But she continues. “One of those summers, I met your father. His name was Christian Navarro. I was only fourteen, and he was fifteen. He was working at the movie theaters, and that’s where we first laid eyes on each other. That whole vacation, we spark a friendship until that blossomed into something more.”
I look at Mama Nilda, who is looking far into the distance, glassy-eyed. I turn away as I’m unsure whether I can handle the emotional part of this story.
“The next summer,” she pauses and blushes. “Well… uh, our relationship intensified, and when I returned to the Philippines in June, I found myself pregnant at 15.”
She holds my hand as she continues. “When I ran out of strategies to disguise my growing belly, I tried to run away to protect my baby. But they learned of my pregnancy and caught me. To hide this shame, they quickly shipped me to California before this scandal became public. I stayed with my aunt, hidden from the world. In the meantime, they had me complete paperwork for adoption, and I was to give you to my sister who was already twenty-three at the time and married to Richard. Ella’s condition made it dangerous for her to bear a child, so your grandparents thought this was the best solution.”
I stare at her, gripped by her story. “Did my dad know any of this?”
She shakes her head. “I had to protect him, and I didn’t want him to get involved with our family.”
Then she continues. “Finally, I gave birth to you. I had about an hour’s time before they removed you from me and put you in the arms of my sister. That devastated me, but as expected from my parents, they pretended nothing happened. Crisis averted, they said, and they made me return to school and settle in to my old routine. But I was dying from being separated from you. Meanwhile, Ella and Richard had officially moved to California since the year prior, so when I returned here for the summer, I visited her and begged her to allow me to have a relationship with you. To her defense, she allowed it but on two conditions. One, I could not meddle. Two, if I try to take you away, she’ll call the police and have me arrested for kidnapping. And she had every right to because I surrendered my legal rights to you when I signed the adoption papers. To ensure I could see you, I had to follow that.”
I nod in understanding.
“I met up with your father that summer and I told him the truth. He was a roller coaster of emotions. As expected, the news upset, confused and devastated him. He gained and lost a daughter within seconds of telling him about you. But I always remembered him saying that he wished I had involved him, so that he didn’t feel like I robbed him of a choice in a matter that he had responsibility for.”
I watch Mama Nilda nod and then wipe a tear.
“Eventually Ella trusted me to hang out with you alone. To be honest, I knew she was getting tired and actually welcomed the respite. You were a fussy baby, my love,” she laughs. “But you calmed down with me, as if you recognized you were mine. I would take you to the park and Christian would meet me there. All summer, we would play with you and take care of you. This compromise worked so well that Ella asked your grandparents to keep me here for the rest of the school year. This arrangement would last until I graduated from high school. So for two blissful years, we watched you grow. Your dad loved you so much. You two were practically inseparable.”
My body droops as I grieve over these lost moments with my actual parents who cherished me. Somehow I feel cheated.
Then she sighs. “All good things must end, I suppose. Your father, at the tender age of 19, collapsed one day and was not revived. As shared earlier, he died of cardiac arrest.” She controls herself. “And that’s it, my love.”
I purse my lips, still reeling from this information. Then I twist to Mama Nilda. “How did you come into this picture?”
She nods, her weary brown eyes shift to me. “When your father passed, your bio mom continued to care for you, but she lessened your interactions with us because she observed your adoptive mother becoming suspicious. She was also showing signs of jealousy from the growing bond between you and your birth mom. The strain between Helen and Ella, which was always present, was increasing, so she had to be careful to ensure your safety and to keep us protected from the wrath of her sister. Then, your hospitalization happened. When Ella isolated you out of shame and took you to Wakefield, your mother somehow convinced her to hire a housekeeper to help with the home and your care. She referred me to them and luckily they hired me. I retired from my job when your grandfather died, so I could do it. Your mom wanted someone to monitor you, so she found me an apartment here. And well, the rest is history.”
I lean back on the bed and contemplate on this. It makes sense now. Mama Nilda is my grandma, which explains her love for me that goes beyond normal affections from an employee. She had always protected me. Though she couldn’t do much for me at night when much of the abuse happens, in the daytime she made her presence known, which lessened the harm from my adoptive parent. I study my mom and my new grandmother. They had been there the whole time.
Then, I’m triggered by a memory of a young man with shiny hair and who so lovingly called me, “Joey.” “How did my dad look like?”
My mother beams. “Your father was so handsome, baby. He was tall and lean with long wavy tresses that would curl when he cuts it short. You got those beautiful curls from him. He called you, ‘Joey.’” You were so precious to him, and he gazed at you as if you were sparkling diamonds. I wish you could’ve met him.”
I take a deep breath. But I already have.
