Free The Year the Swallows Came Early by Kathryn Fitzmaurice Page A

Enough so she couldn’t.
    She looked at him like she was trying to understand something. Then she walked toward the stairs, checking behind her to make sure Frankie was coming.
    â€œGo on,” Luis finally said to Frankie.
    Frankie’s face stayed stiff.
    â€œI mean, she did come a long way,” Luis added, in a way someone might if they had ordered chocolate ice cream for dessert, and the restaurant only had vanilla left. The way they would say, “Oh, all right, I guess I’ll have the vanilla.”
    Frankie looked hard at Luis. Then he turned toward the window. I knew he was trying not to remember her carry-on suitcase, or her promise to be right back. I knew he was trying not to look at her on purpose. I knew it by the way he held his hand against his stomach and kept it there, like he needed an orange Tums.
    Finally he walked up the stairs, slowly, heavily. He looked like a person who just got sent to the principal’s office for getting into trouble.
    It seemed like they were up there for hours. Luis and I covered the shop, tending to the cash register, making change for customers who needed quarters for the parking meters, and selling his famous tacos.
    But the whole time, our eyes were saying to each other, I wonder what is happening up there. Then we’d glance to the top of the stairs at the same time, waiting for the door to open.

FRANKIE’S FAVORITE KIND OF SANDWICH
    H ere’s what happened next. (In list form because things happened one after the other. Like dominoes falling. But separate.)
The door slammed open and Frankie came down the stairs.
I dropped a roll of quarters from being startled. They scattered everywhere, rolling into corners and spinning in half circles before tipping over.
Frankie’s mama rushed after him, trying to keep up in her high heels.
Frankie pushed the front door of the Swallow wide open.
The bells chimed extra loud, hitting the glass so hard I thought it might break.
I yelled to Frankie to stop.
He walked to the taxi parked in front of the shop and stopped.
Frankie’s mama caught up to him.
Luis and I ran to the front window to look out.
The taxi driver started his car again, getting ready to leave.
    But Frankie’s mama didn’t get inside the taxi. Instead, she held her arms open at her sides with her palms up. Like a person does when they are asking what else they could have done.
    I could see how Frankie had grown to look like her. How he had the same straight blackhair, the same nose, the same brown skin. Even the same hands. I could see how he might’ve been just like her in his ways, if he’d always lived with her. But she didn’t even know his favorite kind of sandwich—grilled cheese on white—or that he’d been voted class vice president last year.
    â€œHe looks upset,” I told Luis in a quiet voice.
    â€œHe’s got a lot to be upset about.”
    â€œMaybe you should go out there,” I said.
    Luis looked out the window again.
    â€œWell?” I waited for him to go help Frankie.
    â€œThey need to work this out themselves,” he finally answered.
    â€œBut it looks like he really needs you.”
    â€œGod knows what he needs better than I do,” Luis said.
    I walked to the glass door, thinking I would go out there myself, and pushed it open, but something made me stop. Maybe it was the way Frankie looked like he was going to cry if I came too close, or the way his mama sighed so loud just then; I could tell she was running out of things to say.
    I backed into the shop, letting the weight of the door push me inside again. My hands gripped the silver bar as I watched them through the glass.
    After a while, I saw her take a white envelope out of her purse. She tried to give it to Frankie. But he wouldn’t take it.
    â€œWhat do you think it is?” I asked Luis.
    â€œI don’t know. Maybe some more letters or money. But I’m only guessing.”
    â€œMaybe some