Tortilla Sun (7 page)

Silence surrounded us like the shadows beneath the trees.

Mateo leaned against a long walking stick he was carrying. “I was wondering, if … do you …” He pushed the end of the stick into the ground. “I’m going to the ghost trail today.”

I swung my leg over the hammock and stood up. “Ghost trail?” I said, glad he was still talking to me after I’d run away yesterday.

“Just a place haunted by spirits.” He stood a little straighter. “If you’re not busy, maybe you can come along.”

“I’m not busy,” I said trying to sound casual. I didn’t want to sound like a chicken and ditch him again.

“So you want to go?” His voice rose with excitement.

“Sure.” I plunked down onto the ground to put on my socks and tennis shoes. As I looped the laces, I said, “Hey, I’m sorry I acted like … I don’t usually—”

“Acted like what?” Mateo sat down next to me. The afternoon sunlight danced across his chocolate eyes.

I breathed a sigh of relief and smiled. Mateo helped me to my feet and I reached back into the hammock for the baseball before we zigzagged down the trail. It wasn’t long before the wind rolled gently across the landscape, a soft breath caressing my back and swishing in my ears.

Come
.

I slowed my pace and turned toward the wind carefully, afraid I might disturb its whisper. But when I thought I heard it echoing from the north, it switched directions and flowed south. I got so frustrated I finally stopped and shouted, “Where?”

Mateo spun around, like he’d already seen a ghost.

“Sorry, I just—”

“You just what? Gave me a heart attack?”

Mateo must’ve thought I was the strangest girl in the universe. “I didn’t mean to, I just thought I heard something. Didn’t you hear it?”

“Hear what?”

I popped a sour ball into my mouth. “Want one?”

“No. But I wanna hear what you think you heard,” Mateo said.

Now I just felt stupid for saying anything at all. I rolled the sour ball to the side of my mouth. “Ever since I got here, to Nana’s house, I keep thinking I hear the wind whisper, ‘Come.’”

“So why don’t you follow it?”

Mateo had a way of always saying the right thing. I pushed my bangs out of my eyes. “How do you follow the wind?”

He leaned against his walking stick. “Just listen to the direction it’s coming from, then you’ll see where it goes and you can follow it. If it ends up being nothing then you’ll know you’re just
loca
.” He laughed and turned back up the twisted shady trail. “You are an unusual girl, Izzy Roybal.”

Was that a good thing? I swallowed the last traces of the sour ball.

“There it is.” Mateo pointed with his stick. A winding trail, lined with dead twisted trees with black straggled limbs, looped up a hill and out of sight.

“Off over there, a huge fire came through ’bout a hundred years ago. The trees still haven’t grown back. Weird, huh?

“The legend says that a group of
caballeros
came through here looking for the treasure. And this is where they were last seen. But their bodies and horses were never found.” Mateo turned toward the trail. “Let’s check it out.”

“Really? Is it safe to go up there?” I asked.

Mateo continued. “I’ve never gone past the top of the hill. No one has that I know of. Legend has it that if you climb down the other side, your eyeballs will burn right out of your head.”

“Then why are you going?” I asked.

Mateo shrugged and turned toward the haunted trail. “Maybe I’ll run into a ghost who knows where to find the treasure.”

I had no intention of running into a ghost on some haunted trail. “You should go first and then holler to let me know if you make it. I’ll watch this end of the trail.”

Mateo laughed. “Fine, I’ll go alone.”

After he left me standing alone, the sun peeked through the branches overhead, casting long ribbonlike shadows on the ground.

I tossed the ball into the air and caught it just as a mild breeze glided through my hair, soft like Mom’s hands and Nana’s voice. I turned to meet the warm air now tickling my hands, pulling me away from the haunted trail. A light familiar voice floated through the trees.

Bella
.

I raised one hand in the air, trying to grab hold of the swishing wind as I thought about Nana’s words:
Sometimes you can’t see the magic; you just know it’s there because you can feel it.

Just as I felt the breeze take hold of my hand, Mateo came tearing down the path screaming and holding his eyes. Blood flowed down his face.

“Aaahh!” I screamed just as he ran right into me and knocked me to the ground. It wasn’t until my left elbow hit earth with a bang that I heard him laughing.

