The Red Umbrella

“He’ll be here any minute.” Mamá plumped up the small pillow resting on Papá’s favorite chair.

I peered out the large picture window. The last four days had seemed to last a lifetime, but these final moments were the longest. Then a familiar silhouette walked down the sidewalk. “I see him!” I shouted.

Papá’s slow stride hinted at exhaustion, but there was still a sense of pride in how he carried himself.

“¡Gracias, Dios mío!” Mamá made the sign of the cross and checked her lipstick in the hall mirror.

Frankie ran and opened the door. “Papá!”

Papá smiled and hurried up the walkway. We met him halfway and smothered him with hugs and kisses.

“Let’s get inside,” he said. The four of us moved together, as a unit, no one wanting to let go.

Once inside, we all walked over to Papá’s chair and helped him sit down. His clothes were dirty and rumpled. He smelled like the amphitheater bathrooms after a big concert, but I couldn’t get enough of him. To me, he had never looked so good.

“So, they dropped all the charges, right, Fernando?” Mamá asked.

Papá nodded. “Most of them. But they’re keeping everything we hid away.”

“I don’t care about any of that.” Mamá reached for his hand and put it against her cheek. “I’m just so glad to have you home.” She gave the palm of his hand a kiss.

Frankie leapt onto Papá’s lap. “So, the soldiers won’t be back, right, Papá?”

“Frankie! Papá’s tired. Get off him.” I grabbed Frankie by the arm.

“No, it’s all right, Lucy. Here, sit next to me, too.” Papá scooted over in the chair so I could squeeze in next to him. “And no, Frankie, I don’t expect the soldiers to come back. But things are going to change for us.” He sighed and looked at Mamá sitting by his feet. “Here, first let me give you this.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out Mamá’s wedding ring.

“Fernando, you got it back!”

Papá smiled and nodded. Mamá immediately slipped it onto her finger.

“But that’s about all I have.” He looked down. “I lost my job at the bank.”

“Ay, Fernando.” Mamá covered his large hands with her small ones.

Papá shook his head. “No, it was expected. It was just a matter of time.”

“You’ll get an even better job, Papá,” I said, trying to be positive.

“It’ll be difficult, Lucy.” He stroked my hair. “The government controls all the industries. We’re going to have to make some adjustments.”

“Fernando, I can work.” Mamá started to get up. “Take in some sewing. Maybe a little ironing.”

“No, no. I won’t have my wife working. I’ll find something. Try to get some work as a handyman. See how that goes.”

“But, Papá, can’t you convince them to give you another job … in an office?” I thought about how I’d never seen Papá fix anything around our house.

“No, mi hija. I’ve been told that I need to prove myself first.”

“Prove yourself how?” Mamá tucked in her cotton blouse.

He shrugged. “Show them I’m a good revolutionary.” He looked at me and Frankie. “They mentioned the kids several times. Said that Lucía needs to volunteer to work on the farms or join the brigades if she wants to finish her education. And Frankie’ll have to join the Pioneros group to learn all about the revolution.”

“No.” Mamá put her hands on her hips. “I won’t do that. There’s no way I’m sending my daughter away. Revolutionaries taking care of her. It’s absurd!”

Papá nodded. “I know, I know. They want to indoctrinate the kids right under our noses.”

“There’s got to be another way. I’ll study from home,” I said.

“Me too. It’ll be fun!” Frankie smiled.

I shot Frankie a nasty look. “This isn’t about fun.” I turned to Mamá. “Maybe they’ll excuse us from the service. Tío Antonio can ask about getting us some type of special permission.”

“Don’t mention your tío’s name again!” Papá abruptly stood up, nearly dropping Frankie to the ground. “We don’t have anything to do with him!”

“Fernando, he’s your brother. He made calls to try to get you out of jail. I know you fought the other day, but—”

“Ha!” Papá threw his head back and laughed. “He told you he was trying to get me out, eh?” Papá shook his head. “¡Qué maldito! He saw me in jail this morning and you know what he did?”

None of us said a word.

“He told me that I’d asked for all of this. That it was my fault. Said he’d warned me, but that now I deserved whatever came my way!”

Mamá shook her head. “Pero—”

Papá interrupted. “But nothing! From now on, we have to expect the worst and hope for the best.” He looked at all three of us. “We can’t count on anyone, anymore.”

Not even best friends, I thought.