I wake up alive.
I’m exhausted after the late-night silliness. But that’s fine because there was no slapping or punching of walls in the night. No clicking. No loud TV. No booze or weed. Nothing close to scary.
And Manny’s still sleeping like a log.
Xochitl wasn’t exaggerating. He’s doing a lot better.
Gladys helps Abita make chilaquiles. Abita throws in some green chile—Tío Ed in New Mexico is her much younger brother, so she’s got the chile hookup. It’s a tasty consolation after missing out on my mom’s burgers last night.
We pack up and say our good-byes. Abita kisses us all. Hugs Manny extra hard. Xochitl promises her we’ll come back in a month.
Gladys gives Manny a hug. She tells him she’d like to keep in touch. They exchange numbers. Another hug. It’s not awkward. Manny just goes with it.
And we’re on our way.
I’m shocked I’m even thinking it, but I’ll come back in a month. I’ll come back for sure.
It’s a quiet drive out to Butterfield Road. Then west on Terrace Heights Drive. Over the Yakima River, where Mami and Papi made their promises. Out to I-82 north toward I-90, where we’ll head west, back home to south King County.
* * *
But Xochitl takes the ramp onto I-82 south.
I tell her she’s going the wrong way.
“Oops,” she says. “That’s weird.”
We’ve done this trip so many times there’s no way that was an accident.
Xochitl says she’ll turn around, then she misses every chance to do it.
“What the hell, Xoch? Turn around now.”
She takes her eyes off the road and says, “You know what, T? I think we should pay ol’ Florence Frank a visit.”
Florence, Oregon, is seven hours away. “No way, Xoch. I’m not going there.”
She clenches her jaw, eyes back on the road.
“I’m on shift today,” I say. “I’ll miss Bashir tomorrow. I gotta pay him either way. Take me home now.”
Xochitl shushes me and points back at a sleeping Manny. “Things are looking up, T,” she says. “But Manny’s still got a long way to go. This trip to Abita’s and to Frank’s … We can connect him to good memories. Old friends. Ocean air. Help clear his head.”
“That’s great, Xochitl. Very supportive and sweet and cool. But I got stuff to get done this summer. And I can’t do it if I lose my job.”
“The timing sucks. But I need you here.”
I tell her to let me out in Sunnyside. Maybe Caleb can get me.
“I can’t do that,” she says.
“Fine,” I say. “Next time you stop, I’ll just hop out and figure out how to get home.”
“This is a family trip,” she says. “So you’re staying with us.”
“When did a drive around the block become a family trip? And if it’s a family trip, why aren’t Mami and Papi here?”
“They have stuff they need to work on alone. And we have stuff we have to work on without them, so—”
“Xochitl, there is zero I need to work on with you or Florence Frank. And if you wanted me to come so badly—”
“You would have said—”
“I would have said there is no way in hell I’m going with you, Xochitl!”
There’s no use. I’ve got enough in my account. I’ll just bus it home from wherever.
Xochitl’s phone rings. “Hello,” she says. And she flashes me a creepy smirk. “I was expecting this call so much sooner. Really? Seriously? That is great!” she says. Her smirk turns into an evil smile. “We’ll see you in a few hours, then, Rebecca O’Brien, Wendy Martinez’s mom.”
Wendy.
Wendy.
Wendy in Florence.
I swallow but I can’t, like, normal swallow cuz I’m trying to breathe and I can’t get enough air and my hands are tingling and they’re, like, numb, so I start hitting my legs to get feeling back while I choke in air, and I do that real loud.
“You all right?” Xochitl asks.
I’m gonna hug Wendy.
“It’s hot,” I say.
I’m gonna hug Wendy.
I’m boiling over, so I stick my head out the window and let the wind blow my face like a damn dog.
Xochitl pinches and tickles me as she sings, “Wendy Martinez—Gonna be in Flo-rence!” She yells into the back seat, “Hey, Man, Wendy’s gonna be there!”
I scoot back in my seat and give a big who cares? shrug.
“Come on, T!” Xochitl shouts. “Wendy Martinez!”
It’s been so long since we’ve been to Florence. And these two have no idea about me and Wendy. So I’m like, “Who is that? Who are you talking about? I don’t think I know any Wendell Martinez.”
Xochitl explodes a laugh right in my face. “Nice try, T!” She turns back and slaps Manny to life. “Did you hear that, Manny? Did you hear what T just said?”
No response.
“Manny, T’s being a sonso. You’re missing a great opportunity here.”
He wipes his eyes and mumbles, “Don’t be a sonso, T,” and goes back to sleep.
