Isabel's Texas Two-Step (7 page)

“I miss Papa. When's he getting here?”

“Dear, he will be here, I promise. Your father wouldn't miss this for the world.”

If Mom and Dad were together, maybe I could tell
them about the broken eagle, and they would help me. Holding in my secret was stressing me out. I kept thinking about the eagle's wing tip, flying through my brain.

“Don't you worry, Isabel. We're going to have a wonderful, memorable family reunion this weekend.” I looked at my mother's smile. It was one of those “I've-got-a-secret-and-I'm-not-going-to-tell-you” smiles. It was kind of exciting to think about what more my parents had in mind.

All of a sudden I started to giggle. “What's so funny,
mi 'jita
? Are you laughing at my little crab here?” Mom wiggled a little origami crab at me.

“No, Mami. I was just thinking…what if Dad drove up to the ranch in a carriage pulled by white horses, wearing a top hat and a tuxedo?”

Mom burst out laughing so hard she popped a button on her shirt. I folded the little tail on my paper turtle. Getting to hang out with my mom and dad, together, was the only family reunion I needed. Seeing all our uncles and cousins and relatives would just be icing on the giant, white,
quinceañera
cake!

T
he patio sparkled in the evening light. Strings of bare lightbulbs danced in the wind, creating a twinkling effect. Enrique stood on a ladder, replacing a bad bulb. Mercedes put the finishing touches on the silverware, which she had spread, fanlike, next to a stack of plates and cups. Mercedes was kind of like the ranch's resident Martha Stewart. Her table settings looked amazing, like they were out of a magazine. She had placed beautiful flowers all around the table in a pattern that made you think the flowers were dancing.

Aunt Inez looked very much the hostess in a big, loose dress and a turban. She wore a lot of turquoise jewelry and her usual dramatic makeup. She definitely had star quality as she twirled through the party.

The night was perfect for outdoor dining. Half of my many relatives were there already. My grandparents on my Mom's side, Abuelito José and Abuelita Juanita, weren't getting to the ranch for a couple of days, but my father's
parents, Papa Margarito and Mama Maria, and his brother's family arrived late in the afternoon. They had come all the way from Mexico! Mama Maria frightened me a little when she grabbed me by the shoulders, practically pinching me, and said: “
Cuida a tu mamá
.” Her words didn't register right away, because I realized I was now taller than her. Being taller than my grandmother must mean I was “maturing.” I held my head high and smiled at my other relatives.

Mama Maria could be sort of cranky, but I loved that she had so much spirit and always said whatever she thought. She began to complain to my mom that her granddaughters were becoming “
Americanas
,” unable to hold a decent conversation in Spanish, too modern for our own good.

Papa Margarito just laughed his great, jolly laugh and said to me, “Don't worry, bay-bee. It'll be all right!” Papa was a big joker.

“
Claro que sí, Abuelo
,” I replied as I hugged them both, to prove to Mama Maria that my Spanish was just fine, thank you. She smiled and winked at me. She always said she loved
my
spirit too.

My cousin Irma, whose
quinceañera
last summer in Mexico City was still the talk of the family, arrived from Monterrey with her family. She looked so grown-up, almost like a college student, but she couldn't be older than sixteen. Her younger sister, Delia, trailed behind. She looked like she was in a mood, because she wouldn't smile at anyone. I guessed I wouldn't be hanging out with her right away.

The parade of relatives was endless. I lost track of the
connections, the second-cousin-mother's-side, my-great-aunt's-third-husband's-brother's-stepson (who invited him?), folks from Vera Cruz, some from Jalisco, somebody else from southern California. It went on and on, and it was so confusing.

All of a sudden I realized that I was surrounded by nobody I really knew, so I made my way back to Mom. She was sitting at a table with my grandparents. Mama Maria immediately started complaining about my terrible accent again. Mom just laughed it off and said in Spanish, “We live in New England. She won't forget all her Spanish. I won't let her.”

Thanks, Mom
, I mouthed. Suddenly Elena Maria appeared, like a butterfly. She rested her chin on her hands, which were on our grandmother's shoulder. “Hóla, Mama Maria,” she sang. Their conversation was so easy that I got away from there fast.

As I looked around at all my relatives chatting away in both Spanish and English, I realized that I really had no one to blame but myself. They could all speak two languages perfectly well. I made a vow on the spot to pay more attention to Spanish at school. I mean, what if I wanted to go to art school in Mexico City someday? I'd really need to be fluent in Spanish then.

