On Saturday morning, Abel Ruiz got a frantic phone call from the younger student he was paired with in the student mentoring program, Bobby Padilla. The boy had been living with his mother since she had separated from his father, who used to whip Bobby when he misbehaved. Now Bobby was out of his mind with fear.
“Abel, you gotta help me,” he cried. “My father is coming tomorrow to visit. I’m so scared. He’s gonna ask me about school and stuff, and I got a C-minus in math. He’s gonna criticize everything about me. Pretty soon he’s gonna get mad and take off his belt and wallop me, Abel, like he used to do. I don’t wanna see him, Abel.”
“But he’s probably coming down to see you, dude,” Abel said. “He and your mom are quits, so he’s not coming to see her.”
“But I don’t wanna see him,” Bobby wailed. “You gotta come get me, Abel, until he’s gone.”
Only a few months ago, when Bobby thought his mother was going to send him to live with his father, the boy ran away and hid out in an abandoned warehouse for a week.
“Okay, homie, listen,” Abel said. “I’ll help you out, but I gotta figure out what to do. Put your mom on.”
After a few seconds, Mrs. Padilla was on the phone. “Abel,” she said, sounding almost as upset as her son, “I don’t know what to do. My ex-husband has the right to see his son. The court order says so. He’s never been arrested for abuse or anything, and he swears to me he doesn’t drink anymore. He’s even taken anger management classes. It will only be for Sunday, and then he goes away.”
“Mrs. Padilla,” Abel said, “how does this sound? I’ll come over for Sunday dinner too. I’ll cook it. I’ll make one of my good dinners. I’ll hang around until your ex-husband is gone. That way, Bobby will feel safe, and the father can visit with his kid.”
“Oh, Abel,” Mrs. Padilla said, “would you do that? Oh, that would be so wonderful. Thank you.” She told Bobby, then handed the phone to him.
“Abel, you’ll come for sure? You promise?” Bobby asked. “You’ll be here the whole time?”
“Yeah, dude. Your mom said your father is coming at twelve, and I’ll be there at eleven thirty to get lunch going. I’ll hang out with you guys until your father leaves. You got nothing to worry about, okay?” Abel said. “And who knows? This might be a good thing. You remember your father at his worst, but maybe he’s been missing you and feels bad for the mean things he did. This could be the start of something good.”
“How come you’re gonna cook the meal?” Bobby asked.
“I told you guys,” Abel laughed. “I’m studying to be a chef. I’m gonna practice on your family.”
“We eat mostly out of cans and stuff. We eat spaghetti and meatballs and macaroni and cheese. My mom cleans houses, and she’s too tired to make other stuff. But that’s okay. I like mac and cheese. And pork and beans. You gonna bring some cans, Abel?” Bobby asked.
“No, I cook from scratch,” Abel said.
“What’s that mean?” Bobby asked.
“It means I don’t use cans, Bobby,” Abel said.
“Wow,” Bobby said. “You must be like a magician. You’re sure you’re coming, huh?”
“Yeah, I’m sure. See you around eleven thirty, dude,” Abel said.
When Abel ended the call, his mother rushed at him, her face wreathed in joy. “Oh, Abel, exciting news! Your brother, Tomás, just called, and he’s been accepted to the top honor society in the nation. It looks like he’s going to be Phi Beta Kappa!”
“That’s great, Mom,” Abel said. Tomás, the eldest Ruiz, was smart, handsome, and charming, and now Phi Beta Kappa?
“Who were you on the phone with, Abel?”
“Oh, Bobby Padilla, the freshman I mentor. I’m gonna go over there and make dinner for him, his mom, and her ex. The kid is afraid of the ex, so I’m gonna hang around to make him feel better,” Abel said.
Liza Ruiz began to smile dreamily, “You know, Tomás is so adorable. Such a great honor, and he isn’t bragging or anything. He just sort of dropped the news like it wasn’t important.”
Liza Ruiz looked ecstatic over her older son’s newest triumph.
