Becoming Naomi León: Chapters 4–9

We passed the chickens, who made gentle clucking sounds as we walked by their makeshift wire coop.

“I’m not sure,” said Gram. “I suppose she has a right to visit you and you have a right to get to know her. More than that, I want her to see that you kids are healthy and happy and dug-in deep here with me. I hope I can remember to call her Skyla. I just don’t want to get her riled.”

“Naomi, she was always as temperamental as a bead of water on a hot skillet. I am hoping she has settled some.”

I pried the rest of the story out of Gram when I got older.

Then I put my head down on my pillow and closed my eyes, the caravan of milky statues guarding my dreams.

“I almost forgot,” said Gram, looking at Owen. “Mrs. Maloney needs help moving her hummingbird feeder. She loves watching them through the window, with all their flitting and shimmering, but they’ve taken to diving and pecking at Tom Cat. I told her you’d be over after school.”

Owen grinned at Skyla and said a little too loud in his raspy voice, “Thank you!”

She took a fine-tooth comb and pulled it through my hair until there wasn’t the tiniest knot anywhere. Then she started at the center top, bringing up tiny strands of hair, one over the other. Her fingers were nimble and gentle.

“He’s trying to coax Mrs. Maloney’s cat out from under her trailer,” said Gram.

Mr. Marble looked at me and said, “And who is this person with the elaborately plaited hair?”

Welcome to our safe haven. Is there a particular subject you are interested in, Blanca, because if so, I can highly recommend a book on just about anything. After all, I am a librarian.

“These are Ms. Domínguez’s private collection. Ms. Domínguez in case you don’t know, Blanca, is our principal. She collected these as a girl. Now, everyone close your eyes. I am going to add some ambience.”

Just then Gram walked in. She began picking up Skyla’s magazines that were strewn on the floor and the trash from her beauty makeover last night.

Gram managed a smile and said, “Owen, you look very handsome this morning. Your teacher will probably give you extra credit for showing up looking so dapper, right, Skyla?”

“What’s this, Outlaw Boy? Oh, you robbed the office store.” He yanked the tape from Owen’s chest, strip by strip. When the last piece was peeled off, Owen dropped to the ground and started to shake and spit. A straggle of kids crowded around.

Mrs. Paloma wore her red ValueCity smock and kept glancing at her watch.

“Our mother came back for a visit,” said Owen, but the usual luster was gone from his voice and his face. He looked pitiful standing there in his rumpled vest and tie.

“Our mother came back for a visit,” said Owen, but the usual luster was gone from his voice and his face. He looked pitiful standing there in his rumpled vest and tie.

I hurried back to get it and as I hoisted it onto my back, I heard Ms. Morimoto’s voice from inside: “...called yesterday to give me some history on the mother. She’s been in and out of rehab hospitals and halfway houses for years. Severe alcohol abuse and the irrational behaviors that go along with it.”

Colored Christmas lights sparkled on the eaves of some of the buildings.

In front of a church, a man struggled to lift a life-size plastic Mary with child onto a plastic donkey for a giant Nativity scene.

Two men in overalls worked on the other side of the window, tinkering with the spray nozzles.

If I asked about our father, Gram said, “Naomi, let’s not dredge up the river bottom.”

“I was giving Skyla the benefit of making a clean start with her life...and with you kids. She admitted she’d made a lot of bad decisions and pointed out that the one good decision she had made was to leave you children with me, and well...I guess I hung my hat on the prospect that she had pulled herself together.”

She told him in no uncertain terms that if he tried to contact you, she’d take him to court. It was all bluster, but Santiago didn’t know that.

I’m sure the poor man was fed up with her shenanigans.

Just then a big noise echoed from inside the car wash, interrupting my cry. I sat up. The machinery churned on the other side of the viewing window and a car headed through on the track.

Then the giant machinery went to work scrubbing and lathering.

“I guess that’s the best we can do to dress up this dump,” said Skyla, standing in the living room/kitchen on Thanksgiving morning. She surveyed Owen’s construction paper turkeys and cornucopias taped in the window.

Gram had a gnarled manzanita branch she decorated for the different holidays, and she thought that if I trimmed it with some of my carvings it would show them off and make a fitting and conversational Thanksgiving centerpiece.

I chose the best of my herd of animals, nestling some of the figures among the twisted curlicues and hanging others from thread on the mangled twigs.

“Naomi, what has gotten into you?” said Gram. “I am worried you’re going to faint from that irregular breathing! You’re not fretting on that figure, are you?”

“That looks dandy,” said Gram. “The new carving reminds me of a bluebird of happiness, the way the wings are out and all. Now, let’s get out my yellow-checked tablecloth. I hope it doesn’t clash with Mrs. Maloney. Then I’ll baste that turkey.”

Mrs. Maloney arrived, toting her lime gelatin salad with little marshmallows.

“Their father was obsessed with carving,” said Skyla, patting Clive on the arm. “And not in a good way. Every year he left me for a week right before Christmas to go to some carving thing in Mexico. Imagine leaving a wife and kids at that time of year!”