The Year the Swallows Came Early Read Online Free PDF Page A

my hands and tore the letter into pieces, throwing them like bits of confetti onto the terra-cotta floor.
    He stood for a couple of seconds looking atthe ripped-up letter, then took a roll of Tums from his pocket. He unwrapped it past a lemon- and a lime-flavored tablet until he found an orange one, and put it in his mouth. He chewed fast, swallowed, stuffed his hands in his pockets.
    â€œWhat?” I asked him.
    He opened his mouth, then shut it.
    Turned around.
    Walked out the door.
    I knelt down and pushed the tiny pieces of paper into a pile with my hands.
    â€œLeave them there,” Luis said as he walked to the back where I was. “He won’t read it even when it was in one piece.”
    We stood real quiet for a minute. I handed the torn-up letter to Luis.
    â€œI knew it was from his mother by the handwriting,” he said. “And I didn’t know how to tell him when it came yesterday, so I left it on the counter hoping he’d see it and open it. It’s the second one he’s gotten in three weeks. Before then, nothing. Except those postcards last year. All of asudden, it’s like the Pony Express around here.”
    Luis opened his hand and the pieces fell slowly into the round cutout in the counter. The same one where customers threw away their used napkins and thin white papers that cover straws. Things nobody thought twice about.

BLUE FLIP-FLOPS REALLY WORN DOWN
    F rankie held anything that had to do with his mother so tight inside that it made him sick—nothing serious, but still, sick. At first the doctors said he had allergies. Then it was headaches. Later they decided it was a sensitive stomach. All of which were wrong, if you ask me. It was just plain sadness. That, and maybe him being mad for so long. Because when his mother and stepfather left to fish in the southern waters where the big catches are, they left Frankie behind with his stepbrother, Luis, for what was supposed to be acouple of weeks. Three at the most.
    It turned out to be two years with nothing but postcards promising they’d be back as soon as they could.
    So far, he was still waiting.
    Why she left him was a mystery, and I mean mystery. Frankie says the day she left, she only packed enough clothes for a week. In only one suitcase. And it was a small suitcase, like a carry-on, like she really was going to come back.
    I knew if she ever did come back for Frankie, it would take a hundred years of explaining before Frankie understood her side. He was just like that. Even with little things. It could take him a whole week to call back if I told him even the tiniest white lie. I’d say, “Frankie, I’m very sorry. I won’t do it again. Can we forget about it?”
    He never did.
    I went outside to look for Frankie. The late-afternoon fog glowed yellow-green around a fluorescent light mounted to the pier. Moisture stuck to everything, a layer of cool wetness.
    Marisol and Felix stood side by side, their heads tipped in the same direction. They were looking at Marisol’s drawing as though it were a famous painting on display.
    She turned around when she heard me.
    â€œIt took me a while to fix this one.” Marisol pointed to the swallow Frankie had accidentally sprayed with hose water. “Maybe you should be more careful next time. People like to enjoy my drawings, you know. Especially my swallow series.”
    â€œThe swallows are coming back soon,” Felix said.
    â€œIt was an accident,” I told her. “We didn’t see it.”
    Marisol rolled her eyes. “Right,” she said.
    â€œMaybe you should think about drawing somewhere not so close to water,” I told her.
    â€œThis is where everyone comes to walk. This is where my audience is,” she said.
    â€œYour audience is at the restaurant, too,” Felix said to his sister. “That’s what you toldDad.” Then he turned to me. “My dad is framing Marisol’s swallows for the