankie, Marisol, and Felix were sitting on the yellow bench outside the shop when I got there, drinking Oranginas and sorting fishing hooks into boxes. A small parade of young children on tricycles alongside their mothers inched slowly in a zigzag line past the front of the Swallow. They
waved triangle-shaped red flags that read,
WELCOME SWALLOWS
.

“Hey,” I said as I walked up.

“Hey,” Frankie told me.

“Hey,” said Marisol.

“Frankie said you don't wanna talk about not finding any treasure at the bank,” said Felix. “Sorry, though.”

“It's okay,” I told him. I looked at Frankie, and he shrugged as if to say,
I told him not to bring it up.

“The scout is here. The first swallow. She flew in early this morning to look things over and find the usual spots where the rest of the flock will come to,” Frankie told me.

“Really?” I asked.

“Wanna see her?” Felix stood up.

“Yeah,” I answered, and we all followed Frankie behind the shop to where a few olive trees stood. They were at least a hundred years old, but still gave a harvest of medium-size dark-gray olives each year. Nobody ever picked them
up, though, leaving them as a free-for-all for birds and mice. Mist gathered on the ground, covering dead leaves and shriveling olives and dirt.

“Right there. In the middle of that tree. See her?” Frankie pointed to the highest branch. Sunlight reached through the trees, crowning her in a goldish yellow morning light.

Sure enough, she had come. Her dark-brown feathers pressed against her body at the sound of our voices.

“She's beautiful,” Marisol said.

“She's early,” I added.

“About a week, actually,” Frankie said. “She'll fly back in a day or two and then guide the rest of the flock here. Probably by the end of the week.”

“That soon?” Marisol asked. She looked sad, like maybe the scout would leave before she'd had the chance to sketch her.

“Yeah.” Frankie shaded his eyes from the sun to get a better look at her.

“She came alone?” I asked, knowing that usually the swallow scouts flew in pairs.

“Yeah. Luis says it's not uncommon. He's seen it before,” Frankie told us.

“I'm gonna go get my sketchbook. I'll see you guys later,” Marisol said. “Come on, Felix.”

“I know where it is,” said Felix. “I seen it in your room on top of your dresser next to the lamp. Can I carry it?”

We watched them walk toward their house while Marisol explained the differences between chalk and charcoal, and which paper was best for each.

“There's something else, too,” Frankie said to me as they finally turned the corner.

I looked at Frankie. “What?”

“The Fish and Game Commission halted all big fishing for the next two years. They said there's been too much harvesting and the oceans need time to replenish themselves. It's been in all the papers.”

“Oh,” I said, not sure what this had to do with the scout.

Frankie nodded and looked at the ground awhile.

“So?” I asked him.

“So Luis got a letter from my mom. And she sent him this white envelope.” He bent over as if he was having a stomach cramp. Then he looked up at the scout.

I watched him study her like maybe she knew something he wanted to understand, and I remembered the white envelope his mama had tried to give him the day she came, how he'd refused to take it then and how I'd imagined it had been full of photos.

“I guess they're coming back this summer to live here. Until the restrictions are lifted at least,” Frankie told the scout. He looked at me then, and I saw something quiet and calm in his eyes. Something happyish, but scared at the same time.

“There was a copy of her green card in that white envelope. She wanted me to have it when she came, but I wouldn't take it.” He gripped a roll of Tums tight in his left hand. “Luis said she wanted me to hold it for her,” he said. “That all this time, she'd been here in the U.S. on only a work visa,
and the government wouldn't renew it anymore.”

“What's a green card?”

“It lets her live here forever, even though she was born in Mexico. I guess they've been fishing there until the paperwork came through. Her letter said she wanted me to stay here to go to school. That because I was born here, I was already a citizen and it would be better for me.” His eyes found the swallow again and he watched her for a long time. Then he turned back to me and nodded as if to say,
Well, things are changing around here, and I'm not sure I want them to.

“Did you know about this?” I asked him.

“No.” Frankie shook his head. “I don't feel very well.”

I didn't say anything then. I wanted to tell him that her getting a green card was good news. That her waiting all this time for the paperwork to come through explained the mystery of why she left with only a carry-on. But I couldn't. I didn't want to risk making him unwrap another roll of Tums.

B
y the end of the week, I'd memorized most of the main constellations in the night sky and checked that off my list. Cassiopeia, Hercules, Ursa Major and Minor.

Mama gave me one of her smiles. The one that said,
I knew you could do it if you tried.

It was easy to find time to memorize things, seeing as how I hadn't left the house since hearing the news of Frankie's mama coming back. Not to mention my days were no longer taken up by cooking of any kind whatsoever.

