CHAPTER TWENTY

Problems at the Palace

The girls headed for the Palace with Sancho at their side. Danya insisted she didn’t want any Slurpee (her stomach was already fluttery with nerves), so Pia gave the rest to Sancho. It dyed his pony lips and tongue electric blue, and all the sugar made him so hyper he trotted circles around Danya and Pia and chased tiny lizards off the sidewalks into the bushes and up palm trees.

Sooner than Danya expected, they came upon a sign: THE PALACE RETIREMENT COMMUNITY. Taking a deep breath, she focused on moving her feet forward, one in front of the other, until she was standing in front of her grandmother’s building.

Danya blinked once, then twice, not sure she could trust her own eyes. The Palace was a pink brick building covered in huge, arched windows. It towered over the houses and apartment complexes around it, overlooking the sparkling lights of downtown Orlando. Lush greenery lined the front steps, and vines and moss spilled over a rocky shore, separating the Palace from a real moat filled with blue water and tiny koi fish.

The only way to reach the front door was by crossing a drawbridge—just like something out of a Ferdinand and Dapple book.

Danya’s chest twisted and tightened. Pia grabbed her hand and squeezed.

“Told you so,” she said, sticking out her tongue. Danya shoved her playfully, and Pia started to giggle. “What, I did tell you. Real life is just like the fairy tales. Anyway, we’re right beside you, Snap. You ready for this?”

Danya nodded. “Come here, buddy,” she said to Sancho. Sancho trotted up to her side, and Danya pulled herself onto his back. If she was crossing a drawbridge and riding up to a freaking palace, she was doing it in style.

Pia grabbed Sancho’s reins and led them forward, humming the theme song to some adventure movie under her breath as they approached. The automatic doors whooshed aside, Danya tugged on Sancho’s ear, and together they trotted into the lobby, his hooves clomping loudly on the black-and-white-tiled floor. The air conditioning turned the sweat on the back of her neck cold, making her shiver.

Plush leather couches were scattered across the lobby, and a bank of glass elevators lined the far wall, blocked by the largest security guard Danya had ever seen. The sleeves of the guard’s uniform were stretched so tight over his muscled arms they look painted on, and his head was shiny, smooth, and roughly the size and shape of a bowling ball. His plastic name tag read _RALPHIO.

Gathering all her courage, Danya led Sancho up to the front desk. “Hi, Mr. Ralphio. We’re here to visit Angie Ruiz,” she said.

“Ms. Ruiz doesn’t accept visitors.” Ralphio didn’t look up from the paperback romance novel he was reading. The words LOVE and HATE were tattooed to his knuckles—one letter for each finger.

Danya glanced at Pia, her confidence fading. “Um, can’t you make an exception? I’m her granddaughter, and we came a really long way.”

“The Palace Retirement Community doesn’t make exceptions,” the guard said, flipping a page. “That’s why we’re the best.”

“Oh.” Danya glanced down at the desk. A framed photograph of a little girl with curly blond hair and big blue eyes sat next to a jar of pens. Sancho nudged the bag where she kept the Ferdinand and Dapple book, and suddenly Danya had an idea. . . .

“Is that your daughter?” she asked. For the first time, the guard looked up from his book.

“Yeah.” He glanced at the photograph and the hard lines of his face softened. It wasn’t quite a smile, but it was close. “Amy. She’s nine.”

Danya brightened and turned to Pia, winking. Her way of saying, “Follow my lead.” Pia’s eyes widened, and the corner of her lip twitched into a proud smile.

“Does Amy like to read?” Danya asked.

Ralphio snorted—it almost sounded like a laugh. “Yeah, she does. She reads so many books I have a hard time keeping up.”

“Has she read this one?” Pia pulled the Ferdinand and Dapple book out of her bag and slid it over Ralphio’s desk.

Ralphio set his own novel down on the desk and picked up the Ferdinand and Dapple book, opening to the first page. “I don’t think so.”

