THE HOUSE OF MEMORIES [J. GRACE]

EIGHT

when he was almost done, about to sign his name the way he'd learned in kindergarten, a wind snatched the picture away. it flew into the sky and disappeared. leo wanted to cry. he'd spent so much time on that picture — but tía callida just clucked with disappointment. "it isn't time yet, little hero. someday, you'll have your quest. you'll find your destiny, and your hard journey will finally make sense. but first you must face many sorrows. i regret that, but heroes cannot be shaped any other way. now, make me a fire, eh? warm these old bones," she told him, patting his back gently, in a way that sent jolts down leo's back.

a few minutes later, leo's mom came out and shrieked with horror. tía callida was gone, but leo sat in the middle of a smoking fire. the pad of paper was reduced to ashes. crayons had melted into a bubbling puddle of multicolored goo, and leo's hands were ablaze, slowly burning through the picnic table. for years afterward, people in the apartment complex would wonder how someone had seared the impressions of a five-year-old's hands an inch deep into solid wood.

now, leo was sure that tía callida, his psychotic babysitter, had been hera all along. that made her, what — his godly grandmother? his family was even more messed up than he realized. he wondered if his mother had known the truth. leo remembered after that last visit, his mom took him inside, and had a long talk with him, but he only understood some of it.

"she can't come back again." his mom had a beautiful face with kind eyes, and curly dark hair, but she looked older than she was because of hard work. the lines around her eyes were deeply etched. her hands were callused. she was the first person from their family to graduate from college. she had a degree in mechanical engineering, and could design anything, fix anything, build anything. no one would hire her. no company would take her seriously, so she ended up in the machine shop, trying to make enough money to support the two of them.

she always smelled of machine oil, and when she talked with leo, she switched from spanish to english constantly — using them like complementary tools. it took leo years to realize that not everyone spoke that way. she'd even taught him morse code as a kind of game, so they could tap messages to each other when they were in different rooms: i love you. you okay? simple things such as that.

"i don't care what callida says," his mom told him, tucking some of leo's long coils from his younger face so she could see him properly. "i don't care about destiny and the fates you're too young for that. you're still my baby." she took his hands, looking for burn marks, but of course there weren't any. "leo, listen to me. fire is a tool, like anything else, but it's more dangerous than most. you don't know your limits. please, promise me. no more fire until you meet your father. someday, mijo, you will meet him. he'll explain everything."

leo had heard that since he could remember. someday he would meet his dad. his mom wouldn't answer any questions about him. leo had never met him, never even seen pictures, but she talked like he'd just gone to the store for some milk, and he'd be back any minute. leo tried to believe her. someday, everything would make sense.

for the next couple of years, they were happy. leo almost forgot about tía callida. he still dreamed of the flying boat, but the other strange events seemed like a dream too. it all came apart when he was eight. by then, he was spending every free hour at the shop with his mom. he knew how to use the machines. he could measure, and do math better than most adults. he'd learned to think three-dimensionally, solving mechanical problems in his head the way his mom did.

one night, they stayed late because his mom was finishing a drill bit design she hoped to patent. if she could sell the prototype, it might change their lives. she'd finally get a break. as she worked, leo passed her supplies, and told her corny jokes, trying to keep her spirits up. he loved it when he could make her laugh. she'd smile and say, "your father would be proud of you, mijo. you'll meet him soon, i'm sure."