A So-Called Vacation by Genaro González

back home we’d be going to Disneyland.”
    â€œThat’s right,” Gus added immediately, “but we haven’t heard a word since.”
    Their father pretended to search for the culprit. “Who told you that?”
    â€œWhoever he was, he wasn’t being straight.”
    â€œDon’t look at me, Gustavo. I never promised you anything but honest work and whatever money you made. Besides, I’ll bet you’ve had some good times here.”
    Perhaps his father was right, thought Gabriel. Once he got past the third-world housing and hard work, meeting new people and seeing new places somehow made the experience worthwhile. If anyone had a right to complain it was his father, whose hopes for setting up a mobile auto shop were withering on the vine. He was thinking precisely that when his father glanced his way. Worried that he might intuit his sympathy and exploit it, Gabriel quickly protested, “But you said you’d take us to—”
    â€œTo California,” his father finished the phrase. “You said that’s where Disneyland was, and I agreed. And that’s all I said. You guys got carried away after that. With such amazing imaginations, who needs Disneyland?”
    He turned to Paula and asked whether she had also misunderstood. She offered the reply he was counting on. “I really don’t remember, and I really don’t care.”
    â€œI’ll remind you when we get there,” Gus told her. “Then you can wait out in the parking lot.”
    â€œ
If
you get there,” she corrected him. “Now let
me
remind
you
what Dad always says. ‘Make sure you get it in writing.’”
    Their father nodded and smiled, proud of having taught her well, and they finished the phrase together: “And before you sign, read the fine print!”
    Aware that he was rubbing salt in their wounds, he assumed a more paternal tack. “That’s the most valuable lesson you’ll ever learn.”
    Gabriel felt like saying, What? don’t trust your own father? Instead he lowered his eyes in resignation.
    Gus, however, matched their father’s gaze with a cold, steely resolve, as if throwing daggers in his direction. The outrage momentarily left him at a loss for words, until suddenly he exploded, “So you’re saying you tricked us! You kidnapped us, for slave labor!”
    â€œKidnapped?” their father smiled nervously. “How in the world can a parent kidnap his own kids?”
    â€œYou tricked us into crossing state lines! That’s a federal offense! You could go to prison for that.”
    Their father’s smile froze, and he touched his son’s arm to suggest that the banter had gone too far. “You’re no kid, Gustavo. You’re a strong, young man. I couldn’t kidnap you even if I tried. You know you’re free to leave anytime.” The argument was having the desired effect and might havedone the job had he left it at that. Yet he could not resist one last stab of sarcasm. “Why, you’d be home in three days. Unless, of course, you stopped to say hi to Goofy.”
    He knew immediately that instead of bringing Gus to his corner, the remark had pushed him farther into the adversarial position. Then, trying to sidestep the minefield he himself had set, he added, “Just imagine us going to that place looking like this.” He purposely put on a hobo’s pose.
    â€œWe’d look like hillbillies,” said Paula, then guffawed like one. “Hispanic hillbillies at that.”
    Their dad nodded gravely, the way one faced up to a sad fact of life. “They’d lead us out of the parking lot with flashing lights and sirens. We’d end up being nothing but laughingstocks.”
    â€œUnless,” Paula added, “the customers thought we were part of the entertainment. The same way the locals here see us.”
    Her last barb stung her brothers the most since they