How Tía Lola Saved the Summer (7 page)

Víctor insists on carrying Miguel up the two flights, despite his protests. He doesn’t want to look like a baby in front of his teammates. “Just want to protect that ankle until we talk to Tía Lola,” Víctor explains in a whisper.

Miguel is grateful that Víctor has not mentioned what the doctor said about staying off that foot for a week to his mother. That’s all Mami needs to hear. Then, even if a miracle were to happen, his ankle magically healed, Mami would not let Miguel stand on that foot until a week—to the minute—was up. But Miguel isn’t sure how long Víctor will keep his mouth shut, given that he is such a worrywart
himself. Besides, loyalty among parents has got to be stronger than loyalty among baseball fans.

Tía Lola has been in and out of Miguel’s room, assessing which uniforms need adjustments. When the last team member leaves, Víctor calls her back in and closes the door. “We’ve got something to discuss with you, Tía Lola.” He is nervously pacing the length of the small room. Miguel is feeling equally nervous, sitting on his bed, his bruised ankle propped on a pillow, his good foot jiggling like crazy.

“We know that you have special abilities.” Víctor stops short because Tía Lola is shaking her head, denying this fact. Víctor flashes Miguel the same SOS look he sometimes gives Victoria when he needs her help managing some temper tantrum or enforcing some rule. But Miguel can’t think of how to approach Tía Lola either. How do you ask somebody to work a miracle?

“Isn’t it a fact,” Víctor continues when Miguel doesn’t speak up, “that the swords you gave us have, by your own account, the magical ability to help us face a special challenge?” Víctor is sounding too much like a lawyer, taking a long time to say something simple. At this speed, Mami will soon be upstairs wanting to know why they haven’t come back downstairs.

“The doctor said I had to stay off my foot for a week unless there’s a miracle,” Miguel blurts out.

“I see,” Tía Lola says, letting herself down into the rocking chair with one of the uniforms she needs to fix. She looks carefully at Miguel and then Víctor, as if she can see way down to the bottom of each one. “You want me to work a miracle?”

Víctor lets out an embarrassed laugh. After all, he’s a grown-up, a professional man, a parent—all the requirements for not believing in miracles and magic. And for most of his adult life, that’s what he has been, a hardworking, sensible citizen. But right now he needs his life to go another way. He wants this boy to get to play the game that he, Víctor, had to give up. “I guess that is what I’m asking for.” He shakes his head, as if he can’t believe what he hears himself saying.

Miguel is nodding. “Me too, Tía Lola, please! You know how much this game means to me.”

Tía Lola holds up a hand to stop them. “I think I might have given you both the wrong impression. The swords are to help you. You see, we have to work our own miracles.”

This does not sound good. Miguel bows his head to hide his tears. Not only has he turned into a lame baseball player, but he’s become a crybaby as well.

But Víctor won’t give up. “Okay, fair enough. We’ll work our own miracle. Right, Miguel? First, we’re going to stay off the foot until tomorrow night. And since we don’t want to sound the alarm with crutches, you’re going to have to let me carry you everywhere.”

Miguel hates to tell Víctor: if using crutches might set off Mami’s worry alarm, what about being carried everywhere? But Víctor is sounding like a kid determined to believe in magic.

“So where are your swords?” Tía Lola asks out of the blue.

Víctor has to think a moment. “I believe I left mine in my room.”

Tía Lola nods at her nephew. “And yours, Miguel?”

He sniffles a little, wipes his nose, gets his voice back under control. “I left mine in the mudroom.” He doesn’t have to explain, because she knows why. He didn’t want to look silly in front of the guys.

“You’ll need your swords,” Tía Lola tells them. So maybe she
is
going to try to help work some magic after all? She did promise to use her sword to help the person who needed it most. And Miguel really needs help if a miracle is going to trump modern medicine.

“I’ll go get them,” Víctor offers. “Don’t you worry, captain. You’re going to hit them right out of the ballpark.”

