More Than Allies (15 page)

At the intersection by the junior high, they had to wait for a line of a dozen or more bicyclists to pass. They were all dressed alike, in white helmets and T-shirts and lemon yellow tight shorts. They were in their fifties, maybe their sixties, trim as sticks, and Maggie was so fascinated, she let a car half a block away pass before she inched forward to turn. A driver behind her honked. “Okay!” she yelled, then glanced at Dulce, who had no expression at all.

As they turned onto the street where the Gabrelli property was, though, Dulce whispered, “
Mother of God
. Not up there,” pointing toward the Gabrelli house.

A fire truck was parked in the yard, and a police car at the street. Maggie pulled in beside the car and jumped out. The three boys were in the back, huddled like sick little birds on the seat. Maggie tried the door handle. Of course it was locked. She turned to Dulce, but Dulce wasn't behind her; she was still standing by the car, her hands covering her mouth. Jay saw Maggie. His eyes widened, and he started crying. His poor broken-out face was puffed and red. Gus glanced up, then hung his head. Hilario yawned and leaned against the back seat, as if this was all so boring. It was an act. Maggie thought, I bet he's scared to death.

She banged on the window. “What have you done?”

“Ma'am,” someone said behind her. It was a policeman. She recognized him. He often sat at the busy intersection kids had to cross in the morning near the grade school. He had a round, friendly face and freckles. He was younger than she was. He looked like a kid trying to play grown-up, his face so serious, his shoulders pulled back bravely.

Another cop was striding across the yard toward them. The engine of the fire truck turned over, and Maggie jumped at the noise. Slowly, the truck pulled out and away. Whatever had been going on seemed to be over.

Dulce had moved next to Maggie. At the same moment, they reached for one another, clasped hands, and squeezed hard.

As the second policeman approached, the first introduced himself—Officer Brandon—and suggested they step away from the car. Maggie glanced at her son, whose swollen face was glossy with tears, then followed the cop a few yards away, toward the farm house. What had been going on while she was eating eggplant caviar?

They're all right, she told herself. Nobody dies of crying. She ought to know!

“Are you the boys' mothers?” the officer asked. Maggie nodded. He looked at Dulce, who said, “Yes.” The officer took out a pad and pen and took their names. Maggie was dressed up, from the lunch. Dulce was wearing an old pair of jeans and a T-shirt. Maggie wished they were dressed more alike. She hoped Dulce wasn't uncomfortable. Uncomfortable! Their kids locked in a cop car.

“You knew they were here? You know this is private property?” The officer directed his question to Dulce. Maggie tried to explain—Jay's dad had worked here in the summer, he had been told it was okay to play. The officer looked doubtful. He said, “We were about to take them to the station and give you a call. They're very lucky, you know, not to be hurt. You're very lucky. That's the thing, boys this age, playing unsupervised.”

Maggie's cheeks felt scorched in the sun, under his scolding gaze. Did he really think mothers stood around and watched nine-year-old boys all day? “What happened?” she asked. She had a sensation of choking. She tried to swallow, but couldn't make her throat work. She panicked, for an instant, and then she squeezed Dulce's hand again and made herself stop trying to swallow. “What did they do?” She glanced beyond the cop, toward the far part of the property. She didn't see any signs of a fire.

Officer Brandon explained that the boys had built a fire in the shed to roast hot dogs. They made some effort to put it out, but left it smoldering. Then they went up the slope where the abandoned cars were parked, to fool around. He shook his head. “Boys,” he said. “They love cars.” He shook his head again. “These old cars ought to be hauled away. You see 'em all over. I bet they've been here thirty years. Course, they're not expecting anybody to be trying a joy-ride in them, are they?”

From where they stood, Maggie couldn't see the police car. She thought the officer had deliberately placed them like that. It was a kind of torture. “They're not hurt?” she said. It required enormous effort to keep from crying. She wished she had brought Polly. Of course she hadn't known there was going to be trouble. Of course Polly had her hands full with two babies.

“Oh,” she said. She was nauseated. The ground seemed to be unstable beneath her feet. She wished Mrs. Cecil was there. A principal would know how to handle something like this. She'd know the boys hadn't meant any harm.

