“A virtue I’m lacking.”
“That’s okay,” Cane said, pulling into a little parking lot. “We’re here.”
We were on the outskirts of the city next to a cantina, as the sign described. It was a small stucco building, the size of a large bedroom, with a metal roof and tiny overhang where you could walk up to place your order. Picnic tables were scattered around the structure beneath the massive palm trees and other makeshift tables with hay bales as seats. White lights were strung haphazardly around, and I couldn’t help but laugh.
This was so quaint, so random, and not at all what I expected. And I loved it.
I looked at Cane, curious, silently asking him if he wanted to explain. He shrugged and tucked his sunglasses into the front of his shirt before shoving his hands into his pockets. He almost looked embarrassed.
Puzzled, I reached out, took his hand, and gave him a soft smile. I loved seeing this other side of him that I was sure very few people got to see.
He looked at the ground and toed a rock. “I grew up out here and used to come here all the time when I was a young boy.”
The image of a young Cane with bright-blue eyes flashed through my mind.
“The city didn’t come out nearly this far,” he said, his eyes soft in the setting sun. “It was really quiet out here. I would walk over here all the time for dinner.”
He looked over and waved at the older lady behind the counter. Her face lit up like the sun. “Dad wasn’t much of a cook, so she”—he nodded at the lady—“did a lot of our cooking.”
The lady excitedly motioned for us to come to the counter, and Cane blushed. “This place is as close to home as I can ever take you. I don’t know why I brought you here. I just thought, I don’t know, maybe you’d like it.” He smiled hopefully.
“I love it, Cane. This is perfect.”
We made our way up to the stand, and the old woman’s smile grew. She leaned over the counter and kissed both of Cane’s cheeks. “¿Mijo, como estàs?” she asked, beaming at Cane.
Cane smiled back, obviously very fond of the lady in front of him. “Bueno. I’m good, Abuelita. This is Jada,” he said, nodding at me. “Jada, this is Mrs. Munoz.”
We smiled at each other and I was unsure what to say. My Spanish was horrible and I wasn’t sure if she spoke English.
“¿Como estàs, Abuelita?”
“Ah, bien, bien. Sentarse,” she said, nodding at the seats. “Voy a la comida.”
“Do you want to sit at a table or a hay bale?” Cane asked, his eyes dancing with laughter.
“Well, the hay bale does look inviting, but in this dress, I’m not so sure.” I laughed. “Why did you ask me to wear this if you knew we were coming here?”
“I love that dress on you,” he said quietly. “I won’t apologize for that.”
I swooned as he grabbed my hand and led me to a table. We got settled, and within a few minutes, Mrs. Munoz brought us an entire spread of food.
“Hágamelo sí usted necesita cualquier cosa,” Mrs. Munoz said.
Cane looked so young, so respectful, as he watched the gray-haired lady return to the building with a fondness I had never seen in him before. It was endearing. I imagined this is how he interacted with his mother.
Watching their interaction reminded me of my own mother. It wasn’t something I liked to think about a lot.
“Please send Jada to the office, Mrs. Costa. She won’t be back for the rest of the week.”
I packed my things into my backpack and walked to the office with such trepidation I was almost sick. I knew, in the pit of my stomach, that something was very, very wrong.
I rounded the corner and saw Kari sitting in one of the stiff black chairs. Her hair was sticking to her face from tears, her eyes wide with fear. My father stood behind her, his hands on Kari’s shoulders.
I had never seen my father cry before. Tears fell so quickly down his face that it looked like a constant stream.
And I knew.
Dad had never been to the school for anything. That was Mom’s job. And Mom wasn’t there.