Mateo’s weight pushed against me. I tried to roll out from under him but we got all tangled up, and before I knew it his grinning face was two inches from mine. His dark eyes danced with amusement.

“I can’t believe you! I thought you were actually hurt. And you butted in just as I was going to follow the wind.”

Still laughing, Mateo raised a hand to apologize. I pushed him away and stood up. I laughed a little too, not because I thought his stupid prank was funny but because he looked like
one big cherry mess with all the red face paint streaked across his cheeks.

“It’s not funny,” I said.

“Oh, come on. Where’s your sense of humor?”

I turned on my heels and marched toward Nana’s, picking up my baseball on the way. Mateo tried to walk next to me. As soon as his stride matched mine, I raced ahead.

“Izzy, come on. It was just a joke. I said I was sorry.”

He tugged at my elbow. “Could you slow down for one sec?”

“Why?”

“So I can talk to you and see your face. I can’t tell if you’re kidding or not.”

I stopped and turned to glare at him.

“Okay, so you’re not kidding. Just one nod of forgiveness?” Then he smiled and clasped his hands together, raising them to his face in a pleading kind of way.

I folded my arms across my chest, still glaring. “I felt the wind, but then you showed up, and now—”

“I said I was sorry.”

It was useless to try and keep my smile inside. I cracked a small grin and gave one curt nod. “I’ll forgive you on one condition.”

“What? Anything.”

“I can’t tell you now. I get to save it, like a lucky penny. And when I need a favor you have to promise to do what I ask.”

“Fine,” he mumbled. “I’m sorry I made you miss the wind.”

“It’s fine. I just have to make sure to follow it faster next time.”

“Or you can go looking for it.”

“How?” I asked.

He smiled and draped his arm over my shoulder. “Where it blows strongest.”

Then he pointed to the sky.

The following afternoon was unusually cool and crisp. I leaned into the lounge chair, gazing at the pink glow hugging the tree-tops in the distance. I listened for the wind, but the air was still and silent.

Nana’s story about my parents stirred inside me. Knowing just a few details about my dad, how he played baseball and loved Mom, made me feel connected to him.

Across the courtyard, Mr. Castillo slowly pushed the gate open.

“Izzy, I wasn’t expecting you.” He tipped his hat back. “I hope I didn’t startle you.”

I smiled. “No. I was just thinking.”

He turned off the electric switch by the French doors. “I came by to check the pump on the fountain. Your nana says it isn’t working.” After pulling off the top tier of the fountain, he stuck his arm inside.

“Are you having a good time this summer?” he asked.

“Yeah, it’s really different from California.” Mr. Castillo seemed like the happiest and simplest person I’d ever met. It was easy being around him. I felt a tug of envy that Mateo had him for a father.

Mr. Castillo pulled a small black box from the fountain and held it up to the sky for inspection. His eyes shone like polished black stones.

“Oh,
sí
. The village is different from anywhere on Earth, I think. Perfect skies, perfect wind.”

The memory of our first visit in the truck flashed in my mind.
People come from all over to ride these skies.

The wind would be stronger up high, like Mateo had said. I leapt from the chair. “Remember when you told me the village has a hot air balloon?”

He nodded.

“Do you think we could find it?”

He fiddled with the little black box and laughed. “You know, it got me thinking that day I met you how long it’s been since I rode the skies myself. I finally remembered where the balloon was
stored.” He set the box back in the fountain and replaced the top. “I think it’s in the old chapel behind the church.”

I wrapped my arms around my waist to keep from quivering. “Could I see it?”

Mr. Castillo flipped the switch near the French doors and the water flowed from the top of the fountain, splashing over the sides. “Just needed to be cleared out is all.” Mr. Castillo smiled. “Can you go now?”

“Yes,” I said excitedly.

“We’d better head over before the sun sets. There isn’t any electricity out there.”

I hurried behind him out the gate.

Mr. Castillo parked his truck in back of the church and we walked together toward the chapel, crisscrossing down the rocky hill.

“This used to be the village church before the new one was built. Must be a hundred years old.”

A smaller version of the
adobe
church stood in a thicket of trees. Long fissures ran down the walls like cracks in the sun-dried ground after a rainstorm. Strands of straw poked out from the exposed
adobe
bricks.

