The Butterfly’s Daughter (20 page)

Billy caught the signal in her voice and looked over his shoulder at the sky. The sun was slipping away, turning the sky the same brilliant orange of a monarch's wings.

“We'd better go. It's going to be a cold night. Those butterflies were smart to hunker down.”

There was an awkward pause as they became silhouettes in the dark. She wondered if he'd ask for her phone number, or the address of where she'd be staying in Mexico. He didn't ask for either and she felt the stab of disappointment.

“Do you know your way out? I could walk you to your car.”

Luz looked around her. She spied the peaked gable of Mrs. Penfold's roof over the purpling line of trees. “No, I'm okay. I'm just beyond those trees. And I've got Serena to protect me.”

“Well, take care, Luz. I'll keep my eyes open for you when I get to Angangueo.”

She smiled, girlishly grasping at the thread of encouragement. “Thanks for the tagging lesson.”

“No thanks needed. I taught you for a reason. With your skills, I expect you to be out and tagging next fall. We need all the volunteers we can get.”

That sounded to her ears like a tolerant teacher's admonishment of his smitten student. Luz's cheeks flamed and she blessed the darkness as she waved farewell, then turned and walked away from Billy McCall and the cluster of trees with Serena in her arms. She stole a quick glance over her shoulder. Billy walked in his easy gait in the opposite direction. She wondered if she'd ever see him again. She hoped she would. Probably wouldn't. Regardless, she'd never forget today.

As she walked out of the field, she reflected on how all the negative thoughts and despair she'd felt earlier had dissipated with the day's light. Butterflies always had the power to make her feel happy. Abuela used to tell her that it was impossible to be unhappy when a butterfly was in sight. She used to point out people to her in the park and say,
Look there! Watch them. See how people smile when they see a butterfly? They can't help themselves. Butterflies are joy with wings.

Luz smiled at the memory as she walked. Crossing the field, she felt the scrape of the tall grass against her jeans and Serena's warmth in her arms. She heard the crunch of her own footfall in a silence that enveloped her. Night deepened around her. Yet in her heart she felt a small flame of joy that flickered bright and lit up her spirits as she made her way along the unfamiliar path.

The weather presents many dangers for monarchs on their journey south. If it is too cold, they freeze and are unable to fly. Too hot, they get overheated and are unable to fly. Too much wind, they wait. If the butterflies linger in one place too long, they won't be able to complete the journey.

L
uz's mind was filled with thoughts of Billy and butterflies as she walked Serena along the softer gravel path to the parking lot. She was surprised to see the silhouette of a woman standing beside her car. As she neared, the woman waved and called out.

“Luz? There you are! We've been looking for you!”

“Margaret?” Luz came closer and recognized the slim silhouette and pale hair of the general manager of the garden center. “I was just walking Serena in the field.” Then she thought of Ofelia and her heart rate accelerated. “Is everything okay? How's Ofelia?”

“She's fine,” Margaret replied in a reassuring tone. “They admitted her. Don't worry; they just want to keep her for observation.”

“Can I go see her?”

“The doctors want her to rest. Mrs. Penfold stayed with her and got her settled. She said to tell you that Ofelia is sleeping and that we should all get some sleep.”

Luz hesitated. Where was she going to spend the night?

Margaret must have noticed her uncertainty because she asked, “Do you have a place to stay?”

“Well, we came straight here. We'd expected to stay with Ofelia's aunt.” She idly scratched her head, considering her options. “I'll figure something out. If worse comes to worst, I can always sleep in the car. Would it be okay, here in the lot?”

“Oh, no,” Margaret replied. “It's not safe. I'm not even sure it's legal. There's a hotel near the hospital,” she offered.

“Is it expensive?”

“A bit, yes. But there are lots of discount motels not too far away.”

Luz nodded and brought her hand up to twirl a lock of hair. “Do they take dogs?”

Margaret looked down at Serena with a puzzled expression. “Can't she stay in the car for a night?”

Luz sighed with resignation. “I don't think so. She's so little and she's already gone through so many changes and I promised Ofelia I'd look after her. No, I couldn't. Hey,” she said, “really, I don't mind sleeping in the car for one night and I'm pretty sure I won't get in trouble if you let me sleep in the lot.”