They hear him hurrying down the hall at a fast clip, Miguel’s mother intercepting him on the stairs, her worried questions, his don’t-you-worry answers, their footsteps descending together. A long, thoughtful silence fills the room. Finally Tía Lola says, “You’ve helped do a very good thing, Miguel, you know that?”

Miguel is puzzled. All he can think of is the very bad thing he has done to himself, twisting his ankle, possibly taking himself out of their first big game.

Tía Lola’s nods are in sync with the rocking of her chair. “Oh yes, you did. Víctor has been a workhorse since he was a little older than you. Shouldering all kinds of responsibilities. But today, with you, he’s found that little part of himself he left behind.”

“You mean the part that wanted to play baseball?”

Tía Lola considers for a moment. “The part of him that’s a kid who believes in magic and miracles, instead of worrying all the time that the worst is going to happen.”

That’s the way Miguel is feeling right now. Maybe he and Víctor have exchanged personalities. From now on, Miguel will be super-cautious and serious and no fun to be around.

“Don’t lose that part of yourself,” Tía Lola says, as if reading his thoughts. Her tone is gentle but her gaze is fierce. “Because if you do, you will have lost the game, the big one called life.”

All of this sounds a little too profound, like the deep end of the pool of his mind that Miguel dives into only when he’s in church or taking an exam. “I just want to be able to play ball, Tía Lola,” he says, trying to keep it simple. “And I want to play this Saturday, if at all possible.” He adds this last part because maybe it won’t be the end of the world if he can’t play their first big game. Maybe it would be worse if he gave up altogether just because this once he might not get what he wants. If he turned into an adult talking to a kid about what might have happened. Just like Víctor this morning on their way to the field for cleanup.

As if summoned by that thought, Víctor comes in the door, carrying both swords. “Here you go,
Michael
,” he jokes, handing Miguel his sword.

“And now, Tía Lola, I want the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.” Víctor is using his lawyer language again, but this time it’s with a smile on his face. “Can you tell me who did this?” He holds out his sword, pointing to where a little black accent mark has been inserted over the
i
in “Víctor.”

Tía Lola’s eyebrows lift like two accent marks over her
eyes.
“No sé.”
She has no idea. As she has already told them, they have to work their own miracles.

“I guess I’m turning into a miracle worker, then.” Víctor laughs. “So what do you say, Captain, we plaaaaaaaaaay ball!” He swings his sword at an imaginary ball and then puts his hand above his eyes as if he’s trying to make out a distant object.

The guy has gone batty, Miguel thinks. But he can’t help laughing; there is something very winning about a person who believes in magic.

Five
tuesday

Juanita’s Especially Special Fourth of July

Juanita sits on the back steps, her elbows on her knees, her face in her hands. She lets out a long, sad sigh. She was so excited about the Swords coming just at that point in the summer when she would be starting to miss her friends from school. Then she was so excited when Tía Lola thought up a summer camp with movies and makeovers and s’mores. But now, on the fourth day of the girls’ visit, things aren’t going as planned.

For one thing, the summer camp idea seems to have fallen apart. Essie and Victoria are down in the pasture with their father and Miguel and the team. Essie has been asked to step in for the day while Miguel’s ankle heals. Meanwhile, Victoria has suddenly discovered a keen interest in
baseball. That leaves Cari for Juanita to play with. Juanita knows she promised Mami, but a baby five-year-old is not the best company for a nine-year-old headed for fourth grade to hostess.

Juanita has done her part. She read Cari her old picture book about tadpoles becoming frogs three whole times. She tried to be patient as Cari tagged along, asking questions, wanting to join in with whatever Juanita was doing. Could she also draw a flag with Juanita’s markers? Could she also help dress the dolls for a Fourth of July tea party? Could she try on Juanita’s tutu and pretend to be a ballerina fairy godmother? Finally, Juanita had had it.

“Can’t you go play with someone your own age?” she snapped at the little girl unhelpfully, as there’s no other five-year-old in the house. “You’re being a pest!”