“Isabel, would you mind helping me to bed?” Mom asked me. “It's been a long day. I think the wheelchair is just over in that corner.”

I ran to get it and brought it back to the table, then helped my mom stand up and sit back down in it. “Good
night, Maria, Margarito,” she said politely. “I hope you'll excuse me for turning in early tonight.”

“Of course,” Mama Maria said to her in Spanish, very seriously. “You must take care of yourself, Esperanza.”

After I got Mom all tucked in, I headed back out to the party. All those people, laughing and chattering away…but it seemed like no one wanted to talk to me. I spotted Elena Maria and her friends in a cluster at the pool. Elena Maria and Scott stood by the diving board, away from the others. Poolside romance? I had to get closer and see what was going on there. Avery was going to need a Scott and Elena Maria romance update.

I sneaked alongside the wall of the house and scooted like a rabbit to the long hedge that bordered one side of the pool. Duckwalking, I waddled close to where they were all splashing around in the shallow end. I felt a little sorry for myself as I watched them. Everyone was having a great time except me.

When Scott and Elena Maria rejoined the group, I had a brilliant idea. This was going to be so funny. I decided to do what she asked and play a real paparazzo. I grabbed Elena's camera out of my purse, and just when her posse was about to walk by me, I sprang from the bushes and shouted “Surprise!” while snapping photos in rapid succession.

I was greeted by shrieks. “Isabel! What are you doing?” Jill screeched.

I continued to snap away. “Smile, Elena Maria,” I yelled.

“Isabel! Give me that camera!” my shocked sister demanded.

I moved the camera out of her reach, behind my back. “But, Elena, you told me to play paparazzi!” I said. In my heart I knew I was being Isabel the pest, but I couldn't seem to control myself.

“Give me that camera!” she pleaded as she tapped her hands against her thighs.

I shook my head and Elena Maria turned away. Scott followed her.

Jill spoke first, very coolly. “Chill out somewhere else, little sister. Go.”

“Yeah, Izzy. Elena's pretty mad at you right now,” Lauren said.

Now I felt really bad. All I had really wanted was for Elena to pay attention to me. “I'm sorry, everybody. Really. I didn't mean to bother you. I just thought you would think it was funny.”

Andy cracked up. “Actually, Isabel, you were kind of funny.” Lauren's and Jill's eyes burned holes in him.

The two girls spun around and ran off after Elena Maria. Andy gave me a sympathetic look and then took off behind them.

On my way back to the patio, I passed Aunt Inez walking out of the kitchen with another tall, thin woman, who was wearing just as much makeup and jewelry. Must be another cousin or something, I figured. They were carrying huge trays of steaming enchiladas and talking very seriously. I quickly ducked behind a big oak tree to let
them pass me. I was still feeling a little shy around Aunt Inez.

“That is just terrible! Such beautiful work,” the tall, thin woman was saying as they walked by.

“I know,” Aunt Inez answered sadly. “I discovered it this morning. That piece means so much to me. Such incredible craftsmanship…and now it's broken.”

My legs began to wobble and my breath got shallow.

“Do you know who is responsible?” the other woman asked.

“Oh,” Aunt Inez replied, lowering her voice. I strained to hear. “I have an idea, but no one seems to have seen the accident, and I don't want to start making accusations without any proof….”

I couldn't make out the rest, but that was enough. My heart was pounding. She knew the eagle was broken. Did she know it was me and Ricardo who broke it? I had to talk to Ricardo.
Now.

I starting running around the barbecue like a crazy person, darting in and out of the crowd as I searched everywhere for him. Of course he would disappear at a time like this!
Ricardo, Ricardo, where are you?
I repeated to myself, getting more and more upset.
Where is that boy?

Finally I spotted him creeping along the back fence, looking back over his shoulder every couple of steps. Definitely suspicious. What was he doing now? I didn't have time to worry about that at the moment, though. I ran up behind him and grabbed his arm. “Ricardo!” I yelled, out of breath.

“Whoa!” he jumped practically a mile in the air, then turned bright red. “Oh, uh, hey, Isabel. I didn't hear you.”

“Ricardo, listen, we are in trouble. Serious trouble. Your mom knows about the eagle!”

He went pale. “Sh-sh-she does?” he stuttered. “She knows we broke it?”

“Yes!” I cried. Then I thought for a second. “Well, she knows it's broken. I just heard her telling another of our aunts about it. She said she's not sure who did it.”