“You’re no fun, Man.” Xochitl turns to me. “It’s totally cool. If you don’t want to go to Florence, we’ll whip Sally around. Go home immediately. No stops.”
“That’s okay, Xoch,” I say. “I guess this one quick stop in Florence is all right.”
Xochitl slows the car, puts on her turn signal, teasing like she’s pulling over. “You sure, bro? Cuz we don’t have to.”
“It’s fine, Xoch,” I tell her. “We’ll go to Florence. For Manny.”
“For Manny. You’re the bestest brother in the whole wide world, Teodoro Avila.”
I text Caleb and ask him to cover my Sunday shift at Vince’s. He says he’ll try. I call Bashir and tell him we can’t meet till Monday.
I start imagining a weekend with Wendy. I try hard to imagine myself saying all the right things. But I can’t imagine what those things are.
We make our way south, down I-82. At Toppenish, we switch to US 97 and drive through the brown rolling hills of the Yakama Nation, then past sleepy Goldendale.
The Sam Hill Memorial Bridge reaches way out over the Columbia River, into the desert of eastern Oregon. Over that bridge and we’ll start west. We’ll leave the brown and enter forest again. Then it’s not far to the coast. Not far to Wendy.
We’re driving up the span and in a minute Xochitl’s pumping the gas, pounding the steering wheel. “I got no power, Manny!”
Manny leans himself into the front seat and calmly says, “It’s gonna make it to the high spot. Just keep your foot away from the brake.”
“It’s not going to make it, Manny.”
“Do not touch that brake, Xoch.”
I look behind. A truck is right on our tail. The driver lays on the horn.
Xochitl’s gonna have to brake, or we’ll start coasting backward.
She says, “What now, Manny?”
And the second she says it, some sort of magic intervenes and we loop over and start heading downhill. We pick up speed rolling over the Columbia, into Oregon, then slow again as we coast under the I-84 overpass. Xochitl pulls to the side of the road. She lets out a long sigh and turns to Manny. “Do your thing, bro.”
I have to get air, so I follow Manny out of the car. He grabs a toolbox from the back—Papi’s old kit.
I take in a lungful of truck exhaust and dust as I watch Manny fiddle under the hood. He wrenches stuff. Yanks stuff. Hums. Pours in water. Eventually, he makes a hop toward the front door.
I remember that hop from Manny’s Mustang days. He’s gonna turn the key.
He pulls the door open, steps his right foot inside.
I cross all my fingers because if the spark lights and the crank catches and that engine revs to life, I’m on my way to Wendy.
Sally fires right up. Manny sticks out his tongue and holds up his shaking hand, flashing us the international headbanger’s symbol for Rock ’n’ roll!
Xochitl apologizes to me for the delay. Then she makes a crack about getting us to Florence so Wendy can chase me around like old times.
I tell Xochitl she’s hilarious, and I think the conversation is over, but she says, “You know, T, after Florence—”
“We’re gonna drive straight home and thanks for that, Xochitl.”
She ignores me and asks if I remember Mami’s cousin Elena.
“Elena? Isn’t she, like, Mami’s eighth cousin or something?”
“They’re second cousins,” she says. “Elena’s son, Rudi, was killed in Afghanistan. There’s a funeral. And Manny wants to go.”
“You never said a word about this.”
“Mami told Elena the three of us would be there.”
“When were you planning on telling me?”
“Mami called last night. After you fell asleep.”
“That sounds like a lie, Xochitl. And there’s no way I’m going.”
“He needs to do this, T. So I’m taking him. And I need you in the car.”
We watch him toss the toolkit in back and slam the tailgate. He looks our way. Shoots us a classic Manny smile and a thumbs-up.
He is trying so hard.
I ask Xochitl where the funeral is.
“It’s just outside of Florence a bit,” she says. “In this town called Delano. A couple hours to get there. Tops.”
She says we’ll just be in Florence for tonight and tomorrow. Then it’s Delano and we’ll head back Monday after the funeral.
“No stops?” I say.
“We’re headed back as fast as we possibly can.” Xochitl extends her hand for a shake. “We’ll be home middle of the night Monday, early Tuesday morning, at the latest.”
My next shift isn’t until Tuesday afternoon. I can meet up with Bashir on Wednesday. Then we’ve got the whole summer.
I do not wanna go to the funeral of a distant cousin I never knew.
I do not want to be so far from home.
I do not want to keep postponing everything I need to get done.
I close my eyes. Breathe in as deep as I can.
I let it go.
I tell myself this is for Manny. And Mami. And it’s the right thing to do.
* * *
Xochitl knocks on Frank O’Brien’s door.
