“What is it?” Juan said, in alarm.
“The lady. Yesterday.” Maria turned to Juan. “I need to see the newspaper!” She tugged at Juan’s elbow.
“Okay, okay. I’ll get it. You are going nowhere today. You start the coffee and I’ll run down and get a News Journal at the corner,” Juan mumbled sleepily as he put on jeans and a white T-shirt.
Maria got out of bed after she heard Juan close the front door. She pulled off the sweaty T-shirt she had slept in and tried to wrap her old bathrobe around her lopsided figure. Even though Juan kept telling her that she looked beautiful with her swollen belly, she was embarrassed by it. She shuffled out to the kitchen counter to start the coffeemaker, listening to its wheezing sound and inhaling its scented steam.
Suddenly, Juan rushed back through their door. “It’s in here!” He held the newspaper in front of his face, with his elbows pointed outward, and began reading. “Woman Assaulted, Found in Park.” He stopped to look at Maria’s face. She stood up straight and looked Juan in the eyes.
“Keep reading, please,” she begged.
“The Wilmington Police Department reported that yesterday morning, at approximately 9:15 a.m., a woman was discovered tied up and blindfolded on a popular walking trail in the Rockford Park woods. A couple walking their dog found her and called the police. The victim reported that she had been running near Breck’s Mill when she was first attacked, but that she did not see her attacker. The victim was admitted to Wilmington Hospital and was reported to be in stable condition. Her name is being withheld because she was the victim of a sexual assault. There is no suspect at present, but the police are following several leads. Anyone with information should call the Wilmington Police Tip Line at (302) 555-TIPS.”
Juan finished reading the article and looked up at Maria. “She is okay, baby. She will be fine. She’s safe now.”
“But I saw the men who did this.” Maria said. She raised her hand to her mouth, horrified. “They asked people with information to call the police.”
“The paper says the police are already following leads. Most importantly, she is safe now. I am going to ask you once and for all, please leave it alone.” He put the paper down and pleaded with her with his large brown eyes.
“Okay, okay, I understand,” Maria assured him.
Ten minutes later, Maria poured her second bowl of cornflakes, milk and sugar. Now that she knew the woman from the jogging trail was safe, she realized she was famished.
Juan hurried by, showered and dressed for work in clean tan chinos and a blue polo shirt. Even his steel-toed construction boots were tidy. His wet hair was short and neat and his face was clean-shaven. Juan once told Maria that he would never give anyone a reason to call him a Dirty Mexican. He had said it to her as if he was joking, but Maria knew what he meant. She often observed people looking at her with disdain or fear. She noticed old women on the bus gripped their bags tighter when she sat next to them, and she heard other blue-collar workers complaining about Mexicans stealing U.S. jobs.
“That baby is eating me out of house and home—and he or she is not even here yet.” Juan joked as he hustled by. “I’ve got to get down to the corner or I’ll miss my ride.” He kissed her on the head and strode quickly out the door.
Maria’s relief and her fatigue overwhelmed her, so she climbed back into bed. Her thoughts lingered on Juan. From the moment she had met him, she felt compelled to share everything with him and to follow him anywhere. She closed her eyes with a deep sigh, and let her thoughts travel back in time to her home in the Baja and the first time that she met Juan.
*****
Maria was restless after turning eighteen and graduating from high school, and her unrelenting desire was to leave her family’s farm in Todos Santos. Her father had purchased the land very cheaply, after drought and market forces brought the former landowner to financial ruin. Through his hard work and with modern irrigation, the land became productive again, yielding tomatoes, Poblano chili peppers and mangos. It was beautiful also, its verdant fields against the backdrop of the Sierra Laguna Mountains. But its natural beauty did not deter Maria in her pursuit of America and its endless possibilities. She had studied hard in school and her English was impeccable. She remembered how she had argued with her parents about it, and her parents’ constant refrain that she was “too young, too poor and lacking a plan.”
On one fateful afternoon, as Maria hung laundry on a clothesline, she saw a handsome young man climb out of the cab of a large fruit truck in their driveway. She was instantly attracted to his muscular arms as he lifted large boxes of produce, his quiet confidence as he greeted Maria’s father with a smile and a handshake, and his generosity as she watched him feed half of his sandwich to one of their farm dogs.
She had summoned up the courage to speak to him, and their connection formed immediately as they learned that they both shared the dream of building a life in America. Juan had explained that his parents had mastered English in order to advance their careers in the hotel industry, and that their dream was for their son to go to university, travel abroad, and maybe even live in America someday.
Maria remembered how horrified she had been when Juan explained that his parents were killed by a drunk driver when he was sixteen, and that he moved in with his father’s only relative, his Uncle Miguel. She recalled this moment with perfect clarity because of the emotions it evoked and the colossal impact that it had on her life. Juan had continued to explain that he was moving to the U.S. with his Uncle Miguel and his Aunt Sabrina who had already secured their visas and employment in Delaware with his Aunt Sabrina’s family. But he also confessed that he was drawn to her and needed to see her again.