Chapter 60
Julian
Bianca looks at me from across the sofa while chewing on her bottom lip. I haven’t seen her in a while because she had been absent from campus. To everyone’s surprise, Mr. Dwyer suspended her and George for the next two weeks for what they did to Jo. Her reign as the Ice Queen is over because this suspension tells us she’s not as untouchable as we thought. Lately, Jo’s name has been on everyone’s lips. They’re curious how this unknown girl ousted two of the school’s elite students who for years never had their actions held accountable. Good for Jo. Bad news for my ex-girlfriend. Looking at her now, the once proud and feral Bianca appears subdued—humbled, even.
We’re in the Ocampo’s home on this balmy Saturday morning, waiting for them to descend the stairs. We got a call from Mrs. Ocampo yesterday informing us she had mementos that may interest us. Brandon visited yesterday, which only left me and Bianca to visit, hence, this awkward meeting.
“How have you been?” she asks.
“Fine.”
Sensing my animosity from my curt response, she nods and looks away. She crosses her legs and places her clasped hands on her knee while studying a replica of Mona Lisa. Her gaze focuses on the painting, but the veins on her arms pop from maintaining her pose, and her lids twitch from keeping her eyes open, so they don’t release the tears that have pooled there.
I take a deep breath as my conscience reminds me that she had just lost a best friend. This is hard on her as for me. In fact, more because of their long history of friendship. Putting our personal issues aside, I offer an olive branch. “How are you?”
She returns her attention to me. Then she sobs. For the first time in years, I feel sorry for her. She wipes her tears. “This shit sucks. And it hurts.”
I reach a hand to her, and she glances at it, surprised. She takes her palm off her knee and places it in mine. “Thank you.”
I nod and let her cry as she grips me. When she hears Mr. and Mrs. Ocampo’s footsteps, she stops, releases my hand and regains her composure.
I turn my attention to Lexie’s parents. Mrs. Ocampo, dressed in black, carries a medium-sized box. Her husband follows her, carrying a bigger package. I walk over to Lexie’s mom and take the box from her. Bianca follows me and gives her a hug and a kiss. Then, she and I approach Mr. Ocampo to offer our condolences.
“It’s good to see you, my dears,” said Mrs. Ocampo. “I appreciate you both coming.”
She takes a seat next to me wh
ile Mr. Ocampo sits across from us. “We sorted through Lexie’s things. Though, it was difficult, it had to be done.” She pauses, her eyes turning glassy. “We kept most of the things we want, but we saw trinkets and pictures that commemorate her friendships.”
I nod while Bianca sniffles.
She continues. “She would appreciate them better in your hands than in ours. So, we’ve labeled each box with your names, and we want you to take them home. Keep whatever you like and return the ones you don’t.”
Bianca’s box is significantly bigger than mine. She has years of memories to sort. I offer help to carry it as she’s looking overwhelmed, and she accepts it. This will be my good deed for the day.
“The funeral will be next week,” says Mr. Ocampo. “We will contact you when we have the details.”
I nod. “Thank you, sir. We would appreciate that. And please, let us know if there’s anything you need. We’ll be more than willing to help.”
“We appreciate all of you as you all have become family to us. Please also extend our gratitude to Brandon,” said Mr. Ocampo. He looks at me. “And please look after him. He’s taking this very hard.”
Brandon has not been in school since he learned of her death, and has barely left his room. Though, I’m lucky he allows me to see him. “Yes, sir.”
Several minutes later, we say our goodbyes, leaving me with Bianca in the driveway. I pick up her box and place it in the backseat of her car. She thanks me, and I give her a nod before I turn away.
“Ian, wait.”
I wince. I hope this will not turn into another argument between us. “What’s up?”
She furrows her brows, then relaxes her face as she leans on her car. “How’s Josephine?”
I narrow my eyes. “If this is your way of fishing for information so you can use it against her or me later, then I’m gonna go. I’m not even going to ask you how you found out as we already know your connections.”
She shakes her head. “I know you think very little of me, and I don’t blame you. But I’m legitimately concerned. I know she’s in the ICU.”
I huff. “She’s none of your concern but thanks for asking.”
She looks at me unflinching. Then, she nods and turns away looking defeated as she goes around the car to get to the driver’s side. After opening the door, she pauses. “For what it’s worth, I hope she’s ok and on her way to a speedy recovery.” Then, she goes inside her Audi and speeds away.
***
When I get home, I see my parents in the living room, watching TV. My mom sees me and gives me wave. “Hey, honey. You hungry? There’s chicken pot pie in the kitchen.”
I shake my head. “I’m good, mom. Thanks.”
