The Red Umbrella

On the drive home, I kept my eyes closed. Ivette’s mom probably thought I really was sick, but all I was doing was replaying the entire scene with Manuel over and over again. The way we’d danced and held hands. How he changed when we were alone. The scorn in his face when he called me a gusana. How could someone seem so perfect and then rip out your heart?

“¡Ay! ¿Qué habrá pasado?” Ivette’s mother exclaimed as she pulled the car into the driveway.

I opened my eyes to see two police and military vehicles parked in front of my house. Thoughts of Señor Betafil and Doc Machado filled my head.

I jumped out of the car and ran to the front door, Ivette and her mother only steps behind me. “Papá! Mamá!” I shouted.

A soldier opened the door.

“¡Mi hija! We’re here!” Mamá called out.

Inside, soldiers were making a mess of the house. There were drawers emptied out onto the tables. Furniture was moved. The loose tile on the floor was lifted up.

Papá sat at the dining room table with his hands cuffed behind him.

“Ven acá, Lucía. Stay with me.” Mamá sat on the sofa holding Frankie, his eyes wide with fear.

A policeman stood over them. Hands on his rifle.

I rushed over and sat next to Mamá.

“¿Por qué …?” I tried to absorb everything. “Why are they here?”

Mamá opened her mouth to speak, but Ivette and her mother walked into the room.

“Sonia, ¿qué pasó? What did you do?” Ivette’s mother asked.

“We did nothing,” Mamá answered.

The officer chuckled. “Nothing, eh? Illegally withdrawing items from the bank, hoarding cash and jewelry. Probably working with the underground.” He looked over at Ivette’s mother. “That sound like nothing to you, Marcela?”

“I tried to warn them.” She pulled Ivette toward her. “You see. This is what I’ve been telling you. You can’t trust people like this.”

“People like this?” Mamá stood up. There was fire in her eyes. “You mean good people who you’ve known your whole life. People who don’t follow every little thing Fidel says. Who actually have minds and question what is happening?”

Ivette’s mother threw up her hands. “Vámonos, Ivette. There’s no getting through to them. They’re just like the Yankee imperialistas.”

Ivette stood frozen by the doorway as her mother walked out. She stared at me and then at the hole in the floor. I couldn’t tell if her gaze was one of pity, fear, or guilt. She slowly turned to leave.

Mamá smoothed back her hair and sat down. “How could anyone have known about the jewelry?” she muttered. “No one knew. We never said a word … to anyone.”

I looked over at Ivette walking out. She knew. She’d heard me say it was in the floor.

I stood up. “I need to talk to Ivette. Can I go outside a moment?”

The police officer motioned for me to go ahead, but I wasn’t talking to him. I looked at Mamá and she nodded. Guilt washed over me as I realized that this was all my fault. If only I hadn’t trusted my best friend.

I hurried outside and grabbed Ivette by the shoulder before she stepped off the porch.

“Lucy, I’m so—”

“Save it!” I said in a low voice. “I know it was you! How could you? I thought you were my friend!”

“What? You don’t think I—”

“You’re the only one who knew. You lied about the brigadistas, about leaving. Did you think this would get you bonus points with your new comrades? I’m sure you and Manuel will have a big laugh about all of this!”

Ivette’s mother honked the car horn, and Ivette motioned for her to wait just one more minute.

“Lucy, you’re not serious. We’re best friends—”

“You said it was wrong for us to hide our things.”

“Yeah, but I’d never—”

“No one else knew.” I shook my head. “Only you. And look what your mother thinks of us!”

“So, this is the thanks I get after defending you for weeks! Fine. I certainly don’t need to stand here and be accused of something I didn’t do! Go back to your traitor family. See if I care!” Ivette stormed off the porch and ran back to her mother’s waiting car.

“I never want to see you again!” I shouted as the car pulled out of the driveway.

I turned and walked back into the chaos.

Papá was being told to stand up.

“Wait!” I ran toward him.

A soldier blocked me.

“Tranquila, Lucy. They just want to ask me some questions at the station. Everything’ll be fine.” Papá tried to smile.

But I’d heard stories of people being arrested and never coming back. Of the paredón. The firing squad.

“No! Please.” Tears stung my eyes.

An officer grabbed me by the arms before I could move. I looked back at Mamá, frozen on the sofa holding Frankie, who had hidden his face in her chest. A soldier had his rifle aimed directly at them.

Papá marched right by me, his head held up high. Quietly he whispered, “I’ll be fine. Take care of your mother.”

Huge tears ran down my cheeks. The lump in my throat barely allowed me to breathe. I nodded as Papá was led out of our house.

Seconds passed, but it felt like years.

As the last of the soldiers walked out, one of them looked at our terrified faces and laughed. Before leaving, he turned and spat on the floor. “¡Gusanos!” he said.

The door slammed shut.

Mamá turned to look out the window. “Fernaaando!” she wailed, but he was already gone.