Dulce put her arm around her shoulders. “They're okay,” she said.

“The Mexican boy—the little one—” the policeman said. “He was in the car.”

“Gus,” Dulce said.

“The other two pushed it off, a little roll off that slope, a little ride. The car hit the corner of the shed, glanced off that fallen roof, and slid to a stop.” His look grew sterner. “Very lucky,” he said. “It must have shook him pretty good, but it didn't do him any significant damage.” He touched his chin. “Gave him a little nick here, the steering wheel. Maybe some bruises. We looked him over pretty good.”

Maggie looked at Dulce. She thought Dulce had to be alarmed, but she kept her face utterly neutral, as if she had turned to stone.

“The impact of the car shook the shed roof, and some lumber shifted. The coals sparked. There was a fire.”

“Oh God.” Maggie tasted tuna and jalapeño and the sour tang of wine in her throat.

“It didn't amount to much. The neighbor across the road came out when he heard the car hit, and saw smoke. Called the fire department and us.”

“The car?” Dulce said. “It's wrecked?”

“The car's junk, ma'am. The car didn't matter. Old Willys, can you believe it? If somebody had taken care of it, it'd be worth something. Rusted out, though. Nothing worth salvaging.” Maggie remembered Mo saying the same thing. Too bad, he said. He had always wanted an old car.

“And nothing burned?” Dulce said.

“No ma'am, few scraps of wood.” Once again, he said, “Lucky thing.” Maggie coughed. Her throat was hurting. He said, “Good thing we had that little rain this week, the grass has been so dry. Might have been quite a little brush fire, if things had gone badly.”

“But they didn't,” Dulce said calmly. “Officer, can we take the boys?”

“One thing,” he said. “The big kid. Whose kid is he? He won't say anything. He speak English?”

Dulce said, “He's my sister's son. He's probably scared. Hilario Hinojosa. Of course he speaks English. He's bilingual.” Maggie couldn't help staring at her, but Dulce didn't pay any attention. Obviously, she had her reasons to lie.

“I think we better take him home,” the policeman said.

“They're not home,” Dulce said quickly. “His parents aren't there. He's staying with me over the weekend.”

He looked at her for a moment, one eyebrow raised slightly. “How's that?”

“They've gone to Salem,” Dulce said. “To see my mother.”

He poised his pen over the pad. “What's their address, ma'am?”

“They're staying with me. They're just moving, so they're staying with me right now.”

“I'm going to need to talk to his folks.”

“Oh sure. Monday. They'll be back then.”

He put the pad away. Maggie didn't think he was especially satisfied, but nothing Dulce had said was unreasonable. Family did stay with one another. Especially poor people, and he wouldn't have any trouble thinking of Dulce as poor. He didn't have any reason to be suspicious. He didn't know two families couldn't fit in Dulce's place.

They walked back to the car. The other policeman was leaning against it, chewing on a toothpick. Jay called out. “Mom!” Maggie's heart jumped. “Please,” she said.

Officer Brandon opened the door and the boys crawled out slowly. Jay threw his arms around his mother. Gus rubbed his eyes and stood back. Hilario stood, his head cocked a little, his eyes hooded and sullen and older than a boy's eyes should be.

Brandon said, “I'm going to let you boys go with your mothers now. You'll be getting letters. I think someone will want to talk to you.”

Jay clung to Maggie.

“And there'll be some damages.”

“Oh God,” Maggie said. “The car?”

“We're trying to get hold of the owners here. They're in Concord, California. I imagine they'll want to have the car towed away to the junk yard. I think you'll have to pay for that.”

Dulce said, “Of course.”

“The shed—” He shrugged. “It's negligible. I don't know why he's left it there.”

“My bike,” Gus said. They all turned toward him.

Officer Brandon made a sucking noise. “They're up by the shed. Why don't you boys go get them and we'll put them in the trunk?”

Maggie and the policemen stared at one another uncomfortably. Dulce got in the front seat of the car, leaving the car door open.

Jay's and Gus's bikes fit in the trunk, but of course it wouldn't close. The second policeman rummaged and found a piece of rope in the car. Hilario stood to one side with his hands on his bike's handlebars. He still hadn't spoken since the women arrived.