Penelope looked up from her computer. “You know what, Mom?” she said coldly. “Abel is giving up his whole Sunday when he was looking forward to hanging with his friends. He’s giving it up to help a kid he isn’t even related to. I think that’s awesome, Mom.”
Now Mrs. Ruiz looked embarrassed. “Oh, of course it is. You’re such a good person, Abel. I’m so proud of how compassionate you are. That little boy—Roddy—he is so lucky to have you as a friend.”
“His name is Bobby, Mom,” Penelope growled. “Bobby Padilla. Abel has told us that a dozen times.”
Abel cast his sister a quick smile. Mom wasn’t trying to be thoughtless. She really did love Abel and Penelope as much as she loved Tomás, her perfect child. It was just that she was so thrilled by the level of his success that sometimes it blinded her to everything and everybody else.
Abel went to the supermarket to pick up what he needed for tomorrow’s dinner at the Padilla’s. Like many in the barrio, they were poor and didn’t eat fresh food. On her way home from her backbreaking housecleaning jobs, Mrs. Padilla picked up cheap cans from the thrift store, buying whatever was on sale. Abel wanted to make tomorrow special, so he bought two pounds of sirloin steak, leeks, frozen broccoli, carrots, water chestnuts, and red peppers. He had chili puree and garlic at home. The prep time would be short, and it wouldn’t take long to cook. Abel cut the sirloin into small strips so he’d be ready to go. Since he started working at the Sting Ray, he was making good money on tips. It fascinated some of the regular customers to see the young chef come to their table, and they were very generous.
When Abel pulled his car into the Padilla driveway on Sunday, Bobby was at the door. “You came!” he shouted.
“Of course I came,” Abel laughed. “You think I’m a liar, homie?”
“You’re all right, Abel,” Bobby cried, turning toward the inside of the house. “Mom! Abel came!”
Mrs. Padilla appeared in a faded print dress. She was a very pretty woman, but hard work and worry had taken their toll. She looked older than her years. “This is so nice of you, Abel,” she said. “A young man your age, I bet you had other plans for today, and you canceled them to do this.”
“No, no,” Abel lied. Actually he was going to meet Ernesto, Paul, and Julio to watch auto racing.
Abel went into the small kitchen and went to work. The stove didn’t work too well, but Abel brought his cookware from home and cooked the beef and leeks efficiently. He had put the lemon meringue pie he made the night before in the refrigerator.
At quarter to twelve, the doorbell rang.
“Ohhh,” Bobby groaned.
“Don’t sweat it, dude,” Abel said with a wink. “We can do this.”
A burly man dressed in jeans and a checkered shirt came into the living room. Bobby was on the frail side. He took after his mother who probably didn’t weight much more than a hundred ten pounds. The man was well muscled and formidable.
Abel could understand the boy’s consternation when this dude got angry.
“Hello, Mel,” Mrs. Padilla said.
“Hello, Clare,” he said uneasily.
Abel decided to make things easier by introducing himself. “I’m Abel Ruiz, a senior at Cesar Chavez High School. I’m studying to be a chef, and I’m a friend of Bobby’s. I’m cooking dinner today to get some practice.” Abel extended his hand. “You must be Bobby’s father. Nice to meet you.”
“Nice to meet you too,” the man said.
Bobby finally found the courage to emerge from the kitchen. He stood beside Abel and said in a squeaky voice, “Hi, Dad.”
“Hello, Bobby,” Mr. Padilla said. “You’ve grown so much since … I hardly recognize you.”
“My,” Mrs. Padilla said, “something smells good from the kitchen.”
They gathered around the table and Abel served sirloin in spicy chili sauce over rice. Bobby’s eyes got really big when he tasted the steak. “It’s so tender. I never tasted meat like this before. It’s so good,” he said.
“Bobby is doing really well in school,” Mrs. Padilla told her ex-husband. “He’s raised his math grade from a D to a C, and he used to be getting Cs in English but now he got a B-plus. His grade point average is a B now.”
