If I’d been lonely during Christmas, it was nothing compared to living at Tía’s. I felt like the last big kid in the orphanage, surrounded by babies. Cinderella minus her fairy godmother. My life was crowded and empty at the same time.
Miss had warned me not to be alone with a boy until I was married. She was right about that. I wasn’t going have a baby until I was ready.
But I didn’t tell Miss that. I wasn’t speaking to her. I would never speak to her again. I wouldn’t wear the ring she gave me, even though I kept my promise. Why should I wear her ring if she isn’t keeping her promises?
I missed Cody and Ethan. I missed gymnastics and ballet. I missed books and films.
But mostly I missed Mamá and Papi. They’d worked so hard to keep my sisters and me safe. But I couldn’t save them.
The word for how I felt is impotent.
Helpless. Hopeless. Powerless.
If there’s a worse feeling, I don’t know what it is. I was filled with rage — and there wasn’t one thing I could do about it. Like acid eating me from the inside — eating up all the strength that had been growing in me.
I’d thought Miss was the most honest person I’d ever met. But she turned out to be the biggest liar of all. She made me think she could do anything. And she made me believe I could be something I wasn’t.
Rain washed away the snow in Maplewood, but the ice in my heart wouldn’t melt.
Tía said Rosa would be going with the Dahls to Florida for spring break. The boys’ grandma was taking them all to the Magic Kingdom to see that famous cartoon mouse.
I was invited to go, too. But I refused to go anywhere with Miss.
Tía Carmen was relieved when I told her I’d never abandon her the way Rosa had. I didn’t even want to go, I said.
Not really.
Not very much at all.
But when Tía told me the Dahls had to cancel their trip, I was glad. I knew I had meanness in me, but I didn’t know I could enjoy it so much.
After spending her “last dime” on a lawyer, Miss had finally won her lawsuit with the TV station. She was going back to reading the nightly news on TV, so Rosa wasn’t going anywhere. It’s only fair.
My rage had burned down to ashes, and my smoldering anger turned inward. There’s a word for that.
Depression.
And that’s when I got the final late-night phone call.
The baby lay in my lap, almost asleep. In the glow of the television, I watched Mateo startle and start sucking again. I hoped Tía had been paid, because I’d used the last of the formula to make his bottle.
Clicking the TV remote, I looked for something on late that wasn’t boring, stupid, or weird. On the third click I was stopped by a face.
Nadine Robert.
I pushed the volume button.
“— the ballet company’s season finale, Romeo and Juliet. Good seats are still available.” Then music. The sound of my own heart. Pain and loss.
Maybe Miss will take me.
But why would she, when I’m not speaking to her? Maybe she already tried to call, and I wouldn’t answer. Maybe she’s never going to call again.
My eyes burned. I didn’t get to ask Cody which ballet is his favorite.
The commercial ended. The next music made my heart ache even more. 5News music.
The familiar anchor desk appeared, but this time instead of the blond lady, Miss sat next to the guy with the tie. Seeing them together, I realized he was younger than Miss.
A lot younger.
“Coming up at ten tonight, the Regional Transportation District tackles the issue of how to fund the extension of light rail.”
Then Miss spoke. “And Denver water officials say we could be in for another summer drought. Rejoining Steve Barnes on the anchor desk, I’m Kathryn Dawson Dahl. 5News Nighttime Edition starts right after the movie.”
I clicked off the television and tossed the remote onto the sofa.
A tear splashed on Mateo’s cheek, startling him again. It was just as well. If I didn’t burp him, we’d both be up all night.
I put his blanket over my shoulder so he wouldn’t spit up on my pajamas. I lifted him slowly, then patted his back, smelling his baby hair. So tiny. A whole person, right there in my hands. Perfect.
Then he slid sideways. With a burp louder than a miniature person should make, a stream of baby barf rolled down my sleeve.
I sighed. Ça ne me fait rien. French for “It makes no difference to me.”
I’d learned to lie to myself in three languages.
The phone rang.