“What’s in the box, son?” I hear my dad.
“Just some of Lexie’s stuff. Her parents gave us some things that we may want to keep in her memory.”
My parents nod, their faces becoming somber. My mom turns a concerned face towards me. “Well, that’s nice of them. Are you ok, though?”
“I’ll be fine.”
She gives me a reassuring smile. “Well, you know where to find us if you need to talk.”
“I do. Thanks.” I head to the stairs and leave them to watch their show. When I finally reach my room, I place my box on the carpet and wonder if I should open it now or wait until after I visit Jo.
I look over to my desk and see the letter I just finished. They have her on lockdown at that hospital. She’s not allowed visitors outside of her family and no gifts, no flowers and no cellphones.
My mother doesn’t play, either, and absolutely doesn’t allow me to sneak in to see her. But I figured out a way to communicate with her. I write letters to her every day, and I hand it to my mom. Jo writes me back and gives it to her nurses. They, in turn, deliver it to me when I’m in the lobby. It’s not the best, but at least she knows I’m there. The staff is aware of our system and mostly cooperates with us. I think a few of them are secretly hopeless romantics and are too willing to help for the sake of young love. What can I say?
I miss her. That’s what I can say.
I decide to handle Lexie’s mementos now and pick up the box. After placing it on my bed, I rip off the masking tape and throw it on the floor. The smell of cotton candy and bubblegum escapes from the box as soon as I open it. It triggers memories of all of us, hanging out in her room for movie and weeknight pizza nights. I blow out a breath and rub my chest at the reality of those innocent times never to be realized again.
Pushing my sadness aside, I take out the items one by one. I pull out a scrapbook, and I’m surprised that it collected this much images of me. It tugs my heart to know that even though I may not have realized it; I have been a part of her short and fulfilling life.
Then, I move on to the knick knacks—an old key chain I bought for her from Disneyland, a few old shirts I’ve forgotten at her place, an old dolphin stuffed toy I gave her for her 17th birthday and things that belong to Brandon that her mom had mistaken was mine.
I finally reach the end of the box and find a green folder labeled, “Honors English Homework.” I furrow my brows. It has stickers of hearts and unicorns. I scratch my head as I wonder why Mrs. Ocampo would place it in here. Surely, she had done so by mistake, though Lexie was in my class until she disappeared after the holiday break.
When I open it, it’s nothing special, just a few essays and notes from the start of the school year. She had essays from junior year, so I guess her mom just lumped it together. I make a mental note of returning it to her tomorrow.
As I return it to the bottom of the box, two pieces of paper fall out. I snatch one in my hand, and I run my thumb on the meticulously folded paper, shaped into an origami heart. My curiosity gets the better of me, and I unfold it. In a matter of seconds, I’m holding a square sheet with writing in typed black lettering. It’s a poem, or a song, that Brandon had written for her. I read it, but as I move from one verse to the next, I start to feel uncomfortable. It’s definitely a love poem, but the undeniable sexual undertones, is making me blush—-and I don’t get embarrassed often. I secretly read Fifty Shades of Grey and earmarked a few pages of those hot sex scenes, but reading one that’s written by my best friend for his girlfriend makes me a creeper, so I decide not to finish it. Though, I admit, it’s nicely written, but it’s out of character from Brandon’s brand of writing. I fold it and set it aside.
I glance at the second paper, and I hesitate on opening it. It might be another sexy poem, but it’s folded regularly in quarters, so I decide to take a chance. I know, it’s not rocket science. Sue me.
This one is handwritten, and it’s a letter. It reads,
May 22, 2019
My Alexa,
I’m glad you love receiving these old-fashioned letters as much as I love writing them for you. You are such an old soul.
I’m writing this as you lay sleeping on my bed. You look so beautiful even while you dream. I bet you didn’t know that. I am willing to bet that he has never told you that either. You are, ultimately, too good and too perfect for him, my love. He doesn’t deserve you.
I can’t believe it’s been two months since our worlds collided, and it’s just getting better. I just want you to know that you will always be my number one. I know that you’re weary of another man hurting you, but know that your ex-boyfriend’s infidelity will never be a reality in this relationship. I will never do what he did to you—sleep with your best friend while her unsuspecting boyfriend lays drunk and unconscious in Jordan’s basement. What man does that? You certainly deserve—-
I stop reading. My body is burning, and my heart beats war drums against my chest. I clench my fist at what this letter just divulged. Brandon did not write these letters. Lexie’s lover did, whom she had, apparently, met after Brandon’s lying ass cheated on her with Bianca at a party to celebrate my victory at the State Championships. That was March of last year at Jordan’s house.
The Night Orchid Page 38