Margaret shook her head, then released a short huff of annoyance. “I won't sleep a wink worrying about you out here, and Mrs. Penfold would have my head on a platter if I didn't take care of you. You can stay at my place. It's not far. I have a pullout sofa in the den you can sleep on.” She looked at Serena. Imitating the Wicked Witch of the West, she added, “And your little dog, too.”

“Thank you,” Luz said, somewhat surprised, even stunned by the offer after the way Margaret had acted earlier. “That's really nice of you.”

“Thank God you don't have a St. Bernard. Little dogs, little poops, right? But if she pees on my carpet . . .”

“I'll watch her,” Luz promised, relieved beyond words she wouldn't have to sleep in the car. She lifted Serena into her arms to nestle her face against the fur of her neck, hiding her smile. Luz just knew the carpet would be beige.

The following morning Luz awoke to the grinding hum of a lawn mower outside her window. She yawned noisily and pushed back the comforter. Serena popped her head up, her large, round eyes questioning why Luz had disturbed her sleep.

The pullout sofa had a thin mattress on a weak frame of springs and it tilted downward at a dizzying angle. So Luz was surprised that she'd slept so well and had vivid dreams. They were mostly about Sully. She threw her arm over her eyes, grasping at wisps in her mind, but the dream was gone. She dragged her arm off her face and lay looking at the ceiling, filled with an aching longing. She'd tried to call Sully last night. She'd wanted to hear his voice because she'd felt a little guilty about flirting with Billy. But her phone battery was dead. She glanced over to the bedside table to see the phone plugged into the charger. She'd have to remember to call Sully before she got back on the road. She wanted to hear his voice, even if that voice told her to come back home. Truth was, every day she woke up wanting to do just that.

Serena whined and scratched at the door. Luz leaped after her and scooped her in her arms, terrified the dog would pee on the carpet. “You stay put and don't move a muscle,” she ordered Serena while pointing a finger at her. Not taking her eyes off the
dog for fear of an accident, she hurriedly slipped back into the jeans and top she'd worn the day before.

She slowly opened the den door and peeked out to see if the coast was clear. Morning light flowed in through Margaret's picture window, drenching her beige carpet, walls, and sofa. The sleek and modern room looked like what Luz imagined those girls in sexy heels in magazines lived in. Luz had always lived in rooms filled with color and memories. Bureaus overflowed with letters and papers, photographs cluttered desks, and religious icons adorned the walls. From the looks of the apartment, all of Margaret's interests and connections were neatly organized and boxed up, hidden from view.

Outside was more of the same. While Serena did her business, Luz peered out at the great expanse of uninterrupted lawn that stretched far out to a small man-made pond. A large rider mower was systematically cutting grass, back and forth, leaving parallel tracks across the green. Margaret's condominium was one of four identical three-story buildings that sat in cookie-cutter fashion overlooking the pond, unbroken by shade tree or flower bed. Luz found it bereft of any of the wild symmetry she'd seen in the prairie yesterday.

Once back inside the apartment she heard the tinkling of water from the faucet and dishes clanging. She followed the noise to the small kitchen with stainless steel appliances and granite counters. Margaret was standing at the sink wearing a long, white cotton robe and slippers. Her hair was damp and pulled back in a neat knot. Luz looked self-consciously down at her rumpled, worn clothes and felt like wadded-up tissue compared to all that freshness.

“Good morning!” Margaret exclaimed in a cheery voice. She
had a shiny silver teakettle in her hand. “I hope I didn't wake you. I'm an early riser. Always have been.”

“Me, too,” Luz mumbled, longing for a shower.

“You went out?”

“I took Serena for a walk first thing. I wanted to grab her bag of food and my toiletries. I, uh, would love a shower.”

“Oh, of course. Help yourself. The bathroom is down the hall and I laid out a fresh towel.”