“That’s very good to hear,” Mr. Padilla said. He looked at his son and smiled. “Good for you.”
Abel had told Bobby to talk about sports, so after a moment, he said, “I’m going out for basketball at school.”
“You’ve gotten so much taller,” Mr. Padilla said. “You’ll be good at basketball.”
“Yeah, me and my friend Richie, we’re both gonna be on the Cougar team,” Bobby said. He didn’t seem as scared of his father as when the man first appeared.
“You’ll need good basketball shoes,” Mr. Padilla said.
“Oh, Richie got a nice pair for his birthday from his friend Ernie,” Bobby said.
“I’ll take care of that for you, Bobby,” the man said.
As they finished the meal, Bobby said, “I think this is the best meal I ever had in my whole life!”
Abel brought out the lemon pie, and though it didn’t seem possible that Bobby’s eyes could grow any larger, they did.
After dinner, Abel noticed the man looking at his son and trying to decide if he could take the next step. It seemed he was as nervous about being with Bobby as Bobby was being with him, maybe more so. Finally the man said, “I saw a hoop out on the garage, Bobby. Want to shoot some baskets?”
“Uh …” Bobby looked at Abel. Abel smiled and gave a thumbs-up. “Yeah, I guess so,” Bobby said. Bobby was still not comfortable with his father, but he was trying to do the right thing. Abel was proud of him for that.
The father and son went out to shoot some baskets, and Abel joined them as a spectator. “I’m so bad at basketball that they begged me not to join the team,” Abel explained as he sat in a lawn chair to watch.
After about ten minutes, the man and boy seemed to be getting along, so Abel went back in the house to give them some privacy.
“Bobby,” Mr. Padilla said when he was alone with his son. “I’ve been a lousy father.”
Bobby just looked at his father in silence. He didn’t know what to say. The man continued, “I didn’t mean to be so hard on you. I just did it the way my father did. He beat us all, my brothers and me. When you started skipping school and getting in trouble, I thought we were losing you. I thought you needed discipline, and I didn’t know anything but the belt.”
Bobby’s mouth was very dry. He’d never seen his father like this before. He always seemed tough and strong and mean, but now he was humble. Bobby couldn’t think of anything to say.
Mr. Padilla said, “I’ve got a better job now. I’m going to be sending you and your mom more support money. She won’t have to work so hard. Things will be better, Bobby. I swear it.”
“That’d be good,” Bobby finally said. “Mom’s real tired all the time. She works real hard.”
“I know. Your mom is a good woman. I never deserved her,” Mr. Padilla said. “I don’t expect her ever to forgive me, and I don’t expect you to either. I was mean to both of you. I drank up most of what I made. I hung out at night with my friends like I wasn’t even married. So I’m not asking for forgiveness. It’s too late for that. I just want a little bit of a relationship with you, Bobby, because you’re my son, and I love you.”
Bobby made a basket and his father said, “You’re good. You got the right moves. I’ll be bringing down the new shoes next weekend.”
Mr. Padilla thanked his ex-wife for having him, and he thanked Bobby for being polite. He thanked Abel for the wonderful meal. Then, at two o’clock, he walked down the driveway to his pickup truck. He was getting in the truck when Bobby said, “Dad?”
“Yeah, Bobby,” the man said, turning.
“I forgive you,” Bobby said. His voice broke then and he said, “I’m, uh, … glad you came. It’s okay if you come back some more.”
“Bobby,” Mr. Padilla said, “you just made my day. You’ve made my world.”
Mr. Padilla drove away, heading north.
The Gomez family lived in a green stucco house at the far end of Sparrow Street where Abel lived. As Abel turned into his driveway, he saw a lot of police action at the Gomez house. Abel called Ernesto.
“How’d the dinner at the Padilla’s go, homie?” Ernesto asked.
“Great, man. Lot of healing took place. But, Ernie, you know Humberto Gomez lives at the end of my street, and right now the cops are swarming all over the place,” Abel said.
