Page 19 of Everything We Left Behind

“Sí, señora.I mean, yes, lady.” Julian swiped his hand across his chest, leaving a trail of sand. He brushed it off, scratching his skin.

I grabbed his wrist and gave him a stern look to stop fidgeting.

Our neighbor smoothed her paisley-printed tunic. Colors swirled across the sheer material. Gold sequins edged the sleeves and dress hem, sparkling in the sunlight. “I seem to be short an umbrella,” she said, glancing over her shoulder at the mangled shade structure. She squinted at the sun. It blazed down on us, the air dry and stifling today. Sweat dripped down my chest and back. Perspiration glistened along our neighbor’s hairline. Julian and his friends continued to shift, the sand burning the soles of their feet.

“Well, then.” Our neighbor brushed her palms together, wiping off sand. “I guess I better head inside before I burn.”

“We’ll buy you another umbrella,” I offered, my eyes narrowing on Julian. He’d be spending the next few Saturday mornings assisting my gallery receptionist, Pia. Floors needed to be swept and displays dusted.

Julian mumbled another apology.

Our neighbor’s mouth knitted. “That won’t be necessary. But, perhaps”—she looked over the sandy crew, tapping her chin—“your son and his friends will help me carry my chair and bag inside.”

I wholeheartedly agreed. It was the least they could do. “Boys?” I prompted when no one moved.

“I have lemonade and I picked up some ... what do you call them?” She snapped her fingers. “¿Bizcochitos, sí?I think that’s what the cookies are called. You’re welcome to some.”

“Sí, señora,”the boys chimed in unison. They gathered her belongings—chair, bag, and towel—and ran into her yard.

I scooped up Marcus, who had just rubbed sand in his hair. “I’m Carlos, by the way. Your neighbor.” I tilted my head in the direction of my house and extended my hand in greeting. She didn’t take it because she didn’t see it. She stared fixedly at Marcus. Her eyes sheened. I wondered if she had grandchildren; then I realized the sun blazed behind me. I shifted to the side so that neither of us looked directly into it.

She blinked a few times, briefly shifting her gaze toward me before landing on Marcus again. “I’m Cl—” She cleared her throat. “I’m Carla. Is this your son?”

“Sí.This is Marcus.” I juggled him under my arm, and he giggled.

“¡Mas! ¡Mas!”He clapped, begging me to bounce him again.

Carla clasped her fingers, holding her joined hands at her chest. “How old is he?”

“Almost seventeen months.” I glanced at Marcus, who waved at Carla with both hands. “I think he likes you.”

The corner of her mouth lifted slightly. “I like him, too.”

Marcus squirmed in my arms.“Por, papá!”

A breathy laugh broadened Carla’s smile.“Papá.”She watched Marcus squirm in my arms. Her eyes welled further and she looked down at the sand. “Ah, I better go.” She wiped her hands against her hips. “Your son and his friends are waiting for their treats.”

“It was nice meeting you.” I offered my hand again. This time she took it.

“You, too, Carlos.” She said. She sounded lonely.

“Señora Carla,” I called when she reached the gate to her yard. “Join us for dinner tomorrow night? It’s taco night. I barbecue lingcod.”

Her fingers fluttered to her tunic’s neckline. “I—I have plans to eat out.”

“Should they change, just come on over. Six o’clock.”

She lifted her hand in a half wave and proceeded into her yard.

“Come on, Marcus. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

Five Years Ago

June 18

The sun hovered low on the horizon, kicking up a dry breeze. It offered little relief as Julian and I passed thefútbolin the backyard. With each return kick, Julian inched closer to the barbecue.

“Watch out. It’s hot.” I kicked the ball to the far side of the yard, away from the grill. It rolled to a stop by the gated entrance to the beach. I went to check on the grill.

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