“It's not far,” Maggie said. “He can ride his bicycle.”

“Yeah, okay,” Officer Brandon said. The second policeman announced that the trunk was secure. He gave the lid a sound pat. Brandon looked like something was still bothering him.

“I go?” Hilario finally said. He had been following everything.

“You've got no business in a car,” Brandon told him. “Next time I suppose you'll steal one that runs.”

Hilario said, “Cabrón.” Gus gasped.

The policeman said, “I don't speak Spanish, but I'm not stupid, kid. How old are you?”

Hilario said, “Thirteen.”

“I could take you in to juvey, you know. This could be a bigger thing.”

Maggie didn't think Hilario understood. He stood still, but he didn't look cowed now, with his bike between his legs, his feet planted square in the dirt. “Thank you, mister,” he said.

“Phht!” the policeman said. He turned and walked briskly back to his car and got in on the driver's side. Maggie and the boys hadn't moved. He leaned his head out of the police car. “Watch whose yard you fool around in,” he said. “Somebody just might shoot you.” He spun the wheels, digging out in reverse.

The boys rode in the back seat. Dulce hadn't said anything to Gus, so Maggie thought, I can wait, too. I won't get all excited right now. She couldn't imagine what Polly would say. A fireman's grandson, starting a vandal's fire!

At the trailer, Dulce said, “It sounds like it was Gus' fault. I'll pay for the towing.”

“It wasn't all my fault!” Gus said. Dulce gave him a hard look.

“I'm sure it was Jay's idea,” Maggie said. “Anyway, they did it all together.”

“Lupe doesn't have any money,” Dulce said.

“No,” Maggie said.

Dulce shrugged. “Let's see what they say. What're they going to do? Put us in jail?”

It didn't feel right between them, Maggie thought. There was something she needed to say, but she didn't know what it was. “I'll talk to you,” she said. Dulce nodded, and walked into the trailer behind her son.

“How could you?!” Maggie shrieked, once the car was parked in Polly's driveway. All the tension of the looking, the scare of seeing those official cars in the Gabrelli yard, the vision of her son in the back of a police cruiser—it all erupted. She grabbed his shoulder and shook him. He slapped her arm and ran into the house. Coming in behind him, she heard Stevie and the baby both screeching.

Polly was walking back and forth, holding the baby up in front of her, gently rocking her up and down, while talking softly. Stevie ran up to Maggie and hit her on the leg with a wooden spoon. Maggie yelped, jumped back, then bent over to pick her up. She was hot and sweaty. She needed changing. Anger flushed through Maggie. How could Polly let her get like this?

Six feet away, Polly was now singing, “Mama's gonna buy you a diamond ring” softly to Kendra.

“We'll go,” Maggie said sharply.

Kendra had stopped screaming. Polly pulled her to her chest and spoke. “Don't. I want to know what happened.”

Jay had already gone down the hall and slammed the bedroom door. They could hear him sobbing. Maggie blurted out the details: the fire, the car, the humiliation of the police.

Polly said, “You could run out for a pizza after a while. We could rent a movie. Let me get Kendra down.”

Maggie took Stevie down to Polly's room to change her. Gretchen was at work. Stevie was fussing, but had lost steam. Maggie, with a willed effort, played a bit of peekaboo and tickle-belly to cheer her up. She took her in the bathroom and washed her face, gave her a hug and a pat on the bottom, and sent her toddling back toward the living room. “Baby!” Stevie said.

Maggie sank down onto the bathroom floor. Tears ran down her face. She was humiliated by the policeman's dressing-down: you aren't doing your job, you aren't a good mother. She was doing the best she could!

Maybe, when Mo called, she would tell him: Come get him.

Maybe.

How could Jay push her to this? What was wrong with him?

She heard Polly padding back and forth in the hall. The baby, now in her crib, made staccato squeaking sounds, then fell quiet. Maggie knew she ought to get up and do something, but she couldn't make her limbs work. And she didn't know what to say to her son. He had betrayed her, doing the very thing she had warned him not to do, with that stupid fire. And a car!

She reached for a towel and held it balled up against her face.