From Ant to Eagle(49)

“She is—she’s at the Mount Pleasant Cemetery. We go every Friday to visit her.”

As I read on, I found that the journal was full of memories of Aleta’s mother—a brief synopsis of a trip to the Toronto Zoo, a thorough description of her favourite outfit, even details on the sound of her voice. It felt like I was meeting a person that had died months before.

I learned that Aleta’s family hadn’t always been the way I knew it.

There were stories about Aleta and her sister and parents from when they’d lived in Mexico. Of trips to the beach and sunrises over the ocean. Of Aleta and Raquel yelling at tourists learning to surf in an attempt to make them fall. Of laughing and smiling and living. Everyone and everything seemed different. Even the stories about her dad made him sound almost…nice. A far cry from the stern-looking man who gave me the shivers when I looked at him in church.

There was too much to read so I began skimming pages. Apparently Aleta had moved to Canada when she was seven but had gone back to Mexico every year to visit. At least until her mother had died. Her father had refused to go back since. He had said it reminded him too much of Aleta’s mother. Her sister had agreed. And this had infuriated Aleta. So she had withdrawn from school and running and friends. She had distanced herself from her father and spoken as little as possible to her sister. She described it as feeling “sunk”—like she had been thrown into the ocean with her hands and legs tied. Eventually her father and sister had come up with the plan to move to Huxbury, hoping that a change of scenery would lead to a change in heart.

Parts of the journal were written as if she were talking to her mother and near the end I came across my name. I looked up at Aleta, expecting her to grab the book back. I knew as well as anyone that you shouldn’t read a girl’s diary, but she didn’t reach for it, she just sat there watching me, chewing her bottom lip.

I read on:

At first I was so mad that Dad and Raquel had made us move. I thought I would hate Huxbury. But to be honest, it’s not too bad. The fields and openness and Lake Huron remind me of Mexico and getting away has helped somewhat in moving on with my life. I get out more, that’s for sure. And guess what? I met a boy. His name is Cal and you would really like him. He’s sweet like you and there are parts of him that remind me of Raquel—the old Raquel. The Raquel before she started acting like a mother and stopped acting like a sister. He has a younger brother, Sammy, separated in age by the same difference between Raquel and me, and though he sometimes pretends to be annoyed by Sammy, it’s easy enough to see how much he loves his little brother. He’s always looking out for him, even when he’s acting like he’s not. It reminds me that Raquel and Dad love me, no matter how much they frustrate me. Oh, and we found a secret spot! We go there often to swim and read and write. I hope that you can see it from wherever you are. I hope that you’re still watching.

Miss you more than yesterday,

Aleta Alvarado

I stopped reading. There were a few more pages but they had become a blur. For the first time since Sammy had been diagnosed with cancer I was crying. A drop landed on the open book right next to the word Sammy so I shut it.

I wanted to say something to Aleta—something about how sorry I was that her mom had died and that she felt like her sister didn’t understand and that her dad had changed, but I couldn’t—all I could think about was Sammy. I opened my mouth to speak but instead a loud gasp came out. I had to fight to pull in more air and my chest felt heavy.

Aleta crawled across the bed and hugged me, her head lightly resting on my shoulder so that I could smell the vanilla scent of her shampoo.

As we sat, I realized she was crying too. My shoulder grew wet from her tears while mine continued to drop to my lap. For the first time I was no longer feeling sad for Aleta, I was feeling sad with her.

I think I could have stayed like that forever—right there on that bed with Aleta on my shoulder and Sammy safely frozen in time—not getting better but not getting sicker either. But then I remembered that time hadn’t stopped and Dad was still outside waiting.

“Dad!” I said. “Shoot!” I climbed from the bed and turned to Aleta. “Come with us, Aleta. Come to the hospital with us. Please?”

She lifted her head, her thick brown hair a mess in front of her face so that her bright green eyes were half hidden.

“I, I don’t think I could, Cal,” she said.

“Please, Aleta?”

It looked as if I’d stuck a knife in her stomach and turned it. Guilt washed over her face but she sat unmoved on the bed.

Finally, I turned to leave. “Okay, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow at school.” I waited briefly for a reply but when it didn’t come I left the room.

I walked down the stairs to find Dad standing in the kitchen talking to Mr. Alvarado. They both turned and looked at me but neither looked upset. Raquel was sitting at the kitchen table with a textbook and a notepad open in front of her. She smiled nervously at me.

“Sorry, Dad,” I said. “I’m ready to go.”

He nodded and said goodbye to Mr. Alvarado before turning to the front door. Just as we were about to leave there was a cascade of footsteps down the stairs and Aleta appeared behind us. She had changed her sweatshirt for a nicer looking sweater and was panting from her dash down the stairs.

“Dad,” she said. “Can I go with Cal to the hospital?”