Free The Butterfly’s Daughter by Mary Alice, Monroe Page B

She knew the drill. No one had to ask her to leave twice. “Uh, no. Milwaukee,” she replied, bending to pick up her purse.
    â€œVisiting?”
    â€œNope. Just passing through.”
    â€œUh-huh,” she said with suspicion. “Where to?”
    Luz stopped fumbling for her keys and thought about saying San Antonio, but thought again. What did she have to lose by telling a complete stranger where she wanted to go, really, in her heart of hearts? There was safety with a stranger, no consequences.
    â€œI’m on my way to Mexico.”
    Hearing this, the girl’s wariness slipped from her face like a mask removed. “Really? That’s cool.” She paused, considering, then said simply, “I’m Ofelia.”
    Mr. Cordero ambled toward them, drying his hands on a towel. “Hey, did I hear you say you’re going to Mexico?” he asked with sudden interest. “Where?”
    â€œA little town called Angangueo. It’s in the mountains,” Luz explained, not expecting anyone to know it.
    He lifted his arms exuberantly. “Sure, I know where that is!”
    â€œYou do?”
    â€œYeah. I’m from Zitácuaro. Not far from Angangueo.” He tossedthe towel over his shoulder, crossed his arms, and rocked on his heels, warming to the subject. “That’s where I was born. It’s beautiful there. Man, I miss being in the mountains. Well, whaddya know. You got family there?”
    â€œUh, yes.”
    He beamed at her. “What’s their name? I might know them.”
    â€œGimme a break,” Ofelia said with a roll of her eyes. “Everybody says something stupid like that.”
    â€œNo, no, it’s a small town,” Mr. Cordero argued.
    Luz had to think for a moment of the family name in Angangueo, since Manolo was the son of Abuela’s first husband. “It’s Zamora,” she replied. “My uncle is Manolo Zamora.”
    He rubbed his jaw, then shrugged. “There are lots of Zamoras.”
    â€œTold ya,” Ofelia chimed.
    Luz noticed that Mr. Cordero took Ofelia’s incessant teasing in stride. “My grandmother’s family is from there,” Luz continued, and found it comforting to be talking about Abuela. “She moved to America with her first husband. To San Antonio. But after he died, she married my grandfather, Hector Avila, and moved back to Morelia. Then after I was born she came to Milwaukee to take care of me. She was a cook in a restaurant, too,” she added, pleased to see Mr. Cordero’s brows arch like two woolly caterpillars over his eyes. “She always talked about going back one day.”
    â€œYeah, we all do. I go back and forth when I can.”
    â€œThis is my first trip. I’m taking her ashes home.”
    Ofelia shrank back in her chair as she pointed to the box on the chair beside her. “Is that her?”
    Luz nodded, thinking that Ofelia was acting like a child as she shifted in her seat to scoot farther from the box.
    â€œ Acepte mis condolencias. You’re a good kid, you know?” Mr.Cordero said as a pronouncement. “Not everyone would go through the trouble.”
    â€œYeah. I’d use FedEx,” Ofelia said.
    â€œOh, shut up,” said Mr. Cordero, but there was a laugh in it.
    â€œI’m just saying,” Ofelia said in mock defense. “It’d be easier.”
    â€œIf you knew my abuela, ” Luz said to Ofelia, swallowing a lump of indignation, “you’d understand why I’m doing this. She was pretty amazing. And she raised me all by herself. She meant everything to me.”
    Luz looked over to see the monarchs painted on the mural. “Abuela loved the monarch butterflies. She used to tell me stories all the time of what it was like when the butterflies returned to the mountains near her village in the fall. She always wanted to take me to the sanctuaries to see them. We talked about it all the time. But