“It’s really good,” Danya said. As she watched Ralphio hold her favorite book, she felt a pang of sadness in her chest. Still, she forced herself to continue. “There’s this one scene where Ferdinand gets into a sword fight with a conquistador, and when he loses his sword, he pulls off his leather boot and uses it to fight the conquistador away.” Danya made a slashing move with her arm, like she was holding an invisible sword. “And there’s this scene where Dapple gets locked away in a cave, and Ferdinand thinks she’s a goner, but she digs her way out and finds Ferdinand at the last second.” Danya stopped and looked down at Sancho. “See, Ferdinand and Dapple are the very best of friends,” she said, scratching Sancho behind the ear. “Almost like soul mates.”

Ralphio started flipping through the pages. “That actually sounds pretty good. Amy loves all that adventure stuff.”

“You can take it if you want.” Danya shrugged, trying to act like this wasn’t a big deal even though handing over the book made her heart hurt.

“Really?” Ralphio raised an eyebrow.

“If you let me up to see my grandmother,” Danya added. “She wrote it, you know. Maybe I could even get an autograph. For Amy.”

“Angie Ruiz is some big-time author, eh? Well, isn’t that something.” Ralphio shook his head, a smile playing on his lips as he turned the book over in his hand. Finally, he set it back down on the desk. Danya was sure he was going to slide it back over to her and tell her to leave, but instead he reached beneath the desk and pushed a button she couldn’t see. One of the elevator doors behind him slid open.

“She’s on the twenty-first floor. Tell her you snuck past me, okay?” Ralphio said with a wink. “And the pony has to stay down here.”

“Wait, Sancho can’t—” Danya started, but before she could argue, Pia took Sancho’s reins, ruffling the pony’s mane.

“Danya, I think this is something you need to do on your own,” Pia said. “I can watch Sancho.”

Sancho swooshed his tail in agreement.

Danya swallowed and slid down from Sancho’s back. Pia was right. She was about to meet her abuelita, her favorite author, her hero for the very first time. She needed to go by herself.

“And hey,” Pia added, nodding at the book on Ralphio’s desk. “You gave up your favorite book. I think that means you just made the ultimate sacrifice. That’s number fourteen on the list of hero’s tasks.”

Danya laughed. “Well, maybe I’ll become a hero after all. Hold tight, buddy,” she said, tickling Sancho under his chin. “I’ll be back soon.”

Sancho licked her wrist, and Pia took his reins. Danya crossed the lobby to the elevator waiting at the end of the room. The elevator was made entirely of thick panes of glass, and it glided up so smoothly it took Danya a moment to realize she was moving. She was nervous at first, watching the ground disappear below her, but she quickly forgot her fear as she rose higher.

There was a courtyard below that looked like a grotto, with a small waterfall pouring into a beautiful blue swimming pool. Seniors sunbathed under palm trees and played water polo in the shallow end of the pool. Danya pressed her face against the glass, leaving behind fingerprints and clouds of breath. Everything here was so fancy, so expensive. It was like nothing she’d ever seen before. For a long moment she forgot her nerves, too enthralled by the beauty of the Palace.

Then the elevator stopped, and the door behind Danya pinged open. Danya turned. There was only one door on the twenty-first floor—a suite. She stepped off the elevator and rang the bell.

The woman who opened the front door was barely a foot taller than Danya herself. She wore a drapey tunic, scarves, and long beaded necklaces, and gray streaks peppered the dark hair piled on top of her head in a neat bun. Danya gaped at her, amazed. Even though she’d practically memorized her grandmother’s photograph in the back of the Ferdinand and Dapple books, she’d never noticed that Angie had her father’s kind brown eyes and Danya’s upturned nose.

Angie blinked. “Danya?” she said.

Danya took a deep breath. “Hello, abuelita.”