I’m sweating buckets, clutching a tiny box in my pocket. We did a little shopping on the way through Old Town. Xochitl, for saltwater taffy and talk of great memories with Manny. Me, for the secret purchase of a little shells-and-beads bracelet for Wendy. I had set aside a tiny bit of my tutor cash for a possible dinner out with Wendy, the night of her concert. That didn’t happen, so …
Frank opens up and hollers, “Where you been all my life, Avilas?” He bear-hugs each of us. Tells us how grown-up we all look. And he gives Manny some extra man pats on the back. “Welcome home, soldier.” He turns and walks. “Come on, y’all.”
As we follow Frank, my stomach jumps into my throat and I’m boiling over cuz I’m finally gonna see her.
But before we can drop our stuff in our rooms and go find Wendy, Xochitl stops and grabs me by the arm. She points back toward the front door.
Manny didn’t walk in with us.
I follow Xochitl. The door is still open and he’s stuck standing out there, breathing hard.
“Hey, Manuel,” Xochitl says.
“Hi,” he says.
She gets on one side of him and holds his arm. It seems like it makes him feel better, so I go hold his other arm—whatever I can do to get him inside so Wendy doesn’t see this.
“It’s Frank’s place,” Xochitl says. “Same as always.”
“Right,” he says. He forces another smile. “I don’t know what I’m doing out here.” He laughs. “So it’s safe in there, right?”
“Yeah, Man. It’s safe.”
“So let’s get in there,” he says. “Right?”
“I think that’s a great idea.”
We walk in all together, shoulder to shoulder. Real slow. And I’m wondering what happened. He seemed fine up until now. We drop our stuff off and Xochitl takes Manny’s hand again. He’s hesitant but we manage to walk through the living room, toward the deck. Windows and doors are open. Bright sun and cool breeze and sounds and smells of salmon burgers sizzling on the grill.
Frank’s wife, Tabitha, is so happy she’s practically crying. It’s weird, because when I think of Frank’s wife, I picture Raquel, who died four or five years ago. Tabitha’s emotion is too much for Manny to take, so he nods and walks right past her.
I smile at her and make a beeline for the deck.
And sitting in the Adirondack chair in the shadow of Frank’s big old cedar tree is Wendy Martinez.
Those tingles hit me again. Full-body this time. And sharp.
I can’t do anything about it because I freeze. Seriously, I …
Cannot.
Move.
Wendy chomps into a massive salmon burger at the same time as her eyes catch mine. The bite is way too big. She’s got squirrel cheeks full of burger and a fat dollop of tartar sauce clinging to her chin. She starts giggling at me and tiny salmon chunks shoot out and she plays horrified over the whole thing.
And I’m fighting to bend up the corners of my lips and make a smile.
She runs inside to take care of the situation, popping me one in the shoulder as she goes.
Xochitl leans into me and reminds me to breathe.
It’s a good idea, so I try it.
Rebecca O’Brien gives me a hug. “Teodoro, it’s great to see you again.” She hugs Manny and Xochitl and asks about our trip down. And she asks about Mami and Papi.
In a sec, Wendy’s back, saying, “Heckuva big old awkward burger, Frank.”
She says hi to Manny and Xochitl, then yanks me inside. “How’s it going, Teodoro?”
Aw, man. The way she says my name. I breathe deep and manage to say, “It’s good. I’m here. Good. And you?”
She says, “I was stoked when Xochitl called and told us you guys were going to be here.”
“Xochitl called you?”
As I say it, Wendy Martinez wraps me up in a squeeze.
I wrap my arms all the way around her and squeeze right back.
Oh.
My.
God. I can feel her pulling away, but I can’t let go.
“All right,” Wendy says. “Hug and release.”
I release.
“And breathe,” she says. “There ya go, buddy.” She gives me another slug in the arm. “Let’s get back out there. I know Frank’s been waiting to see you guys.”
I waited so long.
So long.
Then I screw it all up with a creepy, clingy hug.
I end up in a chair across the flames from Wendy. And her mom.
And I stare out at the ocean, wondering how I became such a dope.
She shouts, “Look alive, Avila!” and pegs me with a pinecone. And laughs right at me.
I shake a fist in the air. “I will get my revenge!”
She goes, “Ha! We’ll see about that, mister.”
All is not lost!
Tabitha tells Manny she’s relieved he got home safe. “Frank and I got sick worrying about you over there. The news … Oh my God … it was unbearable.”
Manny scrunches his eyebrows all serious and nods a bunch of times while she goes on about how horrible it was to watch war coverage on TV. He finally cuts her off and goes, “That sounds like a nightmare, Tabitha. I can’t even imagine it.”
Frank holds out a frosty beer bottle for Manny.
