How Tía Lola Learned to Teach (10 page)

A little cloud sails into his thoughts, staining the clear blue sky of Miguel’s happiness. He still can’t get used to Carmen
always
being along.

But that cloud soon dissipates. Carmen can sometimes think up fun things. A few days ago, a package arrived. Inside, they found a Knicks sweatshirt and a card saying
Prepare yourself, Miguel Ángel, we’re going to Madison Square Garden with José and his dad to see a game!
And in that same package, they also found a ballerina tote bag and a note saying
Juana Inés, guess what? I got you and Tía Lola and me and Ming tickets to a matinee of the New York City Ballet!
Even Tía Lola got something—two pretty handkerchiefs, monogrammed with a big loopy
L
.
May these catch only happy tears
. Tía Lola read the note out loud, her eyes moistening with happy tears.
“¡Qué muchacha tan cariñosa!”
What a sweet girl!

“I don’t see why she’s sending presents. She’s going to be seeing you guys in a week,” Mami commented.

“You catch more flies with a drop of honey than with a quart of vinegar, that’s why,” Tía Lola noted. “She’s just trying to be nice, Linda.”

“She might be trying a little too hard,” Mami had said in a voice that was trying hard not to sound critical. Maybe Mami was just miffed that she herself hadn’t gotten a gift in the package from Carmen.

But Mami had received a thank-you card, which she read carefully. What was Mami thinking? Miguel wondered, studying his mother’s face as she read. He wished he could know, without asking, whether it was okay for him to begin to like Carmen.

Now, as he dresses and thinks about Mami staying all
alone for the coming week, Miguel feels a pang. This is ridiculous, he thinks. He hasn’t even left home and he’s already homesick! He’ll call Mami every day, maybe even send her a couple of postcards. But he’s determined to have a great time seeing his
papi
and grandparents and going to that Knicks game with his best friend, José. “YES!!!” He pumps his arm in a show of resolve. “Yes, yes, yes!”

That’s when Miguel notices that he has lost his voice. Oh no! If Mami finds out, she is not going to let him go to New York City. Never mind that Miguel doesn’t have a sore throat or feel feverish or anything.

All thoughts of homesickness have vanished from Miguel’s mind. Somehow he has to get on that bus with Tía Lola and Juanita without Mami catching on that he has laryngitis.

Miguel rolls his suitcase out to the upstairs hallway. Down in the kitchen, he can hear voices—Tía Lola’s, Mami’s. Juanita must be in the bathroom, door closed, water running.

He raps lightly. “Juanita!” But his voice is a mere whisper. He raps again.

“Who’s there?”

Miguel whispers his name, but of course his sister can’t hear him. He knocks harder.

Juanita yanks open the door, her soapy face
looking annoyed. “I’m using the bathroom,” she explains unnecessarily.

“I need your help, Nita,” Miguel whispers. He looks over his shoulder, checking to see if someone’s coming up the stairs.

“What’s wrong?” Juanita is suddenly more curious than she is annoyed. Her soapy face is forgotten. “Why are you whispering?”

“I’ve lost my voice. But it’s not a cold,” Miguel is quick to explain.

“Maybe you’re just going through pooberty, you think?” Juanita suggests. “We learned about it in science—how boys’ voices change when they start getting older and going through pooberty.”

Maybe it’s because Juanita’s standing in the bathroom, but Miguel does not like some stage of life he is soon to enter being called pooberty. However, this is no time to argue with his little sister and risk a scene that might land him in bed with a thermometer in his mouth. “It’s not puberty, Juanita, it’s just laryngitis. But you’ve got to help me, okay? Otherwise, Mami will cancel our trip!”

Juanita’s eyes widen at this terrible possibility. Thankfully, she doesn’t think of the alternative: that Mami might let
her
go to New York with their aunt but without her big brother. At moments like this, Miguel feels a rush of tenderness for his innocent little sister, who can be so easily tricked.

“We’ll go down to the kitchen together. You do all the talking at breakfast, okay?”

Juanita nods solemnly, as if she has been assigned some near-impossible task, when actually—and Miguel isn’t going to say this—Juanita usually does most of the talking anyhow.

In the kitchen, Mami and Tía Lola are sitting at the table, gossiping. Each one is holding a mug of coffee with both hands, like that’s going to keep them warm this cold winter morning.

The minute Juanita and Miguel enter, the conversation stops. Mami and Tía Lola must have been talking about something the kids aren’t meant to hear. Now, with the topic off-limits, they unfortunately focus all their attention on the two children entering the kitchen, one of whom is trying hard to make himself inconspicuous.

“Hey, sleepyheads!” Mami teases. “Are you packed up and ready to go?”

Juanita jumps in a little too eagerly. “Our suitcases are out in the hall already. Miguel carried them both down. He’s so
healthy
and strong!”

Miguel wishes he could kick his little sister under the table. But how can he when they are standing shoulder to shoulder? The overkill about his health will tip Mami off.

“He sure is! Healthy and strong, and handsome, too!”
Mami beams Miguel a radiant smile of mother love. “Come give Mami a kiss,” she commands, stretching out her arms to him.

