by Leanne Davis
During the next few days, we spend time with them, but we also go into San Francisco. I show Ramiro all around, having spent many vacations there with Natalie and Sam since they entered my life. We visit the touristy spots of Golden Gate Park and Golden Gate Bridge, Fisherman’s Wharf and of course, Alcatraz. We wander through the city streets. I don’t know if Ramiro has ever taken a vacation before, to be honest. He is quiet, not admitting anything, but I don’t miss how eagerly he looks around and reads everything he can find, from paper pamphlets to wall plaques. He seems so hungry for knowledge and experience. I try not to make a big deal out of it, but I admire how he absorbs each detail with so much enthusiasm. It makes my heart squeeze and break with compassion. How many vacations have I taken in my life? Quite a few. From Disneyland to Arizona to the Black Hills of South Dakota and Yellowstone National Park. I’ve been to Honolulu for a week and toured Washington, D.C. for two weeks. I traveled over the years many times to North Carolina visiting Mom’s best friend who lived there. We’ve also taken several trips to New York City.
I never particularly considered the luxury of taking a trip, traveling somewhere new, and seeing new people, places and historical sights. I just assumed most kids did that with their families. I am burning with shame when I think of all the erroneous assumptions I’ve so easily indulged.
I hold his hand and we walk for miles, venturing up and down the hills of the famous city. We stare out over San Francisco Bay at sunset and kiss when the light fades away. It’s a phenomenal week. We have nothing to do but be together. No work. No school. No responsibility. Something, I now suspect, Ramiro hasn’t enjoyed or experienced before. I don’t realize until now how much I take for granted and have to look forward to in my life. There’s always that next holiday or vacation or exciting concert or fun trip.
We talk about what we see, and where we are. We people-watch and discuss what makes us laugh. He’s laid back in his opinions of other people. I’m not. I’m critical. Judgey. I should try harder not to do that.
I don’t think he has a lot of cash to spare. I do. Well, my parents do. There’s no charge for room or board at Natalie’s of course. I appreciated her hospitality before, but never cherished it. Or the chance to be with her because of the parents I have. Ramiro makes me much more aware and I appreciate my life on a level I’ve never realized before. Even weirder still, he never says a word about it. He doesn’t comment. Or try to make me feel guilty. When I’m excited and start to tell him about something, which he’s never done or experienced, nor do I believe he will, he just listens patiently and talks to me. The questions he asks me show his interest. He doesn’t seem annoyed by my upper middle class status in contrast to his poverty-stricken history. I only get little snippets. Nothing too long or thought out in his answers. Maybe, after enough time, he might start to actually trust me, maybe.
Unfortunately, the angry texts and messages from Harrison don’t end. I turn my phone off and tell my family to use Ramiro’s phone if they wish to contact me. No one likes it. His correspondence with me is no more than a nuisance, still nothing concrete.
After a week Ramiro starts to get edgy. He has to go home and return to work. And I’m sure being in a stranger’s house with me is intense and unlike anything he’s used to. Living under the rules of others. Having to be polite and always “on,” when he usually lives alone is taking a toll on him.
“Drive my car home. They don’t want me coming back yet.” I roll my eyes.
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure. I’ll fly home.”
He nods and kisses me on the lips. It wrings my heart to see him leave, but I think he needs to. Seeing my life with such clarity has an effect on him. I’m not sure what it is or how it works. Maybe he’s doubting me now that he realizes how different we are. I’m not even aware of how different since he won’t tell me much about his upbringing. When we talk about his parents, it’s mostly about his dad. My probing is discouraged, like the subject is off limits. I figure it must have been a negative experience for him.
Maybe he just sees me as a spoiled brat princess. Or so unaware of how much I have to be glad about, that he can’t enjoy my company any longer. Depressed at that thought, I mope around after he leaves. I’m bored, too. With nothing to distract me, I scratch away in some notebooks. Just a few notes and timelines, even several paragraphs, stuff I wish I could write about my mom.
