Isabela Amaya's Arc

Chapter 2 of 2

Isabela came down the ladder with the notebook flat against her ribs and the ore pressing cold through her shirt. Alberto stood at the bottom, one hand on the rail. His mustache was still creased from sleep, but his eyes were awake. He looked at her the way he looked at a broken lock. "Come here," he said. "Empty your pockets." She stepped down onto the pine floor. Behind him, the front room of the cedar cabin opened out: the white couch, the stone chimney, the row of pots along the windowsill. Her abuela's twin talavera pots sat on the mantel, blue and red flowers painted around their bellies. Between them stood the tropical bloom in its Mexican pot, its dark pink flower nodding whenever anyone crossed the floor. "Grandpa, I was just—" "Pockets." She needed three seconds. She glanced past him at the pots. The tropical bloom was the deepest. Its soil was loose. Evalia was still on the ladder above, watching. Isabela pressed a hand to her stomach and made her face go pale, which was not hard. "I feel sick," she said. "The mole. I need water." Alberto's mouth tightened. He did not move. Then the amber tabby walked out from behind the couch. It was Alberto's other cat, the orange one, and it went straight for his ankles and pushed its head against his boot. He looked down for half a second. Isabela moved. She stepped sideways to the mantel, slid the notebook from her shirt, and pushed it down behind the twin talavera pots, flat against the wall where the shadow was. The ore she shoved into the tropical bloom's pot, deep into the wet soil, up to her wrist. A leaf shook. The pink flower bobbed once. She turned around with dirt under her fingernails and her hands open. "See?" she said. "Nothing." Alberto crossed the room in four steps. He patted her shirt, her sleeves, the waist of her jeans. He checked her braids. He crouched and looked at her shoes. The amber tabby watched from the rug. Evalia climbed down the ladder behind them, silent. "Turn around." She turned. He found nothing. He straightened up slowly. His eyes went to the mantel. He looked at the pots for a long moment. Isabela's heart hit her ribs so hard she thought he could hear it. But he did not step closer. He rubbed his face with one hand. "Go wash," he said. "And stay out of the attic." She went to the kitchen. Her hands shook under the tap. Evalia followed and stood close. "He'll search the house tonight," Evalia whispered. "He knows something is gone. You have one day to move them, or he finds them." Isabela stared at the dirt spiraling down the drain. The notebook and the ore were safe for an hour. Maybe less.