Luis
TWO YEARS AND TWO MONTHS LATER
Fairfield, Illinois.
If you would’ve told me two weeks ago I’d be moving back to Illinois after fleeing this place when I was eleven, I’d have laughed. In all that time I came back to Illinois once, for my brother’s wedding more than two years ago.
Now I’m seventeen and back for good.
I’m about to start my senior year. I know every teacher, every student, and every inch of Flatiron High in Colorado, where I went for the past three years of high school. If I had a choice, I wouldn’t have come back to Fairfield. But I’m Mexican, and my culture is all about loyalty to family.
Duty to family brought us back. Alex and Brittany are living here with my little nephew, Paco. We saw them last night, as soon as we arrived. Brittany’s pregnant again, and mi'amá says she’s not going to miss out on watching her grandchildren grow up.
We’re standing in front of the old house we used to rent. It’s a two-bedroom house, bigger than a shack but smaller than most homes on my block. It’s clear that the Latino Blood don’t have as big a presence in Fairfield anymore. The spray-painted tagging of buildings and street signs is gone, and nobody is looking at cars driving down the street as if they might be rival gang members about to do a drive-by. The presence of a police car parked in the street makes me question my initial observations, though.
I know why mi'amá wanted to come back and live in this town, in our old house. It’s not just because Fairfield is close to Evanston, where Alex and Brittany live. It’s because of the past … the memories of mi papá she’s desperate to hold on to.
I watch as mi'amá puts the key in the lock, takes a big breath, then opens the door. She sent in a deposit and a check for the first month’s rent while we were still in Colorado, for fear that someone else would snatch it up. I didn’t tell her she had nothing to worry about, that nobody would be standing in line to rent the dump we used to call home.
I was wrong.
We stand in the small living room, and I do a double take. The old, ripped carpeting has been replaced by new hardwood floors. The walls have been freshly painted a bright white. I hardly recognize the place.
“Luis, look!” mi'amá says as she steps into the kitchen and runs her hand over the new granite counters and stainless steel appliances. She smiles wide, then hugs me tight in excitement. “It’s a new beginning for us.”
A loud knock on the front door echoes through the house. “It might be Elena. She said she was going to stop by after work,” mi'amá says, hurrying to open the door.
I’m about to check out the old bedroom I used to share with Alex and Carlos when I hear mi'amá exclaim, “Can I help you, officer?”
Officer?
The cops are here?
The only experience I’ve had with Fairfield cops was when my brothers got into trouble or when they’d question us about gang activity when I was younger. When most of your family have been gang members, the last thing you want is a police officer knocking on your door. Even though Alex is in grad school and Carlos is in the military, old habits are hard to break.
I walk into the living room and watch as a cop in uniform smiles wide at mi'amá. He’s got dark brown hair in a short military cut and is standing in one of those cop stances that means business. “I saw you pull up and wanted to introduce myself,” the guy says, then holds out his hand. “I’m Cesar Reyes, your landlord and next-door neighbor.”
Mi'amá reaches out to shake his hand, then pulls it back quickly as she eyes the gun strapped to his holster. “Thanks for introducing yourself, Officer Reyes,” she says.
“Call me Cesar.” The cop looks down, noticing what she’s focused on. “I didn’t mean to intimidate you, Mrs. Fuentes. I was about to go to work, and I didn’t know the next time I’d catch you home.” His eyes dart to me. “Is that your son?”
She opens the door wider and steps back, so now I’m in full view. “Officer Reyes, this is Luis—my youngest.”
Reyes nods in my direction. “Welcome to the neighborhood.”
“Thanks,” I mumble, not thrilled to suddenly be living next to a cop who happens to be our landlord.
“I’m having a barbeque at my place Sunday night. You both should hop on over if you get a chance.”
Neither of us answers.
He shrugs. “All right. I guess I’ll see you around then.” He pulls a business card from his front pocket and hands it to mi'amá. “If you need anything, don’t hesitate to call.”
He walks to his car, then drives away.
“Glad that’s over,” I say.
Mi'amá closes the door slowly, then sighs as she leans against it.
“You all right?” I ask her.
“I’m fine. Just … let’s get started unpacking.”
On Sunday, Alex calls to say he got me an interview at the Brickstone Country Club in Evanston, which is a twenty-minute walk from our house. I need a job to help out and told Alex to be on the lookout if he hears of any openings. My cousin Enrique has a body shop, but Alex works there already a few days a week, and since the economy turned to shit Enrique doesn’t have enough work for two extra employees.
At four I head over to Brickstone. It’s a huge place with a private eighteen-hole golf course, Olympic-sized indoor and outdoor pools, and an exclusive dining room solely for club members.
The interview process doesn’t take long. This lady, Fran Remington, calls me into her office after I fill out an application.
She puts her hand on her desk and gives me a once-over. “I see here that you’re a straight-A student and were on the soccer and swim teams at your old high school. Tell me, Luis, why do you want a job here?”
“I just moved here from Colorado and need to help my mom with bills. I’ve got college applications due in a few months, and those cost a lot of money.”
She lays the paperwork on her desk. “Where do you want to go to college?”
“Purdue University. They’ve got an aeronautics program,” I tell her. “After my bachelor’s I plan on applyin’ to NASA’s astronaut trainin’ program.”
“You’re ambitious.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She looks over my application again. “You don’t have any serving experience. I really need a server for the dining room.”
“I can do it,” I tell her. “It’s not a problem.”
“Our members expect top-notch food and the best service Illinois has to offer. I don’t tolerate any bad attitudes, tardiness, or slovenly employees. When members walk into the club, they’re treated like royalty by each and every person on my staff. Our members pay a tremendous amount of money to be part of this club. They’re demanding, and so am I.”
“I can handle it.”
The woman hesitates just a few more seconds before smiling at me. “I like a young man with ambition like yours. Even though you don’t have experience, I’ll give you a shot. You’ll start as a busboy for a month, then move up to server if you have what it takes. You can start on Saturday.”
“Thank you for the opportunity, ma’am,” I tell her. “I won’t let you down.”
“Good. It’s settled then.”
Back at home, I find Officer Reyes standing on our front stoop, wearing jeans and a T-shirt. He’s got a Budweiser in his hand, and he’s talking with mi'amá. I wouldn’t think anything of it, but the guy has a big grin on his face, and he just touched her elbow as she laughed at something he said.
Oh, man.
I know how a guy acts when he’s flirting with a girl, because I do it all the time. There’s no doubt in my mind that our neighbor/landlord/cop has the hots for mi'amá.
How the hell am I gonna explain that one to my brothers?