Instead, I spend several days making videos I post again to YouTube. Talking about this, without mentioning my mother or her story. Just more general stuff of trying to make sense of my life, starting with college graduation, upsetting my own wedding and now unsure what the hell to do with myself. While also, I hide from an angry ex-boyfriend.
After another week, I tell the folks I’m coming home. There is some grumbling, but I need to return. It’s ridiculous. But by staying at Natalie’s, isn’t that like letting Harrison win? I only went away to humor them and see Natalie and have some time with Ramiro. Now? I’d like to see the guy again. And hopefully, date him and maybe call him my boyfriend. And I must do so before he forgets about me.
Natalie drops me off at the airport with hugs and promises to see me soon.
As I stand there staring around the airport I think of the grayish daydream I’d told Ramiro about where I imagined myself as a business professional in an airport and traveling places as a journalist. Well, none of that was true except for the fact that I was in an airport. And I don’t have to fly home. I’m at the San Francisco International Airport, bustling with all kinds of people. Some are families. Lots of businessmen and women. All colors. All races, too. An entire microcosm of the world surrounds me. I can do or be anything. Right here and now, I don’t have to be Emily Hendricks. When have I ever stepped out of my own little slice of life?
I probably won’t again either. I’ll just go home and fall into a regular job and stay in Ellensburg because at heart, neither I nor my sisters want to leave our parents. We’re too close. Too dependent. Too loved. Mainly, we’re just too comfortable. We’re afraid to take risks and break away from the ordinary.
But here I stand. Free. Nothing tying me to home. I have a credit card. I already owe my parents for my wedding fiasco, so what’s a little more debt? Unlike Ramiro, I do have choices and I intend to capitalize on them.
I book my flight using my phone.
Destination?
Mexico. More specifically, a tiny town that my dad told me about one time. A single time I heard the name of the town. And I wrote it down. I don’t even think Dad remembers muttering it in front of me. I found it and researched it. I can even quote a few of its tourist attractions.
I don’t have to go there, of course. But if I do, maybe by seeing it, I can feel what happened and understand it better. More importantly, maybe those around me will see how serious I am. Perhaps they’ll get the intended message that I am not a child, I’m not kidding, and I intend to accomplish my secret desire.
I threw my passport into my bag before I left. I wasn’t planning on doing anything then. Not even contemplating it, and yet, I brought it with me.
I board my plane and it takes off. I try to sleep. I’m nervous and not half as brave as I pretend to be. Maybe this one act of defiance and rebellion marks a sign of courage inside me. Or extreme stupidity. Probably depends on whom you ask. My phone is still off and I keep it that way. They’ll discover my change of plan soon enough. After all, it’s on my credit card and they pay for that.
The plane lands and I catch a connecting flight after a two-hour layover. I try to eat, but my stomach is in knots and I can’t force myself. After we land, I hire a taxi to my destination. What do I expect? I don’t know. It’s been decades since everything happened. No one even knew anything. So there is no evidence left for me to find. I pat my camera. It isn’t exactly professional quality but it’ll have to do.
I know my parents stayed in a room down here. After Dad found Mom, he took her there for the night. She got cleaned
up and he tried to help her. I know the name of the place. The strange questions I asked over the years and odd details that no one else cared about I think Dad answered just because they seemed innocuous. I find the place. It’s still in use. It’s open and I book a room. Generic. Old. Cheap. I sit down on the bed and an odd sense of peace settles over me. I feel completely alone in a strange country. For the first time, I am all to myself. With my own goals and dreams, for once I’m going to take a step towards something that isn’t based on my family’s permission.
It’s both terrifying and glorious.