“I saw your photo on the news, but I never really thought you’d . . . I can’t believe you’re . . .” Angie trailed off, and for a long moment she just stood there, clutching the door frame like she might collapse. She lifted her arm, and for a second Danya was certain her grandmother was going to give her a hug. But then an emotion Danya didn’t quite understand flickered over Angie’s face. Embarrassment, maybe? Or fear? She dropped her arm awkwardly. As though remembering her manners, Angie hurriedly stepped aside and swung her apartment door open.

“Well, come in, come in,” she said with a shy smile. “Family doesn’t hover on the doorstep like a stray dog.”

Danya followed her grandmother into a narrow hallway. Lining the walls were photographs—some so old they were black and white, and some that looked like they were taken just a few days ago. Angie walked down the hallway without glancing at them, but Danya couldn’t help peeking at a few as she trailed behind.

There was her grandmother hang-gliding over a crystal-blue sea, and there was her grandmother standing on top of a rocky red mountain, and there was her grandmother underwater, petting a spotted shark with a lethal-looking fin.

Danya smiled, unable to keep a grin from taking over her face. Everything her father told her about her abuelita had been true after all. She really was an adventurer. Danya reached out and ran her fingers over a framed photograph of her grandma sitting on top of a stallion that was so big he made Sancho look like a tiny toy pony. A little boy sat in front of Angie, and his wide, deep brown eyes made Danya feel happy and lonely all at the same time.

“Hi, Dad,” she whispered to the photograph before following the real Angie around the corner.

The living room was an explosion of color. Brightly painted African masks hung from the walls, and thick Peruvian blankets were piled on worn leather couches. One entire wall was taken up by a Japanese watercolor of a geisha crouching next to a still pond filled with lilies. While Danya turned in place, taking it all in, Angie swept into a small kitchen with blue tile floors and nervously put a kettle on the stove top, switching on a burner. She paused for just a moment and, weaving her fingers together, glanced up, like she needed to make sure Danya really was there. Another emotion flitted across her face, but this one Danya recognized. It was the look her mom got when she watched Danya’s school play last year or the look her dad got that time Danya got an A on the math test she studied for all night. It was pride.

“Do you drink tea?” Angie asked. Then, shaking her head, “Well, whether you do or whether you don’t, I’m making tea. That’s what you do in situations like this. You make tea.”

“I drink tea,” Danya said. Her mom sometimes let her have sips of her Diet Snapple Peach Tea, and even though she was pretty sure that wasn’t what Angie was talking about, Danya told herself she’d drink whatever was placed in front of her to be polite. She scooted onto a bar stool next to a marble island that separated the kitchen from the living room. She sat up tall and made sure to keep her elbows off the counter, remembering how her mother taught her to behave when she was a guest in someone else’s home.

As soon as she thought the word guest, though, Danya felt a little funny. Did it count as being a guest if the person you were visiting was your own grandmother? Danya wasn’t entirely sure.

She watched her grandmother flutter around, pulling teacups and saucers and tiny pots of sugar from her cupboards. Sitting next to the stove was a tiny black-and-white television set with the sound switched off. The words RUIZ RUNAWAY WATCH flashed across the screen, along with Danya’s and Pia’s photographs.

“Hey!” Danya exclaimed, forgetting her manners as she pointed at the television. “You’ve been watching the news! You knew I ran away.”

Angie stopped fussing with her tea bags and turned around. “Of course I knew! I’ve had the television on nonstop for the past week, I’ve been so worried. And then when that tipster told the police you were in Florida . . .” Angie shook her head, wringing her hands. “Well, I just knew you were coming to see me.”

She slumped against the counter, like a suddenly deflated balloon. “I’ve been practicing what to say to you ever since.”

Confused, Danya sat up taller on her stool. Tipster? Had Violet told the police they were in Florida? “You know why I’m here?”

“You want to know why I stopped talking to your father. Why I haven’t been a part of your life all these years.”

