Hurry, hurry. I need to find Frank. Finally John Wayne selects a Hershey’s chocolate almond bar.

“Isabel,” Mrs. Cruz says, “when you have a chance, I have something to give you.”

I smile and nod, but my gaze is fixed outside the window, searching for my brother. Roman walks toward the store.

Mrs. Cruz shifts her weight from one puffy foot to the other. “I painted a portrait of your mother before … before she passed.”

My face feels hot. “Oh” is all I can think of to say. The only people I’ve seen that Mrs. Cruz paints aren’t wearing any clothes. I want to remember my mother’s face, not learn every mole on her body.

“I think you’d like it,” she says.

John Wayne spits out the almonds from his chocolate bar. “Yuck! I hate nuts!”

Roman walks into the store and John Wayne drops the candy bar, draws his pistols, then aims at Roman. “Bang! Bang!”

Without hesitating, Roman slaps his hand over his heart and falls to the floor.

Searching for Frank

At the school yard, Frank’s friends look at me with blank stares. “We don’t know where he is,” they say. “Frank doesn’t hang with us anymore. He hasn’t for a long time.”

“Since we moved back to Malesso?”

“Before that.”

“Then who are his friends?” I hope he doesn’t hang with the rough gang I heard about.

The boys look at each other, then at me. “Frank wants to be alone now. We try to get him to do stuff with us, but he won’t.”

I walk toward the pier, thinking how I should have known. We’ve been back home for over a month. Why didn’t I ask Frank why his friends haven’t been at the cabana playing kong-gi or marbles like they used to? Doesn’t Tata notice? Can’t he see the words stretching across Frank’s wall? Probably not. These days, Tata lives on the sea. He sleeps and eats at our house.

Soon I spot Frank at the park, sitting in front of the statue of Mary, staring out at the ocean. He’s wearing a tank top that exposes a fresh scar stretching from his right shoulder down to his elbow. I want to beg him to talk to me, tell me why he doesn’t play with his friends or sing his songs, why he tattoos hate into his wall. I want to ask him about the scar.

“Come home, Frank,” I tell him. Come back to us.

Inventory

3 butcher
7 butter
5 steak
2 carving
1 paring

Sharp and dull,
I’ll count them all
before bed each night.

Roman’s Tickets

Roman shows me the five raffle tickets he’s bought from one of the candidates of the Malesso Fiesta San Dimas Queen Pageant. Auntie Bernadette was right. Some of these girls start early. This isn’t the Miss America Pageant. They know whoever sells the most tickets wins. That’s why it doesn’t matter what color dress a girl wears or if she’s cross-eyed or has a big wart on her nose.