NOW WHAT?
I didn’t recognize the number, but it was long distance. I hesitated. Neither my head or my heart could take one more thing. Wincing, juggling Mateo, I reached for the phone and forced the word out of my mouth.
“¿Bueno?”
“Jacinta?”
Forgetting I had him in my arms, I squeezed Mateo and was rewarded with another spray of milky spit-up. “¡Mamá! ¿Dónde estás?”
Mamá didn’t answer. “Mija, I need to speak to Carmen.”
“Tía is working. Where are you?” I was practically shouting. I had to — so I could hear my voice over the sound of blood rushing around my head. Mateo started to cry.
“Rosa. Get Rosa.”
I froze. “Rosa is living with Miss.”
I heard her sob.
“¿Mamá? ¿Mamá, qué pasó?”
So Mamá told me. She had no choice.
A coyote — a paid smuggler of people — had gotten Mamá across la línea. Before I had time to swallow this news, to let its happiness flow through me, Mamá said the coyote had stolen her money while she slept in a motel, leaving her no way to pay for the room and nothing to buy a bus ticket home. She said to call Papi at his night job and tell him to come get her. Right away.
A breath. “Papi was deported.”
A wail.
“Mamá?” Her cries ripped my heart. She’ll pull herself back together. Then she’ll tell me what to do. I watched Tía’s digital clock tick off a minute. “Mamá?”
Still she cried.
Stunned, I held the phone away from my face. She doesn’t know! Mamá doesn’t know what to do! I felt myself drowning in the familiar sensation of helplessness. Hopelessness. The world is a hateful, chaotic place. Bad things happen for no reason. We’re pushed around by things we can’t control, until we die.
But another wave — a more powerful force — came over me. I couldn’t swallow the lie. Not anymore.
My heart turned hard. Hard like a diamond.
All the strength seeping out of Mamá got sucked through the phone. Right into me. Her power, Abuelita’s power, my sisters’ power. The power of every woman. All of it was in me.
Even the power I thought belonged to Miss? That too.
“Mamá, no llores.”
After I told her not to cry, I dumped Mateo onto the sofa next to me and shouted to Mamá over his squalling.
“Tell me where you are!” My voice. Not the voice of a lost little girl. The voice of someone with power. Power on the inside.
I had to repeat my words. Mamá continued crying, Mateo kept screaming. But I got what I needed and scribbled the information on the back of an envelope.
“Stay where you are, Mamá. I’m coming to get you.”
“No, mija, I need to leave before the motel people want their money. I cannot even pay for this phone call. La policía will take me to jail.”
“Mamá, I will bring money. You need to wait.”
We argued. The time it was taking to convince her started to worry me. I imagined Miss looking at her watch. But I finally got Mamá to agree to wait for me at the motel.
Then the hard part. I didn’t want to hang up. This was as close to Mamá as I’d been in months. But if I was going to rescue her, I had to do it right then, that night.
“Adiós, Mamá. Te quiero.” I hung up.
And for once, I didn’t cry.
Fortunately Ma
teo had cried himself to sleep. Careful not to wake him, I put him in his crib. Then I called Tía and told her to come home because I was going to rescue Mamá.
Tía Carmen might get fired for leaving work in the middle of the night. With no other money coming in, it was a dangerous decision. But it was what we had to do.
It’s what family means.
I put my anger aside. Holding a grudge was a luxury I couldn’t afford. Pastor Federico had said, “Forgiveness is a choice, not a feeling.”
Another dangerous choice. The choice to trust again.
I took a deep breath and punched in Miss’s cell phone number.
THE TIME from when the phone started ringing to when Miss picked it up was an eternity. While I waited, I practiced what I would say. I wished I could ask Miss to her face, but I didn’t think my puppy-dog eyes would help.
“Carmen?” she asked.
“Miss! Mamá’s back!”
“She’s there? At Carmen’s?”
I swallowed. “No, we need to go get her. Right now.”
“What? Where?”
The blood rushed to my head, making me dizzy. “In New Mexico.”