“We didn’t have the heart to tear it down, so we use it for storage.” Mr. Castillo pushed open the dilapidated door, just barely hanging on its hinges, and we stepped inside.

The air was thick and musty. We zigzagged through piles of boxes, dusty toys, broken chairs, even an old doghouse. Each item or box was labeled with family names: Sanchez, Garcia, Solis. Toward the back of the shed was a tall stack of more boxes. We followed the streams of sunlight filtering through the small stained-glass window, bathing the dark corner in pink light.

“There it is,” Mr. Castillo said, like he’d found a long lost friend.

Specks of dust swirled in the sunlight above a huge basket that nearly came to my shoulder. I traced my fingers over the intricate weave. A strip of dark brown wicker poked out from the side.

“This is it. I’m going to fly the skies, to talk to the wind,” I whispered as I tucked the loose wicker strip back into place.

“You want to climb inside?” Mr. Castillo asked.

I nodded eagerly.

He lifted me into the basket.

“Hey, there’s some stuff in here.” I bent down to sift through a jacket, an old pair of shoes, and a white jersey. I held the jersey up to the early evening light. “What’s this?” I asked.

Mr. Castillo stepped back and cleared his throat. “I didn’t know anything was still in here.”

I glanced down at the jersey in my hands, and saw the name Reed stitched on the back.

“Was this my dad’s?”

Mr. Castillo nodded. “We flew together all the time.”

All this belonged to my dad? I turned the jersey around. Across the front, black letters trimmed in yellow read
Pirates
.

Mr. Castillo spoke softly. “He played in the pros.”

I pressed it against my body. “Dad was a professional baseball player?” I said, barely above a whisper. “Was he famous?”

“A star on the rise. You should’ve seen him smack a ball across center field.” Mr. Castillo swung an imaginary bat and gazed toward the stained-glass window.

I shook the dust from the jersey and held it to my face, breathing it in.

Still gazing out the window he said, “It was hard on all of us when he drowned in the river. But he saved your mama. If only I had been there that day….”

“Drowned? To save Mom?” I jumped over the edge of the basket, knocking over a stack of boxes nearby.

Mr. Castillo looked back at me suddenly and rubbed the back of his neck. His black almond eyes drooped with sadness. “Didn’t you … I thought … I’m sorry. You need to talk to your nana.”

Tears trembled in the corners of my eyes making everything blurry. I was tired of no one telling me the whole truth. I darted from the shed into the twilight.

“Izzy, wait! Let me drive you.” Mr. Castillo called after me.

Darkness was fast approaching, but I didn’t care. My feet hammered the earth. I sprinted past the church, through the plaza, and down the hills behind the
adobes
.

Why hadn’t Mom told me the truth?

The words echoed in my head all the way to Nana’s house. I gripped my dad’s jersey tighter as I made my way past the rose garden. When I reached the house, breathless, I threw open the back door, and shouted for Nana.

I found her in the living room folding towels. “Why didn’t you tell me?” I held up the jersey. “He drowned? Saving Mom?”

Nana stood up. A look of acceptance crossed her face. Had she known I would find his things? Was she only waiting for me to discover the missing pieces?

“Please, Izzy. Sit with me.”

I didn’t move.

“Please.” She motioned toward the sofa. I sat down next to her, clutching Dad’s jersey on my lap.

She traced over the hem of the jersey. “He was just twenty years old when the Pittsburgh Pirates recruited him. He’d only been in college for two years.”

A thousand fireworks went off in my head at once. Nana’s eyes glanced around the room as if she were looking for the right words. Then she turned to me and spoke slowly.

“Let me start at the beginning.” She smoothed her hand over the top of mine. “Your papa loved our culture and my cooking. He learned Spanish and wanted to build a house here in the village.” Nana shook her head. “Your mama got so mad when the doctors told her she couldn’t move with him to Pittsburgh after he’d been recruited. But he just traveled back and forth and said this was the best place on Earth to live.”

I released Nana’s hand. “Why couldn’t she move?”

“She had a few complications during the pregnancy and needed to stay in the care of her doctor in Albuquerque.”