~Ramiro~
The drive home is good for me. I feel quiet. I need to be quiet to figure out what the hell I’ve just done and what I possibly think can come of it. The longer I was with Emily and Natalie’s family the quieter I felt like being. Nothing felt right. Not what I’d done to Emily and what I’d intended to do to her family. Mostly I couldn’t get over how much I had lied to her and then fallen for her. Sleeping with her was both exhilarating and made me feel like I’d used and abused her. I’d taken out my revenge in a way that would validate my nefarious goals and my father’s wishes. I’d had sex with the daughter of the man I’d come here to hurt. But I now understand that in the end, all it could end up doing was to hurt Emily. And me. It might have ruined my own life. Because how could Emily ever be with me after she finds out who I am? And there was no way that wasn’t going to happen. Not now. Because I didn’t want any kind of short-term thing with Emily. I wanted… hell, I think I might want forever with her. And as I realized that more and more over this week, my heart sank lower and lower into my stomach. I’d be the very reason why I’d not get everything I could ever want.
Emily who still, no matter how hard I tried to make her stay away from me and not want me, she wouldn’t stay away. Declaring she’d somehow work around my lack of citizenship, why? Why would she offer that?
I already knew the answer, because she cared about me. For real. The true kind. The selfless kind. The way my father never did. Not once. Not for a day. And though he may have had his reasons, harsh terrible reasons for his foul temperament, he didn’t love me in a real way. And yet, his influence over me was stronger than anyone’s. Fueled by his hatred, I’d gone to Ellensburg for college because I knew Will Hendricks lived there. It all seemed to fit together. Why not go here? Why not move to this town and get a feel for Will’s life and figure out a way to enact some kind of punishment on a man who got away with a serious crime? A crime that left my father crippled.
But all I found was a family who was decent, fair, kind and accepting of me and the elaborate story I wove to try and make them not like me. Especially Emily. Nothing turned her off me. And in this acceptance, true acceptance, of me as a person, even with tainted facts, Emily has shown me what loving someone is supposed to be like. It’s the polar opposite of how my father showed me how to love. It is, however, what her father taught her. And that’s the hardest part for me to admit. The bitterness in me stems from seeing this in Will, even as I try so hard not to.
I don’t know what to do now. I set this entire relationship up as a lie and now I want to tell her everything, but I don’t want to lose her. And each time I look into her eyes, my guilt increases and I want to blurt out the truth. It’s painful to be with her, even as I want nothing more than to be with her. I had no idea guilt could hurt this much.
How do I find the words to undo this? There has to be a way. There has to be an answer. I hope there is because I can’t even consider what will happen if I lose her. Not when I’ve only just begun to discover what love is. And now it’s something I don’t want to go back to living without.
Chapter Thirteen
~Emily~
A knock on my motel room door early the next morning stops me dead. I’m showered and dressed, finishing a bottle of water and a muffin. I’m staring at my phone trying to figure out what the hell to do now that I’m here. Where do I start? What do I do? Where do I go? Excitement and purpose percolate in my blood. Adrenaline flows through me because I’ve actually done this.
Then the sharp knock.
I focus on the door. Who could it be? Fear lodges in my throat and nearly suffocates me. I walk towards the door, very quietly. Carefully, I glance out and everything inside me freezes. I’m shocked. I don’t know what to do. But of course, I open the door.
To my mother.
We stare at each other in a deadlock. I don’t know why, but my eyes fill with tears. Mom is wearing slacks and a blouse. Her hair swings around her shoulders with her long bangs swept to the side of her face. Her makeup is fresh. Even though she had to fly all night to get here.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, knowing how furious she must be with me. She must suspect I’m not that sorry because I did this on purpose. I came here. Here. To the same motel she stayed in before. On one of the worst nights of her life.
Her face is solemn, but not angry and her shoulders are pulled back and stiff. “Why?”
“Because I just wanted to…”
“What? Experience it? Get a feel for it? You can’t. You can’t do that, Emily, no matter what you try to recreate. There will never be a day in your life when you can understand the worst days in my life. Neither from my point of view nor your dad’s.”
“I’m sorry,” I mumble again, watching her lips compress.