Miguel doesn’t like it when his
mami
treats him like a little boy. But he’s not about to make a point of being grown-up when he has to be as speechless as a baby. He shuffles over and plants a semi-reluctant kiss on Mami’s cheek. But before he can move away, she pulls him back for another.

“Are you going to miss me?” She looks up at him, her eyes playful but a little sad, anticipating his departure.

Miguel nods and keeps his own head down, afraid his eyes will betray him. Luckily, his mother thinks Miguel is overcome with emotion and can’t answer.

“How about me?” Juanita asks petulantly. “How come you don’t ask me if
I’m
going to miss you?” What a time for his little sister to get jealous! But it ends up being a lucky thing, because now Mami bends over backward to focus on Juanita.

Meanwhile, Miguel plows through his bowl of cereal, not looking up once. He’s afraid to make eye contact with Mami and risk inviting conversation.

“You are a quiet boy this morning,” Tía Lola observes as Miguel clears his empty bowl from the table.

“The cat got his tongue,” Mami teases.

Horrified, Tía Lola rushes over and forces Miguel’s mouth open. Relief shows on her face. “His tongue is fine! But his throat looks a little red. Are you feeling
okay?” she asks, planting a cool hand on Miguel’s warm forehead.

Thankfully, Juanita is back on track, remembering their plan of action. “ ‘Cat got your tongue’ just means someone is being quiet,” she explains to their aunt.

“I see,” Tía Lola says, looking thoughtfully at Miguel.

When Mami goes out to the driveway to warm up the car, Miguel and Juanita rush to their aunt’s side. “Please, Tía Lola, help us!” They explain what is going on.

“I really want to go see Papi,” Miguel adds in his raspy voice.

“But if you’re sick … I don’t know.” Tía Lola looks torn. She wants to take good care of her nephew, but she also doesn’t want to disappoint him.

“I’m not sick at all, Tía Lola, I promise,” Miguel says desperately.

“But your throat did look a little red. Let me check again.”

Just then, Mami walks in the door, which leaves Tía Lola with no alternative. She can’t examine her nephew’s throat or she will give his secret away.

“I suppose you can rest up at your father’s if you are catching a little cold,” Tía Lola whispers as she and her niece and nephew are putting on their coats.

“I am
not
catching a cold,” Miguel whispers back.

“What’s all the whispering about?” Mami wants to know, joining them in the mudroom. She looks suspiciously from one startled face to another.

Juanita comes to the rescue again. “We just have a
favor to ask you, Mami. Can we listen to
Harry Potter
on the way up to Burlington?” Mami has checked out the latest book in the series from the library.

As they ride in silence, listening to the audiobook, Miguel is struck by this brilliant move on his sister’s part. If the CD were not playing, Mami would be peppering the backseat with nervous questions about their trip.

When they are almost at the station, Mami turns the CD player off. She begins coaching them on how to make the bus transfers, what to do if one of them gets separated or lost. No doubt she is remembering their first trip to New York City with Tía Lola. Their aunt had gotten lost, and for several nerve-racking hours they had not been able to find her.

“No te preocupes,”
Tía Lola assures her. Mami is not to worry.
“El que tiene boca llega a Roma.”

If you have a mouth, you can get to Rome? “But we’re not going to Rome, Tía Lola.” Juanita looks baffled. “We’re going to New York City, remember?”

“It’s an expression in Spanish, Nita,” Mami explains. “It means if you can talk, you can find your way anywhere. The reason Rome was chosen …” Mami drones on about the olden days, how the Spaniards ruled the world and the center of their Catholic religion was Rome.

Miguel is relieved. When grown-ups get educational, they spare you having to talk. He closes his eyes, relaxed at last. That’s when he notices a slight, insignificant soreness at the back of his throat.

It’s nothing, he thinks, dismissing it. But by the time
they arrive in New York City that evening and meet Papi and Carmen, Miguel is flagging. His throat is definitely sore.

Tía Lola is upset with herself. “I should never have let you come.”

“Tía Lola, it’s no use crying over spilled milk!” Juanita reminds her aunt.

“What spilled milk?” Tía Lola looks around the floor of the big, crowded station. “I didn’t spill milk.”

“Don’t worry, Tía Lola,” Carmen says, putting her arm around Miguel. “We’ll give him tons of TLC here!”

Tía Lola wrinkles her nose. “TLC?” She must think it’s some sort of cough syrup, because she shakes her head. “I have my own recipe, a mint tea of
yerbabuena
with honey and cinnamon and cloves.”

Oh brother! Miguel suddenly wishes that he were back home, tucked in his bed, with no one to bother him. When you aren’t feeling well, it’s hard to be patient with explanations or to get tender loving care from a stranger, even if she
is
destined to be your stepmother.

All week long, Miguel stays home in Papi’s apartment. The first few days, he doesn’t mind at all because he feels miserable. On Tuesday night, his temperature spikes so high that even Papi, who usually believes that the best way to treat a fever is to give it the cold shoulder, wants
to take him to the hospital. But by Friday, Miguel feels totally recovered. The only fever he has is cabin fever! Man, he can’t wait to get out of this apartment. Good thing the Knicks game is tonight. It’ll be the one fun thing he gets to do before they have to head home early Sunday. Miguel is going to make tonight’s outing count for a whole week of lost vacation time!