We Run the Tides(7)

In the middle of the night I’m awakened by shrieks. They’re so loud I assume they’re coming from one of my friends. But after sitting up I understand they’re coming from another bedroom, and that it’s Faith’s mother screaming. Faith jumps up and switches on the light and runs to her parents’ room. Julia, Maria Fabiola, and I look at each other, dazed. Then we hear Faith shrieking, too.

Her father shot himself. The ambulance arrives and two efficient and menacing men carry him both carefully and recklessly through the house on a stretcher. The stretcher hits the wall as they turn down the circular staircase, a lamp is knocked over and splintered into shards, and Faith’s mother swears. Faith pulls on a sweater and pants. She grabs her mother’s jacket from the hall closet. We tell each other we are in the way and retreat to Faith’s room.

The front door shuts so heavily the house shudders, and the men’s booming footsteps are no more. We peer out of the room and soon realize Faith is gone, too. The sirens of the ambulance fade into the night and the three of us girls sit shattered in Faith’s room, our sleeping bags lying inertly on the floor like discarded cocoons. Maria Fabiola starts to cry, first silently while physically convulsing. And then, as though the motions of her body are like a pump at a well, her sobs begin to emerge in short bursts. Then they start to undulate. The drama is overwhelming. Julia and I call our parents, and then call Maria Fabiola’s parents for her.

My father arrives, still dressed in a suit from an art auction. Julia’s mother arrives in a tight-fitting zip-up sweatshirt that says “Ice Queen,” and Maria Fabiola’s mother arrives in a silk bathrobe. None of us knows if we should leave and lock the front door. What if Faith’s mother doesn’t have a key? What if Faith comes back and needs us? So we sit huddled around the kitchen table as though we’re playing an invisible game of cards. The mothers turn toward my father, who I’m sure can feel their attention. He initiates a prayer, something he rarely does, to calm everyone down. We all hold hands around the kitchen table and close our eyes. I peek and see that while my father’s eyelids are still shut as he leads the prayer, both Maria Fabiola’s and Julia’s mother’s eyes are open, looking anxiously toward him.





5


After the funeral (a recognizable local politician in the second row, soggy cucumber sandwiches at the reception), the four of us become like paper dolls—we are always together, connected. At school we play four square or else tetherball with two people per team. We don’t welcome anyone to join us and the teachers permit us to be exclusive—they have Faith’s best interest at heart.

At Faith’s house there are constant visitors coming from the East Coast to offer their condolences and help. When they depart, they leave meals in Faith’s freezer, which her mother promptly throws away. At Julia’s house her parents sell one Mercedes and then another. At Maria Fabiola’s house they get a new burglar alarm put in after their surveillance camera catches some unsavory behavior behind the house. Maria Fabiola’s father won’t tell his children what, exactly, the surveillance camera picked up.

At my house, everything continues as usual. My mother starts work early—she bikes to the hospital at 6 a.m. for the morning nursing shift so she can be home with Svea and me in the afternoon. My father gets us ready for school and makes us oatmeal, which Svea eats while sketching a new fire station. She says she wants to be an architect when she grows up and is often hunched over her sketches with a ruler and a blue pencil.

On a morning like any other, Svea’s chubby and dour friend rings the bell. She and Svea head to school together—they follow a direct route up El Camino del Mar. A few minutes later, Maria Fabiola climbs the brick steps to our house. I say goodbye to my dad, who has tissue stuck to his face from where he cut himself shaving. I want to remove the tissue, to hug him goodbye, but my friend is watching, waiting. Together Maria Fabiola and I walk out of Sea Cliff to pick up Julia.

Julia’s mom opens the door and right away I smell something burning. Julia’s mom must see me sniffing. “Gentle bought some new incense,” she says and smiles at me and then at Maria Fabiola. “I have an idea,” she says, as Julia comes to the door. “Let’s take a photo of you girls.” She retrieves her camera and the three of us line up, Maria Fabiola is in the middle. Julia and I stare at each other as the shutter closes. We both know Maria Fabiola’s recent transformation from ordinary to otherworldly beauty inspires everyone to want to capture it.

“You girls look great,” Julia’s mom says, not looking at me.

“Bye, mom,” Julia says, closing the door. The fresh air is a relief. We make our way to Faith’s house. Faith lives a block and a half from school but we still pick her up every morning. We do anything for Faith.

“You think Faith’s mom is ever going to get remarried?” Maria Fabiola asks, her bracelets jingling as she moves her backpack from one shoulder to the other.

“My parents think she’s too homely to find someone new,” Julia says matter-of-factly. “And my mom is my dad’s second wife, so they know about these things.”

“It’s probably way too soon for her to date anyone else,” I say firmly, as though I have authority on these matters.

“Maybe we could help her pick out some new clothes,” Julia says. “She needs a fashion overhaul.”