Chapter 59 2014
It was on the twenty-third day, a Friday, that Jacob arrived with the envelope. I know because Friday was when the trash was picked up on Summit Avenue. The trash bins were out, and the scent of garbage wafted in the air.
It was midafternoon and sweltering. Sweat leached through the pale-yellow T-shirt Mandy had lent me. The brouhaha had died down, and only a few dozen people traipsed up and down the street, all in favor of immigrants.
Jacob wore khaki pants and a collared red polo shirt and looked like he had just stepped off a golf course.
I nodded in greeting, speaking not something I did a lot of those days.
He faltered, his mouth opening and closing once before he cleared his throat and said, “I’m afraid I have some bad news.”
I looked at the envelope in his hand. On the outside, written in Profe’s careful cursive, was my name, “Cielo.”
“I’m so sorry to have to tell you this. But this morning, Andres was found unresponsive in his cell. He was taken to the hospital, but they were unable to revive him.” He dropped his eyes to the sidewalk. “They said it was his heart. It simply gave out.”
The words registered in slow motion. Then my knees went weak, and I fell a moment before the world went black.
I don’t remember much after that. Astur. A plane. Another plane. An angry gray cat in a carrier. A white room with a small window and two beds.
And Boodo.
“Rest, Dhoola. You are home.”