The Same Sky(45)

“Go on,” said Marion in a grim tone.

“I don’t know what to do. Jake is angry. He says … I don’t know, that we need some time to recover. I guess he thinks I’m replacing Mitchell with Evian. Or something. But I’m just trying to give her a safe place to live. Someone watching out for her.”

“My husband left me, my third year as principal,” said Marion. She raised her hand and Toni began fixing another drink. “He told me I was married to the school. He wanted me home at night, to make dinner, to hear about his day. But there were basketball games, teacher meetings … there were kids who needed me, and I wanted to be there for them, the way their parents weren’t, sometimes. Graham was an adult. When I saw some kid who needed to talk, I knew whom God would want me to help. I prayed every time Graham threatened to leave. And every time, God told me what my purpose was.” She shrugged, accepted the drink from Toni with a smile. “But then Graham left,” she said.

“You’re amazing,” I said.

“And I’m alone,” said Marion.

“Doesn’t look like you will be for long,” I said, eyeing the older men in the bar, many wearing cowboy hats and Wranglers.

“I’m not alone every night,” said Marion. She winked. “But in a larger sense,” she clarified, shrugging.

“What do you think I should do?” I asked.

“Honey, I can’t answer that for you,” said Marion. Toni brought another pint of wine and placed it on the table. As I drank, I felt warm and confused. Toni took my empty glass away. Donn and the Station Masters took the stage and Marion and I listened, rapt and relaxed. Couples in their seventies and eighties took to the floor, two-stepping elegantly. A few younger hipsters moseyed out, and the elders revolved around them gracefully. A man with a bushy white moustache walked toward our table, his eyes fixed on Marion. “Oh, boy,” she said sotto voce. “Here we go.”

“Lovely Marion,” said the man, removing his hat.

“Hello, Clive,” said Marion.

“Would you do me the honor, darling?” said Clive. But as Marion was nodding, placing her hand in Clive’s, her phone buzzed.

“Forgive me,” she said, glancing down at the text. Her face went cold. “Oh, God,” she said. “Oh, no.”

“Marion!” said Clive, alarmed.

“There’s been a shooting,” said Marion. She stood, flustered, gathering her purse. “Gang-related, a football player …” she said. “Can you—”

“Of course,” I said. I stood and Marion hugged me quickly.

“Ask God what you should do,” she said as she hurried off. “Don’t ask me.”

Toni approached, and I told her what had happened. “Forget it,” she said when I asked for the bill. “Poor Marion.”

I sighed, slipping my purse over my shoulder.

“She tell you about the gym?” said Toni.

“What?” I said.

“Condemned,” said Toni. “Marion’s been in here, trying to convince Donn to hold the Chávez Homecoming Dance here in a few weeks. No way, Donn said, absolutely no way. Some of those kids are hoodlums, you know what.”

“I guess so,” I said. I made my way to my car, but it had become trapped between the telephone pole and a minivan. I sighed and began walking along 5th Street. It was only a few blocks to Lamar, where I could grab a cab. I was feeling kind of drunk anyway, and kind of sorry for myself.

The corner of Lamar and Fifth was bright with the giant Whole Foods flagship store. Dazed, drawn like a moth to a flame, I wandered inside. The entire store gleamed, even the customers—their hair shone, their teeth were pearls, sleek fabrics covered their trim limbs. The food was beautiful, lush and swollen. I felt as if I were in a dream of some futuristic, perfect place. The grains were lined up in alphabetical order, not a smudge on their Plexiglas containers. Rows of multicolored sushi gleamed, as perfect as untouched children’s toys in their packaging. There was a wood-fired pizza station, a nut-roasting station, a fish counter with no fishy odor, and even a chocolate fountain, for the love of God! It was sickening. It was glorious. A place where every desire could be sated. I stood in the middle of the store and looked skyward, seeking understanding, but all I could see were more floors, escalators leading more wealthy people to limitless delights.

A woman in spandex pants bumped into me, knocking me off-balance. “What the hell is the matter with you?” she said, her eyes frowning but her brow remaining shiny and uncreased. Under one arm, she held a firmly rolled yoga mat.

“I don’t know,” I said truthfully.

“Maybe you should figure that out,” she said.

“Yes, I should,” I answered.

“In the meantime,” she added, “maybe you could move away from the gluten-free cookie bar.”

I nodded dumbly and stumbled out of the store. Back on Lamar, I felt a bit more like myself. I wanted, more than anything, to go back to Mildred Street and to have Jake there, asleep on the couch in his bathing suit. I ran back toward Donn’s, and when I reached the parking lot, the minivan that had been blocking me was gone. It felt like a sign.





35




Carla


WE SPENT ALMOST a week in the shelter, planning how we would reach Texas. We shared stories and warnings, eating soup for three meals a day. Ernesto began romancing an older Mexican woman, whose brother, Marcos, had a job waiting for him in America. Marcos, stocky in a dark blue shirt and a hat that said “No Fear,” took pity on us. Marcos had instructed his wife to mail money to him at various points in the journey, so he could not be robbed. In fact, he boasted, he planned to hire a combi from the shelter to Mexico City, bypassing a week or so on The Beast.