She smiled as she recalled how, for almost two months after their first meeting, they had spent every free moment together watching the sunset from the edge of the Pacific Ocean or lying together on a blanket in a mango orchard. They held each other and talked for hours, and Juan repeatedly reminded her to be patient and wait until they were both where they needed to be, settled together in America, before they went any further.
When Juan came to say goodbye to Maria, he gave her an envelope containing instructions on how she would join him. Two weeks later, Maria started her journey. She had left her goodbye in a note and slipped out of her house before dawn, because her family would have stopped her. When she sprinted to the end of their driveway and climbed into a large tractor-trailer, she was filled with terror and joy. A friend of Juan’s uncle who regularly exported Mexican textiles through the border crossing at Tijuana hid Maria in a large box in the cargo compartment of his truck. After they were safely over the California line, she moved to the cab of the truck and saw America for the first time.
Maria remembered so clearly the hardship of the journey. She slept in the cab of the truck, ate food out of vending machines and washed in highway rest stops, as the truck made its way across the country. She was hungry, tired and frightened in the big cities and in the lonely stretches of highway, with the company of only a stranger. But the ordeal led her to her necessary and euphoric reunion with Juan. On the fifth day, Maria’s heart leapt as the truck bounced into an industrial park in Wilmington, and she saw Juan running toward her. When Juan wrapped his arms around her she had known that she was home.
*****
The shrill ring of Maria’s cell phone brought her abruptly back to the present, and to the little apartment that she shared with Juan.
“Hello?”
“Hi Maria, it’s Gloria. Boss says he knows it’s Sunday, but we have to be at a new job by eight o’clock. He is bringing the van to get us. So, the good news is, you will get paid time and a half since it is Sunday, and you don’t have to catch the bus. The bad news is, there goes your day off. We’ll be by to get you around seven forty-five in front of your place on King Street.”
Maria sighed and rubbed her left temple, which throbbed with pain. She briefly fantasized about refusing to go to work. Her exhaustion overwhelm
ed her and her ankles were swollen with fluid. She was desperate to climb back into her bed and close her eyes. But she knew that she could not lose her job yet. With the baby came new expenses—and loss of her income.
After she showered and dressed, Maria hurried to the kitchen to pack her food for the day. A photograph taped to the refrigerator door caught her eye. Her parents smiled at her against the backdrop of the Pacific Ocean. Maria studied her father’s face and felt as if his eyes were looking into her soul. She could almost hear her father’s voice say the words that he had spoken to her many times as a child.
“Maria, always treat others as you would like them to treat you. That is known as the Golden Rule, and you should always try to live your life according to that rule.”
Maria looked away from her father’s gaze in shame, as she thought about the woman she had seen carried into the park. She peeked at her watch to check the time and then she reached for her cell phone. Maria pushed the numbers on her phone, exhaling and inhaling slowly to give herself courage.
“Hello, Wilmington Police Tip Line.” Maria was relieved to hear it was a woman on the other end of the line. “Are you calling with a tip?”
“Yes. I’m calling about the lady attacked and then found near Rockford Park yesterday.”
“Okay, ma’am, I am going to transfer you to a detective for this. Please hold….”
Before Maria could object, she heard a man speaking. “Hello, Detective Johnson here. May I have your name please?”
“Um, I’d rather not say.”
“You don’t want to give me your name?”
“No.” Maria said, feeling a little ridiculous as she continued. “Look, I want to tell you what I saw because it might be helpful—can we just start there?”
“Yes, ma’am,” the man said. “We can start there. What did you see?”
Maria chose her words carefully. “Yesterday morning I was in the Breck’s Mill Art Gallery, next to the Brandywine River. I saw a woman who was jogging along the river get shot or something, and then she was carried away by a man. A man with a gun shot something that hit the lady in the back of her leg as she ran by. He was hiding behind a tree, and after she ran by, it looked like he hit her with a dart or something.” Maria paused for a moment to accurately reconstruct her memory of the events. “The woman stopped immediately and reached around like she was in pain. She pulled the dart—or whatever it was—out of her leg. She took a few steps and then she just went down and like, collapsed.”
“Okay, this is all very helpful. What did you see next, ma’am?”
“The man came out from behind the tree and picked her up in his arms and walked into an area that was heavily wooded. I couldn’t see them anymore.”
“What did the man look like?”
“He was white and very tall, maybe over six feet tall.” Maria vividly recalled the memory of the hulking figure carrying away the small seemingly lifeless woman. The image made her shudder suddenly.
“What was he wearing?”
“I don’t remember the details, really. I think he was dressed casually, in some sort of pants, like corduroys or jeans. He had a tan jacket on, cut kind of like a jean jacket, but bigger.”
“Take your time, ma’am. Is there anything else about the man you can remember, like the color of his hair, or if he had facial hair?”