I'd say to Mama, “Maybe tomorrow,” mean
ing, maybe tomorrow I'd be back to normal and we'd have something we could actually
eat
for dinner instead of one of her mystery casseroles she'd taken to making. I didn't bother telling her that you can't mix hamburger meat with leftover chicken in the same recipe. Or that cheese and crackers do not actually count as a meal, even if served with milk.

Then, after a completely boring lunch of two microwaved slices of cheese pizza, which take no cooking skills to make, just as I was about to settle onto the couch for another day of nothing mixed with sulking, the doorbell rang.

“Marisol's bossy,” Felix said to me when I opened the door. He was wearing one of those T-shirts where you copy a photograph onto the fabric. It was a picture of his sister's art. I could tell because her initials were written in black letters in the bottom right corner.

“Yeah,” he said. “I don't know if I want to be her assistant anymore.”

I looked at him. I knew how he felt, not wanting
to do much of anything myself lately.

“She told me to come get you,” Felix said. “She left you a message about it on the phone. You're supposed to come with me. I'm not supposed to tell you what it's about.”

“Tell your sister I'll see her some other time. I'm kind of tired.”

“If you don't come, she'll get mad at me.” Felix's jaw tightened, and for a minute I thought he might start crying.

I didn't want to go with Felix, but with tears building up in his eyes by the second, I thought I'd better save him from Marisol getting mad—which I could imagine happening, she being the sort of girl she was.

Felix held out his hand. “Come see,” he said.

I took his hand and we walked together toward his father's restaurant. You would think that the sunniness outside would've helped to brighten my mood, but no. It only made it worse. I thought,
Okay, I'm coming. But this better be good. It better be super-extremely seriously good.

When we got to the restaurant, Felix led me to where Marisol sat at a small table covered by a red cloth. The dining part of the restaurant was empty except for the three of us. I could hear someone washing dishes in the kitchen, pots banging, water turning on and off.

“Hey,” Marisol said.

“Hi,” I told her.

“How's it going?” she asked.

I shrugged. “Fine.”

She said, “So Frankie said you changed your name.”

“Well, technically it's my real name.”

“Yeah? I was thinking that since I'm an up-and-coming artist and all, I might do that too. Like the movie stars do. I've got a list going of possibilities. I'm still in the brainstorming stage.”

“Good,” I said.

She nodded, agreeing. Then she suddenly stared at the table next to us. “That's weird,” she said in a quiet voice.

Felix and I looked at the table. Her sketchbook
lay on top with two charcoal pencils alongside it. I could see where a third pencil lay on the floor nearby.

“One of my pencils just rolled off that table. They were in a pile together, and now one of them is on the floor.” Marisol took a step toward the table, and then a step back, like she decided she wouldn't go over there after all. “Weird,” she said again.

“You want me to pick it up?” Felix asked, like he would be doing something very important that took a lot of skill.

Marisol thought for a second. “I guess so, yeah.” Her forehead scrunched up as she bent down to look under the table and search the floor.

Felix picked up the charcoal pencil and placed it alongside the other two. “Marisol doesn't like her stuff messed up,” he told me. “I know how she likes it.” He grinned at his sister.

“Maybe a breeze made it roll off,” I told Marisol.

She bit her lip. “Maybe.”

“Maybe it was always
on
the floor,” Felix said.

Marisol rolled her eyes. “I
know
where I put my pencils,” she said. Then she shrugged and carefully lifted a white napkin covering a plate that was sitting on the table.

On the plate were three strawberries covered in chocolate. They weren't as big as the ones I used but, other than that, they looked like I'd made them.

Felix leaned in close to get a good look. And at first I didn't see what he was looking at, the small figures, not more than an inch long: two triangles carefully drawn in white chocolate, and in the middle, a shape like a teardrop. It was a body and two wings. Marisol had drawn a tiny bird on each of the strawberries using white chocolate.

“I did it with a toothpick,” she said. “It wasn't hard.”

I looked up at her. I was about to tell her how much better the strawberries were with
the drawings on them. How it made them seem even more special. How using white chocolate to draw over the dark chocolate looked…beautiful.

Then she said, “I thought you might like them. I thought, after seeing them, you might want to start up again. I saw there weren't any this week or last week. Luis said you stopped bringing them in. You can use my design if you want.”

I'm here to tell you there was nothing more I wanted just then. Seeing Marisol's birds on the strawberries gave me a hopeful feeling I hadn't had for a long time.

So I nodded to her that I would be using her design.

And I smiled like someone who couldn't wait to get started.