Free The Indigo Notebook by Laura Resau Page A

kids gather around her, eagerly watching.
    I note that she’s evaded our question, but there’s no time to push her for more information. It will be dark soon and Layla will be wondering where I am. We down the last drops of tea and say goodbye to the kids. Mamita Luz ushers us to the door, where it’s dusky blue outside, just the faintest light silhouetting the mountains.
    “Come back tomorrow when my husband is here. He will want to meet you.” Wendell starts taking off the poncho, but she firmly pats it back on his shoulders. “Wear it home and bring it back tomorrow,
hijo
.”
    Mamita Luz walks us to the end of the path, to the road, a shawl draped over her head. She holds Wendell’s hand for a moment and tilts his face, studying it from all angles. Rain droplets lace her eyelashes, like tiny crystals in the streetlamp’s glow. She wipes the water from her cheeks. “Go now, children.”
    …
    Wendell and the girls and I walk down the path through the corn, over the irrigation ditch, to the main street. A few streetlamps spot the darkness with flickering pools of light. Odelia clings fiercely to her sisters’ hands, telling us about a monster who lives in the shadows. As we near the inter section with the road that leads downhill to the bus stop, I notice someone at the edge of the road in a weedy ditch. A man, talking and singing to himself and clutching a nearly empty bottle.
    Odelia stops in her tracks, refuses to budge.
    Eva and Isabel have stopped too. The girls whisper in Quichua. Odelia starts crying.
    In a slurred voice, the man calls out, “Is that you, daughters?”
    Isabel bites her lip.
    “Come here,” he yells. “Who are you with?”
    Holding hands, the girls move closer to him the way you might approach a vicious dog.
    “What are you doing with my daughters?” Spit flies from his mouth. “You trying to steal them?”
    I take a step back. “They’re helping us look for my friend’s birth parents. He was adopted from this town.”
    He nods, squints at Wendell. “How old are you, boy?”
    “Sixteen.”
    He grunts. “There was a woman.” He takes a swig. “She had a baby. No one ever knew what happened to the boy.”
    “And the woman?” I ask.
    He coughs and spits out a shiny clump of mucus. “After a while, she disappeared too.”
    As I translate for Wendell, I resist the overwhelming urge to hold his hand or touch his shoulder.
    “What’s the woman’s name?” I ask the man.
    “Who knows. She wasn’t from here.”
    I translate for Wendell. He says nothing, only licks the rain from his lips.
    “What about his father?” I ask.
    Suddenly, the man stands up and waves his fists in the air. “You’re trying to steal my daughters, aren’t you?”
    The girls back up. Isabel’s crying now too. Their father’s moving toward them, staggering, punching the air.
    Wendell steps between him and the girls.
    Eva whispers to me, “I’m taking my
ñañas
to spend the night with Mamita Luz. Come back tomorrow.” The girls run down the street, their father shouting after them.
    Wendell and I stay still for a moment, hearts pounding, unsure what to do.
    Meanwhile, the man is stumbling after the girls, but they have a big head start that keeps widening. Finally, the man falls down at the roadside and sucks the remaining liquor from his bottle.
    Wendell takes my hand and we walk quickly to the intersection and turn right. Once we reach the hill, we run.

Chapter 10
    W e sit, not talking, as the bus moves down the dark highway, following its headlights. Romantic ballads blast from the speakers.
    Finally, Wendell says, “Think the girls are okay?”
    His breath is warm. It still smells like sweet, lemony tea.
    “They’ll be safe at Mamita Luz’s,” I say.
    “I was sure she was my birth mom. From the second she opened the door.” He presses his lips together. “Like I’d
seen
her before.”
    The blaring music forces our heads close, so that my eyes are just inches from his. “Maybe you