“No kidding, man. Can you see what’s happening?” Ernesto asked.
“No, but after I park, I’m taking a walk down there. Lot of people standing around. Maybe somebody knows something. I’ll keep you posted,” Abel said.
Abel got fairly close to the Gomez house just as two officers came out with Humberto Gomez. He wasn’t handcuffed, but his parents looked distraught. It looked like he was going down to the police station voluntarily to answer some questions. Humberto had already given the police a statement about what had happened that night, but they apparently wanted more information.
Humberto got into the police cruiser and they drove off, followed by a second police car. The parents stepped back in the house, probably to call a lawyer.
“Ernie,” Abel said into his cell phone, “Humberto Gomez left with the cops. He wasn’t being arrested. I guess they just want to talk to him some more. I’m pretty sure that those dudes hassling Griff Slocum and his death are connected. I can’t figure how, but it wasn’t a coincidence.”
When Abel got back to his house, his mother was on the phone. “What did they say exactly?” she was asking. “Oh, well, I’m sure they just need him as a witness or something … I know. … I know, Juanita. Kids will get themselves into bad situations because they’re just not thinking straight … Well, Juanita, I know that. I’ve known Berto since he was a little boy, and he’s a bit wild, but most boys are. Even my Tomás, who’s about as perfect as a boy can be, drank too much one night when he was a junior in high school and drove his car right up on the lawn of the neighbor’s house. He took out all their oleanders.” Liza Ruiz shook her head. “We were mortified. Well, Juanita, you just keep the faith. It’ll be all right.”
When Abel’s mother put down the phone, she turned to Abel. “That was poor Juanita Gomez, Humberto’s mother. She’s all upset. The police came to the door and asked if Humberto could come downtown and give them more information about the night that poor homeless man died. I’m sure it’s nothing, but Juanita is so upset. It’s so unfortunate that those three boys were playing tricks on the homeless man just before someone else came along and killed him. It’s such a dreadful coincidence. I’m sure those boys meant no real harm, but it just looks suspicious,” she said.
“It looks more than suspicious,” Abel said. “Three guys harassing Mr. Slocum and then, about an hour later, we’re supposed to believe some other dude comes along and murders the poor guy. There’s a connection, Mom. Something that happened when those guys were tormenting Mr. Slocum led to him getting killed.”
“Oh, Abel, I’m sure you’re wrong. It’s just absolutely inconceivable that those boys from Chavez would have had anything to do with that terrible crime,” Mrs. Ruiz said. “It had to be a stranger. Some monster lurking in the shadows who happened to come along and murder the poor man, maybe over a cigarette or something. Those people who live on the street, they fight and die over meaningless things. That’s the way they are.”
Abel was waiting for his mother to ask him how things went at the Padilla house. Was Bobby Padilla okay with the father he feared? Did the meal go well? Did the Padillas like that expensive steak Abel bought?
But instead, Abel’s mother said, “I sympathize so much with poor Juanita Gomez. Abel, do you remember when you got into that terrible mess with the daughter of the donut lady? The girl ran away from home, and when the police came banging on our door, I almost died! I was so frightened. I thought they were going to arrest you, Abel, and take you away. I was crying and shaking. I can understand what poor Juanita Gomez is going through. Only a mother knows what another mother feels like when her child is under suspicion!”
“Mom,” Abel said bitterly, “I didn’t do anything wrong, remember? The lady in the donut shop, Elena, she let her little girl roam the streets at all hours. Mrs. Sandoval took the girl home that night, but she got out again because the mother was too drunk to watch her kid. The police didn’t accuse me of anything because I didn’t do anything. You were acting crazy, but there was no excuse for that. This thing with Humberto Gomez is different. He and his friends taunted and mocked a poor homeless guy, and it somehow probably led to his death. That’s way different, Mom.”
“Well,” Liza Ruiz said in a hurt voice, “I wasn’t implying—”
Abel walked down the hall and slammed the door.