Silence.
“Miss?”
“You spent the last month hanging up on me, slamming doors in my face! Now you — you expect me to —?”
“Miss, I’m sorry. I’m really, really sorry. But I need you! You need to come now!”
“There’s no way I can leave now! I’m about to do a newscast! Do you know how long I’ve waited for this?”
“She’s in a motel, but her money was stolen before she could pay. We have to leave now! Before the police get her!”
“No. It’s too dangerous,” she hissed, her voiced lowered. “There’s a story in the news about a guy who went to jail for driving illegals across state lines. He was just ‘giving them a ride.’”
“I’m not talking about illegals! I’m talking about MAMÁ!”
She hesitated. “We’ll call a lawyer tomorrow.”
“MAMÁ WILL BE GONE!”
“Jacinta, I’m sorry. I’ve got my boys to think about.”
I needed a tool.
Leverage.
So I said the one thing guaranteed to make Miss shut up.
In the silence I crossed my fingers. The digital clock flipped off another minute. I thought about saying something else, decided against it, and waited. Through the phone I felt Miss hating me.
But I hoped she’d hate herself more.
She sighed. “Give me the name of the motel.”
I let out the breath I’d been holding. “I’m coming with you.”
Nothing.
“I’m coming with you,” I repeated.
“Bring your passport.”
Miss’s van coughed its way down the deserted street. In the silence of night, I could hear it long before its headlights flashed across Tía’s living-room wall. I wanted to run out and hug the noisy thing. I didn’t know it’d be the last trip Miss and I would make together in that van.
I ran to the front passenger side. But someone was sitting there.
“I got shotgun, small fry. You’re in back,” said Ethan.
I flung open the side door. The seat was empty. I was sorry not to see Cody but relieved that Rosa wasn’t coming. I didn’t want to see the scar I’d left on her face.
With all the politeness I could find in me, I asked, “Do you have your phone, Miss? I need to call Mamá. To tell her we’re on our way, so she doesn’t try to leave.”
Miss handed it over.
I took the envelope with my scribbled notes out of my pocket and punched in the number for the motel.
Miss asked, “Do you want a blanket or a pillow? It’s a long ride.”
She was trying to be considerate, but I didn’t want her to be nice to me. I wasn’t ready to give up my anger. I had to forgive her, but I didn’t have to like her.
Anyway, Mamá’s sweater seemed like enough protection. Later I’d wish I’d brought Abuelita’s afghan. I’d want that warmth, that security. But right then, I wanted to hurry. With the phone to my ear, I said, “No. Let’s do this.”
Like in the movies.
Miss snorted.
“Roger that!” said Ethan.
They were making fun of me. Let them laugh. After tomorrow I never have to see them again.
I must’ve been asleep, because I woke with a start when the van went over a bump. My feet stuck to my flip-flops where the van’s heater pumped hot air under the front seat, but my back was cold and stiff.
In the glow of the dashboard, I saw the green outline of Ethan’s face on the passenger side. Even though he had on headphones, I heard his music. I lay on my back and stared through the van’s sunroof at the stars. They were much brighter in the New Mexico desert than in the barrio. Two of the brightest ones looked like eyes. Mamá’s eyes.
“How we doing?”
Ethan’s voice startled me. He’d pulled an earpiece out and was looking into his mother’s face.
Miss shook her head. “I wish we knew what time checkout is.”
Checkout? Would Mamá be gone before we got there? No, we won’t be late. Miss is never late.
Almost never.
“You could kick it up a notch,” said Ethan.
“I’m driving as fast as I dare. We can’t afford to get stopped.”
Then the GPS from Miss’s cell phone spoke. “Take exit 339 for U.S. 84 South toward Santa Rosa.”
“Mom, have you thought this through?”
“If I’d thought about it, would we be in the middle of nowhere at three thirty in the morning?”
I could almost hear Ethan grinning. “I get my ‘impulsivity thing’ from you.”
Miss groaned. “Oh, God, what am I doing?”