Maria closed her eyes as if that would help her remember. “I don’t remember facial hair, I don’t think he had any. I am almost certain that his hair was dark, maybe dark brown or black but maybe graying. It was pretty short, too.”
“Okay, ma’am. That’s helpful. Is there anything else you can think of regarding this man?”
Maria paused, again with her eyes closed. Then she shook her head to no one in particular and said, “No, that is all.”
“What did the woman look like?”
Maria thought for a moment. “She was petite. She had on running clothing; shorts and a T-shirt, and running shoes.”
“Was she fighting or screaming or anything?”
“No. After she got hit with that dart she seemed to just fall over and go limp.”
“What time did you see these events unfold?”
“It was a little after seven-thirty in the morning.”
“Do you think we’ve covered everything you can remember seeing?”
Maria envisioned the detective marking boxes on a police investigative report. She pictured the lines next to Name and Address left blank.
“Well, that’s the weird thing.” Maria replied. “I saw more than that. About nine I saw another man involved. But I am pretty sure it was the same woman.”
“Excuse me?” The detective sounded truly puzzled.
“I was still at the Breck’s Mill site, and I saw a man pull up in a car, unload a woman wrapped in a rug or a blanket, and carry her into the woods.” Maria looked at her watch. She would be late for work if she did not finish this conversation quickly. But she could not bring herself to abandon the effort. She felt lighter and better able to breathe all of a sudden, just from unburdening herself of this information.
“What can you remember about the car?”
“It was a station wagon. It was blue, I think.”
“Did you see the license plate?”
Maria glanced at the crumpled piece of paper she had retrieved from her wallet. “It was a Delaware license plate, and the first four numbers are 8-2-6-6.”
“What about the man? You said you saw a man, right?”
“Yes. He was a white man, with a medium to tall build and dark hair. He was thinner and a little shorter than the man with the gun. Also, he was wearing blue jeans and a dark T-shirt.” Maria added, “Oh, and he looked pretty young. Maybe in his late teens or early twenties.”
“Okay, then what did you see specifically after he pulled up in the station wagon?”
“He pulled out a large bundle in a blanket and slung part of it over his shoulder and walked quickly into the woods below Rockford Park. I saw a pair of feet dangling out of the bottom of the blanket and then I knew there was a body in there.”
“Ma’am, why didn’t you call the police when you were witnessing these events?”
Maria bit her thumbnail as she spoke. “I, um, I was really scared. At first I wasn’t sure what I had seen and I was afraid to get involved. I am still scared, but I read in the paper this morning that the police need information to catch these guys. I realized I might be the only one who saw this.”
Maria pictured the expression on the face of the detective as he listened to Maria with growing cynicism or disgust. Maria suddenly became very self-conscious of her Mexican accent and her obvious fear of the police. She felt her face grow warm, and she gripped the phone with white knuckles.
“Ma’am, can you tell me what you were doing at Breck’s Mill?”
“Um, I really don’t want to talk about myself, okay?” Maria started to panic, worrying that she had already gone too far. She thought about Juan and his desire to always play it safe.
The detective spoke softly and casually, trying to keep his reluctant witness on the line.
“I am going to forward this information to the detectives assigned to this case. These are important details. Can you come to our building on Walnut Street today? Or we can send a detective to your home.”
“I’m late for work, I have to go now. I am sorry.”
Maria grabbed her lunch box and locked her apartment door behind her.
*****
Maria stood on the sidewalk in front of her apartment. Newspapers blew by and empty bottles rattled around on the ground. A loud city bus rumbled past and a homeless man pushed a shopping cart across the street. Maria felt lost and frightened. She was not sure where the nice homes with the big green lawns were, or if they were ever going to live that dream. She adored Juan, and she believed in him, but she was losing her faith in the dream that their home was here.
CHAPTER 11
CHAD: SEPTEMBER 25, 2011
“Good morning, yourself. How about you make the coffee and I’ll get the Cheerios?”
“Deal.” Chad said as he started to pull a can of ground coffee from the pantry. “Hey Dad, I was wondering if you’re working today?”
“Yeah, how come?” Charlie McCloskey asked as he pulled a giant box of Cheerios out of the closet.
“I sort of have an engagement.”
“Hey, hey,” Charlie chuckled. “A date, you mean? An actual date with a live girl?”
Chad bristled at his father’s sarcasm. “Yeah, I guess you could say that,” he awkwardly responded.
“Who is she?” Charlie asked with a smirk of amusement on his face.
“No one you know. I met her at the library the other day.”
“When do you need to leave?” Charlie asked.
“I’d like to take her to Philadelphia. We’re going to the Art Museum and then to dinner. But I’d like to run a few errands first, maybe get a haircut and things like that.” Chad had already devised his explanation, hoping it would sound plausible. “And it’s already nine o’clock and I’d need to be home by noon, so I was hoping I could just skip today.”
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