Manny takes it and Xochitl says, “Seriously, Frank?” She says it like she’s playing, but it’s obvious she’s not.
“Xoch.” Manny glares at her.
“We talked about this, Frank,” she says.
“Cooler’s near empty,” he says. “We’ll be cut off pretty quick.”
Xochitl tells him “pretty quick” better be pretty quick.
“Enough, Xochitl.” Manny says it like he’s about to boil over.
I roll my eyes all goofy at Wendy, trying to distract her from this awkward moment. She grins and shakes her head like she’s telling me not to worry about it.
“We had a deal, Man,” Xochitl tells him.
“That’s fine,” he says. And he walks over to the cooler and thrusts both hands in the ice and pulls them back out, gripping a shaking bottle in each one. “Thanks for the beers, Frank.”
Frank holds out a bottle for Xochitl and says, “Trust me kid; we won’t go overboard on the booze tonight. We good here?”
Xochitl throws Manny a worried look.
Manny throws the look right back. Then he smiles like he’s promising everything is going to be okay.
Xochitl sighs. She takes the bottle. “We’re always good, Frank.” And she gives him an exaggerated kiss on the cheek and takes a seat.
“Attagirl,” Frank says.
In a minute, Xochitl’s got Frank going on his old stories about Papi and the characters they used to work with at Fauntleroy Fabrication.
It’s not long before Manny clears his throat and says, “How about the thumb story, Frank?”
Frank raises his left hand. Shows off his half thumb. “You mean this old nub?”
Tabitha says, “We’re eating, Frank. I don’t think—”
“Aw, who’s it going to hurt, babe?”
Xochitl starts chanting, “Nub! Nub! Nub!”
Manny smiles big. “Nub! Nub! Nub!”
Wendy and I join in. Even her mom can’t help but laugh.
“The people have spoken,” Frank says to thunderous applause and hooting.
He tells about working at Fauntleroy during a rush to get out parts for the Boeing 727. He comes into work and fires up the band saw to train an apprentice on safety procedures. But for some reason, he loses focus, takes his eyes off his job, and …
Frank gives a bloodcurdling holler as he reenacts the moment.
Groans of disgust all around. Manny lifts a shaking hand to wipe a tear, he’s laughing so hard. And he keeps laughing uncontrollably way after everyone else has stopped. It’s funny at first. Then it’s just awkward.
Frank doesn’t see it that way, so “The Tale of the Tiny Thumb” is just the first in a series of gruesome, bloody shop stories.
* * *
Before we know it the sun has set and the moon and stars are doing their thing. Wendy looks my way over the dancing flames. Then she stands up in a way that says, You’re coming with me.
She kisses her mom on the cheek and turns to walk, but Rebecca grabs her arm and pulls her in. She looks a lecture right into Wendy, then looks at me like, Have fun. But don’t you dare have too much fun.
I follow Wendy into the house. She pulls a sweater off a hook by the front door. “We’ll get a better view of the stars away from the fire. Sound good?”
Uh-huh.
We walk the streets of Florence. Wendy talks about school and her future. Then she apologizes for doing that again and says, “You ever think about the day we ran into each other?”
I tell her I think about it all the time. I tell her I think that day was meant to happen. “It was like running into you was part of a big cosmic plan.”
Wendy knocks her shoulder into mine.
I knock shoulders back. “And us coming to Florence? And this walk under these stars? It’s all part of the plan.”
It’d be a perfect time to stop talking. Because this night is amazing enough. The moon lighting up the sandbar on the bay. Its reflection flickering in the tide. Families licking cones at Al’s Ice Cream. An old couple holding hands just ahead of us. Me and Wendy following, walking at their slow pace. Wendy, smiling, saying there’s no place she’d rather be.
I can’t help myself.
I tell Wendy that her eyes are beautiful. Serious and fun at the same time. I tell her I love hearing her talk. About life plans and the majestic tuba. All the goofy random ideas she comes up with. I tell her I know she liked me when we were kids. But I never imagined we’d get to a moment like this.
Wendy takes my hand in hers—Oh, man, it’s warm. “Teodoro, I’ve imagined it.”
Jazz saxophone floats out of a bar, and the old man of that old couple … he stops walking. And he wraps his arm around the old lady’s waist.
She turns to him with a way-serious face.
Wendy and I look at each other like, What’s going on? And we watch.
Then the old lady thrusts a hand high in the air.
The man clasps it. Holds it up there. He looks into her eyes, his nose touching hers, and then—I don’t know who starts it—but they do like eight intense steps of a tango, or something. And at the end of the steps, the old man freaking dips her! And he holds her in the dip, so she could be looking up at the stars, but she’s not. She’s got her eyes locked on his eyes. And all the old lady says is, “Oh, my.” And she giggles. The man pulls her up and they walk the streets of Old Town Florence, Oregon, like it never happened.