Then she jumped, straining to look in the rearview mirror. Voice lowered, she asked, “Is she asleep?”
I closed my eyes, hearing movement from Ethan’s seat as I worked to keep my breathing steady.
He whispered, “Yeah, she’s asleep.”
“You should sleep. You might need to take over driving.”
“I slept.”
“Sleep some more.”
The GPS interrupted again. “Continue on U.S. 84 South for forty-one miles.”
“What happens if we get stopped with an illegal alien?” Ethan asked.
“Undocumented immigrant,” she said, correcting him.
“So, what happens?”
“It’s not your problem.”
“Fine.” But it wasn’t fine. Ethan was angry. He was dealing with grown-up problems while being treated like a little kid. I knew what that felt like.
I had started to drift off to sleep again when he asked, “But — what do I do if you get arrested?”
“You didn’t have to come.”
“You — you think I’m worried about me?”
I opened my eyes a crack. He moved to put his earpiece back in, but Miss spoke. “I can’t believe she lied to me.”
Guilt twisted in my stomach.
Ethan snorted. She shot him a look, but he didn’t flinch. “You make people lie to you.”
“I make people lie to me?”
“You’re so perfect all the time. You expect everyone to be like you.”
Is he right? Is it Miss’s fault I lied? I wanted to believe it.
“I’m not perfect. I know how to lie. I’m not proud of it.”
“When have you ever lied?”
“Tonight. I couldn’t tell Maury the real reason I was leaving. He’s mad enough about being forced to put me back on the anchor desk. So I stuck my finger down my throat to make myself throw up in my trash can and went home ‘sick.’”
“Great. So even if we don’t get arrested, we gotta worry about you losing your job. Way to go, Mom.” Ethan folded his arms and stared out his window, not looking at her.
At last Miss spoke again. “You know what she said to me? ‘I broke your stupid sprinkler, and I had to make it right. Or
is it just Mexicans who are obligated?’”
They turned to look at each other. I saw the green outline of her face, etched in pain. Ethan must have seen it, too. He switched off his music.
“Sure you wanna do this?” His rough voice was gentle.
“No! I’m not sure! But kids growing up without parents is — it’s just wrong.” Then she whispered, “Did I wake her?”
I closed my eyes before Ethan could look around. I let my mouth gape open. Drool leaked onto my arm. It tickled, but I didn’t move.
“No, she’s out.”
“If I can fix this one thing, I’ll let it go. All right?”
He snapped. “How is this your fault? Her dad had a busted taillight! And the ‘policeman’ who came to their apartment? He could’ve just been a truant officer! Rosa told me she’d been cutting school so the aunt could work.”
My eyes popped open. A truant officer? We skipped school that day, waiting for Papi!
“Not so loud.” Miss hushed him. “You may be right, but I’m not talking about that. It’s the gymnastics. The French lessons. Pushing college on her.”
“And all that’s . . . bad?”
“I thought I could ‘fix’ her. Fix her life, anyway. How arrogant is that? Thinking I can fix her life when I can’t even manage my own? I’m a — a Well-Meaning Church Lady.”
“Which would make a really good name for a punk rock band.”
“I’m being serious here.”
“Jeez, Mom. Who died and left you in charge?”
And then Miss said the one thing that made me shut up.
“Jacinta would’ve been better off if I’d minded my own business.”
The same thing I’d been thinking for weeks. But hearing it from Miss was different. Like she’d gambled her last dollar on me to win a race, and I’d let her down. Then she said, “It was a one-year commitment, okay? It’s just about over. I’ve done enough damage.”
Ethan nodded, then stuck his earpiece back in. A small click, and I heard his music mingle with the sounds of the van on the highway.
Miss ruined my life.
She said so with her own mouth. She made it so I could never be happy with my old life, and her promise of a new life was one she couldn’t keep.
Stop thinking about Miss. Focus on Mamá. Once she’s back I can forget that Miss and I ever met.
Look Both Ways in the Barrio Blanco Page 13
