Send Down the Rain(14)

She chewed on this. “Mr. Jo-Jo?”

I smiled. “Yes.”

“I think you must be a good man.”

I quickly sketched her milk shake–covered face, curious eyes, and matchless smile. While I sketched, she and Diego watched. When finished, I handed her the card.

She stared at it. “Can I keep it?”

I nodded.

“Where’d you learn to do that?”

“California.”

“How many have you done?”

I considered this. “Hundreds.” A shrug. “Thousands maybe.”

“Do you ever keep any?”

“No.”

“Why not? You’re good.”

“I don’t do it for me.”

“Then why?”

“It allows me to capture a moment and then turn it loose all at the same time.”

She considered this. And me. She shot another glance at the TV. “Did you learn to do all that in California?”

Catalina put her hand over Gabriela’s mouth and spoke rapidly in Spanish, momentarily hushing the child.

I considered this. “Yeah. I guess I learned that in California too.”

She nodded confidently and then slurped the bottom of her milk shake. “California sounds like an interesting place.” She looked at her mom. “We should go there sometime.”

Gabriela’s nonstop twitching suggested that she was about ready to peel her skin off. And she acted like her underwear was constantly crawling up her backside, causing an uncomfortable wedgie.

I paid our check, left the tip, and we walked out. As we piled into the Jeep, where Rosco was waiting to lick Gabriela’s face, our waitress exited the restaurant. She was crying. As I shifted into neutral and let the engine idle, she walked up to the window and placed her hand on my arm. She clutched a wad of cash in her hand. I doubted she made that much in a week. Maybe two. She managed, “Thank you.”

I handed her my handkerchief and she wiped the tears off her face, smearing her mascara and making her look a bit like a raccoon.

I wanted to say something to make her feel better. “Life isn’t always this hard.” She nodded but didn’t let go of my arm. The pacifier dangled off her left pinky. “What’s the baby’s name?” I asked.

“James Robert. I call him J. R.”

“I knew a fellow named J. R. one time. Good man. Good name, too.”

She nodded, squeezed my arm, then squeezed it again and disappeared into the restaurant. Catalina’s eyes followed her.

Gabriela was bouncing around. Nonstop motion. Looked like an addict suffering withdrawal.

“She okay?”

“She needs a doctor.”

“What’s wrong?”

Catalina’s embarrassment was obvious. “She has worms.”





8

Diego and I sat in the waiting room while Catalina took Gabriela back with the nurse. Five minutes later, the nurse called Diego back, and he disappeared through the same sterile door. Twenty minutes later, when the three of them reappeared, Catalina was carrying two bottles of pills. Band-Aids on their arms suggested all three had been given a shot.

“Better?” I asked.

She nodded but with more embarrassment.

“Do you need the hospital?”

“No.” She shook her head. “We all have them.”

I bought Diego a few dime-store Louis L’Amour Westerns, along with a tattered copy of Treasure Island and a few word-search books. Gabriela picked out a couple of princess coloring books, a hardcover of Winnie-the-Pooh, and a giant box of crayons, because she said she wanted to sketch like me. Twenty minutes later we found ourselves standing awkwardly in the bus station. I turned to Catalina and handed her a folded wad of hundred-dollar bills. “To get you settled.”

She thought about refusing it but knew she needed it, so she slid it into her jeans pocket and stared at the kids.

There was no easy way to do this. I leaned over. “You two take care of your momma. Okay?”

They nodded. Diego extended his hand and shook mine while Gabriela wrapped an arm around her mom’s leg. Catalina said, “Thank you, Mr. Jo-Jo.”

I smiled. “It’s just Jo-Jo.”


FIVE MINUTES OUTSIDE OF town I pulled over and stared through the windshield. The man of my youth would not have deliberated. But I’d tried to kill him with booze and fifteen other things, so his voice was muted. The man of my forties would not have left the station without them, but I’d tried to kill him too, with success and travel and women and money, so it was tough to make out his voice over the idle of the engine. That left me with just me in the Jeep. Diabetes. Arthritis. Antacids. Reading glasses. Scars. Memories tough to look at. Through the course of my life I’d spent so much time and energy trying to silence the voices that now when I needed to hear what was true, I was having trouble.

They were sitting on the bench waiting to board when I turned the corner. Catalina was slumped down on the bench, shoulders rolled off at both ends, staring at the tickets with that pained look on her face. The kids were oblivious, engulfed in their books. Both looked up at me with surprise when I sat next to their mother.

“I was thinking . . .”

Catalina said nothing.

“I could drive you . . . to Florida?”