“Thanks.” Serena whimpered and looked at Luz meaningfully. “I'd better feed Serena first. Uh, Margaret, I hate to ask, but do you have an old bowl or cup you don't care about that I could use to feed Serena? We've been improvising with Styrofoam cups but it doesn't really do the job.” Visions of shredded Styrofoam across the car floor flashed through her mind.

“I suppose,” Margaret replied with reluctance. She reached into the cupboard and pulled out a plastic tub with a lid. She handed it to Luz. “Keep it.”

While Luz fed the dog, Margaret pulled a china bowl from the cabinet, a spoon from a drawer, and a cloth napkin from another and placed them on a cheerful white mat trimmed with embroidered strawberries. Luz wondered if she was going an extra step for her, or if someone like Margaret used cloth napkins and place mats for breakfast every morning.

“I've got homemade granola,” Margaret offered. “It's a specialty of mine so I think you'll like it.” She put the tin on the table, then turned to open the fridge. Standing before the open door, she checked out the supplies and said, “There's yogurt, whole wheat bread for toast, peanut butter, milk—nonfat only, I'm afraid. And”—she pulled open the fruit and vegetable crisper—“some blueberries. I can make eggs if you like.”

Luz hadn't had such an offering for breakfast since before Abuela died. Except Abuela had never cooked with whole grains or nonfat anything. Over Margaret's shoulder she stole a glimpse inside the fridge. It was sparkling clean. On the shelves—not overly stuffed or shoved in haphazardly—was a single row of frosty water bottles, a few wedges of cheese, jars of fancy jams, select condiments in the rack on the door, and Pyrex bowls with neatly written labels on the lids that showed the date. Luz felt an unexplainable desire for an organized fridge just like that one day.

“The granola sounds great, thanks. And maybe some berries. Please?” Luz added, remembering her manners. Then, feeling a throbbing in her skull, she asked, “Do you have any coffee?”

Margaret scrunched up her nose in distaste as she carried milk and cereal to the table. “No, sorry. I don't drink coffee. Or anything with caffeine. I'm making a nice pot of herbal tea. It's great with honey.”

Luz smiled and nodded, but inside she groaned. She'd woken up to the smell of Abuela's dark, rich coffee all her life and started drinking it at age twelve with lots of warm milk, cinnamon, and sugar.

“You wouldn't happen to have any hot chocolate?” she asked hopefully.

“No, sorry. All that sugar . . .”

Resigned, Luz tied Serena to the leg of a chair and escaped to Margaret's immaculate white tiled bathroom. She took a quick but luxurious shower, then dressed in clean jeans and a soft white cotton sweater. Feeling more herself, she returned to the kitchen. Margaret was dressed in her uniform shirt and khakis and had pulled her hair back into a tight ponytail.

While they sipped herbal tea and ate, they tentatively exchanged
general information about their places of birth, educations, and jobs. Margaret didn't seem the same cool and indifferent woman Luz had met at the office the day before. This morning, Margaret was warmer and, though not chatty, she'd let down her guard.

Luz learned that Margaret was not a pampered debutante. She'd graduated from the University of Kansas with a degree in horticulture, then went on to graduate school in business, all on her own. She accomplished this by working part-time and earning scholarships, plodding forward with dogged determination. After graduation, she worked for the university before she was offered the job at Hidden Ponds. Over the years she'd saved enough to make down payments on her own condo and car. Luz listened, hanging on to every word. That kind of independence spoke to Luz of a life she'd imagined for herself.

“Were you always interested in horticulture?” Luz asked.

Margaret nodded. “My father was an entomologist, and my mother taught science in elementary school. They taught me the scientific names of plants and insects from the get-go. How could I not love gardens?” She laughed lightly, her fingers tracing the edge of her cup. “Oxeye daisy were two of my first words.”

“They must be very proud of you.”

Margaret's face went still before she said, “My father is. My mother died before I graduated. I like to think she would be.”

This one admission made Luz feel a bond with Margaret. Did the fact that both of them lost their mothers qualify for a sisterhood moment? Like discovering they both belonged to the same sorority or came from the same town? She felt this truth ran a deeper course and hinted at private emotions that couldn't be easily explained. It was akin to stealing a look into Margaret's fridge. What was inside was personal. It revealed secrets.