“Well, she didn't name you and me, specifically,” he pressed.

“Umm…well…she said she didn't have any proof.”

Ricardo frowned and thought for a second. “I wonder how long she's known about it….”

“Oh, I did hear that,” I offered. “She said she found it this morning.”

“Ah-ha!” he cried. “That's the proof. We're totally off the hook for this.”

“What? Why?”

“Isabel, check it out. If she found out this morning, and she definitely knows it was us who did it, don't you think she would have said something to us by now? I mean, this is my mother.”

“Well…you do have a point.” We both knew Aunt Inez was not the type to let something like this slide. I could feel my heart starting to slow down to normal speed again. Maybe we weren't in gigantically huge trouble after all. “Okay,” I finally agreed. “You're probably right.”

“I'm definitely right,” he told me, nodding. But I had a funny feeling he was really trying convince himself that he was right, not me.

“So…what are you doing over here by yourself, anyway?” I asked him.

“Uhhh, nothing,” he answered quickly.

Now, I knew
that
wasn't true. “Uh-huh,” I said. “That's why you were acting all suspicious right before I got over here, right? I saw you.”

He looked at me guiltily and pushed up his thick glasses. “You have to promise not to tell,” he warned.

“No way. I'm not promising anything until you tell me what's up.”

He considered this, then leaned in. “Okay. I'm going out to look for armadillos.”

“Armadillos? Do they bite?”

Ricardo laughed. “No. They're harmless, like little scaredy-cats. Just don't get too close. They carry fleas.”

“I won't get too close.”

“What? You want to come?”

“Yes! Please?” Chasing armadillos sounded much better than sitting around here all night waiting for the bomb to drop. Maybe the armadillos would even talk to me. Now
that
would be funny.

Ricardo became animated. “Follow me to my room. Let me get my boots.” He looked at my sneakers. “Did you bring any boots?”

“No. What do I need boots for?”

He gave me a dumb, empty look. “For the horse?”

“The
what
?” It dawned on me. “We're going to look for armadillos on horseback?”

He pushed his glasses up his nose and nodded rapidly. “Boots work better than sneakers.”

“Whoa, wait a minute. I don't know how to ride a horse. I've never even been on a horse.”

“Piece of cake. I can loan you some boots. Come on.”

No Horsing Around

To tell you the truth, I was kind of surprised by Ricardo's bedroom. It was pretty big and it was very neat for a boy, except for the scads of books and CDs everywhere. I looked around while he searched his closet for boots. One wall had a bunch of different maps—some old, some modern, and some with squiggly green lines. He had lots of rodeo posters and photos. I saw a framed picture of a small boy wrestling a calf to the ground, wrapping a rope around its legs. This same kid was in another photo, this time on a horse, roping a steer.

“Ricardo, is this you?” I asked.

He emerged from the closet, holding a fine-looking leather bag. “Yeah, that's me. I came in third, though.”

I would have asked him more, but I saw something in a corner that stopped me cold. A great, big, red accordion, splayed open on a chair as if it had recently been played.

“Is
that
yours?”

He nodded proudly. “I got that for my birthday last year. It's a classic.”

I closed in for a better look. I'd never seen one of these
instruments up so close before. It was beautiful. The red lacquer on the box shined to infinity. The keyboard was nothing compared to the row of a million buttons beside it.

“Can I touch it?” I asked, pointing to the sharp pleats in the bellows.

“Sure!”

I ran my finger down the crease of one of the folds. Paper. Nice! I spun to face him. “What's that music I've been hearing for days now? It's everywhere. The one with accordions. It sounds like German music but the singing is in Spanish.”

“You meant conjunto?”

“Is that what it's called? It's really neat. Is it old-fashioned Mexican music?”

“Actually, it's kind of Mexican-
American
music. It started in the fields and on farms a long time ago, then San Antonio became a major recording center in the early twentieth century for Spanish music.
Conjunto
just means ‘ensemble' in Spanish. And you're right on about the German influence. They brought the accordion to these parts.” Ricardo was smiling and talking quickly. I hadn't seen him get so excited about anything since we arrived.

“And you can play this?” I started to see Ricardo in a very different light. He was like one of the Renaissance people you read about in history books.

“I've been taking classes for a while,” he said proudly. “I'm a member of the Conjunto Heritage
Taller. Taller
means ‘workshop.' It's a center in San Antonio where
everybody
goes to learn. I'll burn you a CD so you can take it home with you, if you want.”