We start walking quiet, and I can’t help but think that dip happened for a reason. It’s like that old couple is a future Mami and Papi—like from another dimension. From a place where they’ve been allowed to go on, living happy lives together, growing old without wars or bad economies getting in the way of their romance.
And they’ve traveled back through space and time to Florence, Oregon, to deliver a message about love.
I reach in my pocket and pull out the little cardboard box.
“It’s not much,” I say.
Wendy opens it slow. Pulls out the bracelet. She lifts her smiling eyes as she hands it over and holds out her wrist.
I slide the bracelet over her fingers and hand. I fumble with the clasp till I finally get it.
“Looks good,” she says.
“You think so? I was choosing between this one and one with these shiny—”
Wendy reaches for the back of my head and pulls it down toward hers, and I go with it, and we don’t stop till our lips are squishing.
I am kissing Wendy Martinez.
Or she’s kissing me and I’m kissing her back—the technicalities are not important.
What’s important is my whole body is zapped alive like I been struck by a bolt of lightning. The good kind.
We separate lips and I say, “I didn’t expect—”
“Stop words,” she says. And we go back at it.
We share an Al’s chocolate cone, kissing. We kiss on a rusted bus bench. On the warm hood of a parked limo. We leave Old Town and head up residential streets as we stumble back toward Frank’s and kiss on, like, five residences’ dewy lawns. We kiss at the end of Frank’s driveway, feeling that Florence breeze. Smelling ocean salt and grill smoke as we kiss. Kissing up against Frank’s garage. Smelling hair and sweat. Feeling warm breath on faces. Fingers in hair. Hands squeezing hips. Palms on cheeks, palms squeezing cheeks, not letting ’em go as we kiss at Frank’s front door.
“Oh, my,” she finally says.
“Got that right,” I say. It’s stupid, but what else do you say when your wildest dream comes true?
We head inside and back to the deck, walking the way people who’ve just been kissing walk. Hoping no one notices. Hoping a little bit that everyone notices.
Rebecca stands and says she can’t stay awake another minute. She flashes the two of us another Watch your step look, then wishes everyone a good night.
Manny’s got a clown smile pasted on his red face as he finishes off a beer. Frank’s cooler didn’t cut them off as fast as he’d promised.
Frank points at me. “Your daddy…” he shouts so loud they can probably hear him in Old Town. “That son of a bitch still owes me fifty bucks.” He tosses me a beer and motions for us to take a seat. He looks up at the stars and says, “Big Dipper tonight. Beautiful. That’s Raquel smiling down on us.”
Xochitl looks over at Tabitha and real quick asks Frank why Papi owes him fifty bucks.
“If memory serves me right … I could tell ya,” he says. “But it don’t.”
Frank looks sad about not remembering. Then he points his bottle at each of us and says, “Avilas, when you get back home, I want you to tell that bastard father of yours this: Daniel, you don’t owe Florence Frank nothin’.”
Then Frank explains that back in the days when he drank real heavy, it got so bad that Raquel kicked him out of the house. Papi and Mami took him in while he sobered up and Papi managed things at Fauntleroy till Frank was ready to get back to work.
Manny starts talking now. He says he remembers that time. He remembers Frank and Mami taking him for a walk at Angle Lake, Mami waddling because Xochitl was about to be born. He remembers Frank taking him for ice cream and trying to teach him checkers.
I love that picture of Mami, and I love it that Manny has held on to those memories and that he’s telling stories. Under these stars. Around this fire.
“Your parents…” Frank says. “They loved each other so much it created a bunch of new love. They used some of it to take care of me and to save my marriage. And they used it to raise you kids.”
It sounds so cheesy. But that’s what beer does to Florence Frank. Beer and love.
Wendy gives my hand a squeeze and nods for us to leave.
We walk in the house. Head up toward her room. Outside the door, we hug tight and long, then pull in a same-time breath—again, just like at the HUB—but this time it’s not too much for us and we don’t let go.
Wendy looks up. She holds her wrist and the bracelet for me to see. “I love it, Teodoro.”
“It’s nothing, really. I mean—”
“You mean it’s a present that says we’re more than friends?”
“Uh-huh.”
“And do you mean it says we’ll try to be more than friends for … for as long as we can try?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Then it’s not nothing, really. It’s actually something.”
Wendy reaches up and gives me a soft one on the lips. “Sweet dreams, Teodoro.”
“Sweet dreams, Wendy.”