Evidence of Things Not Seen by Lindsey Lane Read Free Book Online

Maricela and she knows exactly what Juany is going to say. Juany has watched out for Maricela a whole year. She’s not asked for any money from Maricela. What she wants is to be with Alfredo. She loves him. It may be wrong or stupid but she wants to be with him just like the girls in the romantic comic books want to be with their boyfriends.
    Juany says all that with her eyes. Then she says, “ Me debes, ” and hands Niño to Maricela.
    Maricela takes Niño. She may or may not owe Juany, but if Maricela gets on that bus right now, Alfredo will put her on a crash course with Juany and the ending of that story would be bad for everyone.
    Juany turns and walks away. Just as she is about to get in the van, she turns and calls to Maricela and says, “ Hasta pronto. ” Then the van door slides closed behind her.
    Maybe Juany is saying that so everyone will think she is coming back for Niño. Maybe she really means it. Maybe their paths will cross in some field, somewhere. Maybe next week. Or the week after. The trucks with workers go round and round through the fields and farms like the carousel Maricela saw in one of the towns where they stayed last year.
    Niño wriggles off Maricela’s lap and holds on to her knee, looking after Juany but she has disappeared. The sunlight has cracked the edge of the horizon. As the light hits the bus, it blackens all the windows so Maricela and Niño can’t see inside.
    “Tilla?” The boy turns to Maricela, begging for a tortilla.
    Maricela stares at him. His wet eyelashes outline his dark, black eyes. He blinks at her as if he is trying to imitate Alfredo’s winks. He has sweet eyes. Like Alfredo’s. As soon as he could crawl, he begged tortillas from everyone in the camp with those eyes. The way Alfredo’s eyes beg besitos , little kisses, from every girl he passes in the field. His eyes say he would die without those kisses. Like the boy’s eyes say he will starve without those tortillas.
    Maricela looks at the boy. His grubby hand is still on her knee, steadying his wobbly stand as they watch the van roll away. When they can’t see or hear it anymore, silence floods the pull-out. The boy wobbles and falls. His diapered bottom plops onto the caliche. He looks up at Maricela. His eyes blink wide. His lower lip trembles. His face starts to crumple. Maricela reaches for him. As she does, she notices a small ring of keys on the ground. At first she thinks one of the other workers dropped them. But she didn’t hear them fall and no one was standing in that exact spot. One of the keys has a black rubber top like a car key. Only it’s small. Maricela wonders how the owner of the keys got home. Or if their car is stuck someplace else. She picks up the ring and fingers the three keys. Car. Home. What would the third one be? Maybe the home has two doors.
    The boy reaches out for the keys but Maricela closes her fist around them and slips them in her pocket. She knows these keys aren’t hers and the doors they open are invisible to her but Maricela wants them. She wants them in her pocket. She wants to pretend she is the owner of the keys.
    The boy grunts, stretching toward Maricela to be picked up. She pulls him onto her lap, wipes his nose, and opens the comic book. Together, they look at the pictures. Maricela studies one panel. The twisted half-lizard creature is on his back. His mean face looks in pain. Blood is leaking out his mouth. In the next panel, the man with the cape is scrambling up the side of the building to a little girl sitting on a window ledge. Behind her, flames consume her bed. Maricela tries to read the words in the bubble above the caped man’s head. “Hold on. I am coming.”
    Maricela isn’t sure what the words mean but it feels like a good thing might happen next.



 
    MAY 14 . TEN DAYS MISSING
    JAMES
    The last time I saw Tommy? Ten days ago. Friday. Physics class. It was the end of the day. He was sitting next to me doing his pencil-tapping, leg-jerking