When Dad Came Back by Gary Soto Page A

a tall glass of ice tea. He went outside—the heat breathing on his face—and picked mint from the side yard. Then he returned, sugared his mother's ice tea with Sweet'N Low, and took the glass to her.
    Her eyes were closed, as she had begun to doze. When she opened them, she yawned, sat up, and remarked, “Ah, that's nice.” She sipped her drink, let out another, “Ah, that's good,” and smiled at Lucky. When she snapped her fingers, he came trotting out, with a sock in his mouth.
    Nice. That was the word Gabe was going to try to live by. He had promised himself not to punish Frankie. He could see that Frankie was living his own punishment and would eventually mess up. Let the police take care of him. I'm not the law, Gabe realized. I'm not the judge of any homey's life.
    That night, Gabe made plans to sleep in the yard, next to Lucky. Gordo was not too pleased at Lucky sniffing around outside, barking at the neighbor's dog and raising his leg against the fence. Gordo hopped onto the fence and stood with his back turned to the two of them.
    â€œDon't be like that, Gordo,” Gabe begged. “He's only a puppy. Be nice.” Gordo jumped and disappeared into the alley behind their house. He had been living the perfect life, and now … a dog.
    Gabe assembled a camp in his backyard. He rolled out his sleeping bag, hauled the ice chest from the garage and filled it with a treasure of ice, and arranged coals in a hibachi grill. After sunset, he would douse the coals with lighter fluid and throw a match at them.
    â€œIt's like camping,” he told Lucky, who was gnawing at a flea on his shoulder. He scratched and scratched until his attention was drawn to Gordo, who was now on the neighbor's roof, his back still turned toward them.
    Gabe had sodas, bottles of water, chips, and candy bars as his rations for the evening. He had a bag of chicharrones. He had grapes, too, and was eating a handful when his mother appeared in her pink slippers.
    â€œIt's cooler out here,” she remarked, as she gazed up at the neighbor's garage roof. “What's Gordo doing up there?”
    â€œHe's jealous,” Gabe answered. “He's going to have to get used to Lucky.”
    Lucky was pretending to be king. He had climbed into a plastic chair and placed his front paws on one arm, almost toppling it. He barked at Gordo until Gabe's mother removed him and sat down in the chair.
    â€œHe is cute,” his mother said. “You used to be as cute as him.”
    â€œI'm not anymore?”
    â€œNo, Gabe, you're not. Now you're handsome.”
    This compliment brought a smile to his face. He plunged his hand into the ice chest, the cold nearly hurting his heart, and brought out a bottle of water for his mother.
    â€œThis is great service,” she remarked when he delivered the bottle, twisting off the plastic top. She sipped and wagged a finger at Lucky, who was sniffing her slippers. “Don't even think about carrying them away!”
    Lucky spun his tail and briefly let his tongue peek from his mouth.
    Gabe knew that he had finally seen happiness, and it was in the shape of a dog. He was glad that he had risked a thumping from the Torres family. They didn't care for Lucky. In time, the law would knock on their door.
    â€œDid your father say he would come?” his mother asked. She ran her hands up and down her arms from the chill of the evening.
    â€œHe said he would,” he answered. He could tell by his mother's voice that she didn't want him around. “Is it OK?”
    â€œYeah, it's OK, but he can't stay long. He can't sleep here, not even on the lawn.” She had bent down to pluck a dandelion. She tossed it like litter as she stood up.
    â€œHe won't,” he promised. He spread his sleeping bag on the ground and sat down, cross-legged. Yes, he was waiting for his dad. It would only be a short time before he unlatched the gate and entered the yard. He would return,