Cari got all blinky-eyed and red-faced. Head bowed, she walked slowly downstairs to the kitchen, where Mami and Tía Lola were cooking up a storm. The odd thing, and something that Juanita wasn’t counting on, was that her outburst didn’t make her feel any better. But she couldn’t help herself. Juanita wants something fun to do and someone her age or older to do it with.

Another thing she wasn’t counting on is how she is no longer the best at anything. Before the Swords came, Juanita was the best at reading, the best at Spanish, the best at using her imagination. In other words, with only one other sibling, she was the best at least half the time, actually more. But now, with three additional kids around, Juanita hasn’t been able to distinguish herself. During the treasure hunt, it was Miguel and Victoria guessing every clue. All Juanita
did was tear up a crucial clue that would have ruined the whole hunt if Valentino hadn’t come to the rescue. Even a dog has bested her!

Juanita isn’t so sure anymore that she wants the Swords sticking around past Sunday, something she has heard Mami and Víctor murmuring about. Otherwise, she’ll never again be the best at something.

As she contemplates this grim prospect, Juanita senses someone beside her. It’s Tía Lola, with that look in her eye. She knows something is wrong before you even tell her.
“¿Qué pasa, calabaza?”
she asks. What’s wrong,
calabaza
? Juanita usually understands Tía Lola’s Spanish. But today, she hasn’t a clue what her aunt is calling her.

Tía Lola points to the pumpkin vines out in the garden. “The
calabaza
is what grows on that vine.”

Great! Now Juanita is a vegetable, which, come to think of it, is exactly how she feels.

Inside the house Juanita can hear her mother finishing up preparations for today’s Fourth of July barbecue. Cari is helping her count out all the silverware. They were not going to have a big party, but after Miguel got hurt yesterday, Mami talked to all the parents as they were picking up his teammates. A whole bunch agreed to pool together and have a potluck Fourth of July barbecue. Six families will be coming over later this afternoon, as well as Colonel Charlebois; Stargazer, Mami’s friend with the fun shop in town; and Rudy and Woody, as the café is closed for the holiday. The team also decided to hold a pre-party practice after all. Why not? While the weather holds.

So, it’s turning out to be a special Fourth of July after
all. But Juanita feels so unspecial that what she notices is what won’t be special about it. No fireworks. They’ve been canceled due to the rain prediction. What’s a Fourth of July celebration without fireworks?

Tía Lola sits by quietly, keeping her niece company, not nagging her to say what’s wrong. From the back steps, they look out at the magnificent, thriving garden. This year, in honor of her application to be a resident of this country, Tía Lola planted the garden in the shape of the United States. “I’m going to go weed in Florida,” she’ll say. Or, “I’ll go pick asparagus in Oregon and drop by Minnesota for radishes on the way back.” Anyone hearing her would think Tía Lola was actually headed for those states to harvest their dinner.

“Everyone has something to do except me.” Juanita finally speaks up. She was feeling too cranky and upset to talk to anybody, even Tía Lola, but suddenly the words are spilling out. “I can’t do anything really special anymore,” she confesses. This must be the way her brother feels when Juanita gets praised for being the best reader, the best student, the best in learning Spanish.

Tía Lola puts her arm around Juanita’s shoulders. “
You
are especial, and that makes everything you do especial.”

Juanita has to smile. She has corrected Tía Lola countless times, but Tía Lola keeps forgetting and saying “especial” instead of “special” because that’s how you’d say it in Spanish. Either way, Juanita would like very much to believe her aunt. But she has a long list of all the things she has done within recent memory that are not special. “Even my s’more fell into the fire.”

“That’s because you were trying to help Cari with hers, and that was especial,” Tía Lola reminds her. Juanita used her roasting stick to lift Cari’s out of the fire, and her own marshmallow fell off. But instead of feeling special about her kindness, Juanita feels bad all over again about hurting little Cari’s feelings earlier today.