I feel dizzy. I can’t believe she is here. In Mexico. She’s never been back since that awful time and always swore she’d never return. I am stunned. If anyone should be here, it should be my dad.
“Where is Dad?” My confused face and furrowed brows must reflect my perplexity.
She steps inside, pushes past me and nods at the door. I shut it without argument. She stands there for a long moment. Her head swivels as she takes in the room. What is she feeling? Thinking? Seeing?
“Not here.” She snaps.
“How did you find me?”
“It wasn’t hard to figure out. I do know you, Emily and how your brain works. I knew exactly where you were, and why, as soon as I figured out where you’d flown to.”
I feel horrible as I ask, “Is it the same?”
“Almost. New carpet and bedspreads.”
“What did you do? I mean, when you got here?” I’m almost petrified to ask. But we’re here. I can’t believe we are in the same place that she and Dad stayed in.
Her back is rigid to me and her voice is hollow when she answers. “We talked. He told me his name.” Her voice catches when she says his. She walks forward and touches the nightstand. She sounds so off—odd—as if she’s not really here. She straightens up and turns towards me. “I went into the bathroom and filled the tub. I scrubbed my skin raw before cutting my thighs with a razor blade. That’s what I did here. I also scared Will. He pulled me out, thinking I cut my wrists. Now, looking back, I think he was lucky I didn’t.”
“Mom…” I whisper. I’m not even sure she hears me.
She glances my way. “You think this is some kind of game coming here? Making me relive this? What good do you think could come from this? What do you want, Emily? Do you want me to sit down and describe all the details for you in explicit language? Do you think it will somehow give you some special insight into it all? Well, let me tell you, nothing will do that. Nothing. You can’t have that. No matter how hard you try, or where you go, or how much you investigate it or even how much you talk to me. You just can’t fully understand it.”
My knees are shaking and my mouth is suddenly watering. I feel sick. I swallow a lump of emotion, trying to regain control. “It’s not a game. I just…”
So many lame excuses filter into my head but nothing sounds adequate. “You just think this makes us unordinary. Something you can write about? Because you have an ‘in’ on the subject matter?”
“No. That sounds so cruel.”
Her laugh is bitter. “Me being here is cruel.”
“I never told you to come! You didn’t have to. And if you really thought you had to, Da
d could have escorted you.”
Her smile is false. “You know shit, Emily. Shit about this. And no! Your dad can’t come back here.”
Her tone is angry, belligerent. Her sneer, just as furious. I’ve never pissed Mom off before. I know she has a quick temper, but it’s usually not directed at me. In fact, Dad bears the brunt of it most often. I’ve always sensed something underlying it. Something only Dad fully comprehends. I think it goes back to the incident and whatever understanding they gained from it. The connection they forged. My mom sits down as if suddenly winded. Her chest is heaving. I have no idea what she means. Why can’t Dad come here? Of course, he can.
The door opens and Melissa walks in, followed by Christina. I’m again struck speechless. Okay, I’d expect Christina to accompany Mom, but Missy too? She glances at Mom and walks over and touches her shoulders. “We couldn’t wait any longer. Are you okay?”
Mom grips Missy’s hand. I get it, I caused all the heartache. I’m the problem. “Why are you here?”
Melissa looks at me. Her mouth is flat, pressed into an angry line. “You can’t keep asking about what happened. Not now. Not ever. But especially not here, for God’s sake. Not in Mexico.”
“What do you mean, I can’t? No one even remembers it.”
“The building you want to see? It’s no longer there, Emily. It’s a little farmer’s market now. There’s nothing left to investigate.”
“How would you know?” My tone isn’t as kind and subdued as it was with Mom. I can’t believe she brought Melissa here. She’s acting like she knows more about it than me. I’m the one who studied it and read every obscure article and online post I could find, dating back to the year 2004, when it happened.
“It’s just not there. Think. Think about it. Dad’s not here. The building is gone. Do you really believe he’d so easily allow Mom to come here, of all the damn places in the world, without him if… if he had any other choice?”