“Oh.” Danya’s shoulders fell. “Well, actually I . . .”

“You don’t have to explain.” Angie poured hot water into two cups and plunked a tea bag in each. “I’d be furious if I were you. But I want you to know it was never because I didn’t like your mother.”

“You stopped talking to my dad because of my mom?” Danya asked, frowning.

“I guess you could say that.” Angie shook her head sadly and slid a cup of tea over to Danya. “They were nineteen. He wanted to quit school to marry her, and I was so against it. I told him if he did, I’d cut him off.”

“But why?” Danya blew on her tea to make it cooler.

“They were just so young,” Angie said, taking a sip of tea. “Your mother seemed like a nice girl, but I wanted something different for your father. Something bigger. I didn’t have Luis until I was in my late thirties. I got to live so many adventures before he even came into the world. I wanted him to hike Machu Picchu and visit the monasteries in Nepal.” Angie sighed, shaking her head. “I guess I wanted him to be exactly like me.”

She set the teacup down on the counter and smiled at Danya. “But he told me he had to. I just couldn’t understand. And can you believe it took me this long to realize what he knew from the beginning?”

Danya lifted the teacup to her mouth, and a smell like cinnamon and oranges drifted up her nose. “What did he know?” she asked before taking a sip.

“That there is no adventure bigger than making a family. And there’s nothing more important.”

Danya set the cup of tea back down. Her grandmother’s words hit her like a punch in the stomach, and suddenly she missed her parents so much. This was the longest she’d ever been away from home. She was almost surprised by how it hurt—she felt fine one moment, then it hit her all at once, aching so much she could hardly breathe. How had her grandmother managed to stay away from her family all these years?

As though to answer, Angie continued. “I’ve thought of calling your father so many times, but every time I pick up the phone, something freezes inside me and I can’t do it. I even returned all those letters your mother sent me. It was just too painful to open them and see what I’d given up. I almost felt . . . like I didn’t deserve to know you, I guess.”

Her grandmother didn’t deserve to know her? Danya turned those words over in her head, trying to make sense of them. All these years her grandmother had been her hero—her role model. How could her grandmother possibly think she didn’t deserve to know her?

“I would always want to know you,” Danya blurted out, but as soon as she’d said the words, they sounded strange to her. Childish, almost. Her grandmother gave her a sad smile.

“You’re so young, Danya. You don’t know what it feels like to fail someone you love so completely.”

But Danya did know what it felt like. She wrapped her hands around her teacup tighter, remembering the night of the fire. Pia might think it wasn’t really her fault, but the memory was still so vivid, so fresh in Danya’s mind. She wondered if she’d think of those crackling flames, the dry grass, Jupiña’s whinnies every time she closed her eyes, no matter what else happened in her life. Did it feel like that for her grandmother, too? Was there some memory of her father that she could never take back, no matter how badly she wanted to?

“I’m not too young to know what that feels like,” Danya said in a quiet voice.

Her grandmother nodded sadly and reached forward, taking one of Danya’s hands in her own.

“My sweet girl. How can I ever make up for missing so much of your life?”

Danya cleared her throat. “Well, actually, I might know a way.” Gathering her courage, Danya told Angie about Sancho, her parents’ financial difficulties, the bank loan, and how she’d come all this way to seek a miracle that might save them.

“I thought,” she finished, staring down at the tea growing cold in her cup, “well, I hoped maybe you would want to help. You made so much money off the Ferdinand and Dapple books, and I just thought . . .”

The end of Danya’s sentence got tangled up in her mouth, and she found she had no idea how to finish it. Still, she thought she’d gotten the point across. She glanced up at her grandmother hopefully.

Angie Ruiz’s face had crumpled like a tissue. The corners of her mouth pulled down in a deep frown, and when Danya looked up at her, she sighed deeply.

“Oh, mija. I’d love to help you,” she said. “But there is no money. My fortune is gone.”