“I can help you.” Chloe struggles to pull herself up the side of the bed, burying her face in the blankets as she tugs herself up with her arms. It looks awkward, but it works because before I have the chance to try to give her a hand, she’s already scooted up beside me in the bed.
“Would you like a piece of bacon?” I hold up a slice and she licks her lips.
“Yes, please.” She reaches out and I hand it to her.
“So, unfortunately I’ve been called into work this morning. I’ve got to head out in about an hour. I was wondering if you’d be able to take care of Chloe?” Jackson looks over at his little daughter, munching on a crispy strip of bacon.
“Of course. I’d love to.” I nod and cut into a pancake, loading up my fork with it and a slice of strawberry, and pop it into my mouth. My eyes roll back in my head as the flavor explodes on my tongue.
“Oh, uh, Daddy? Ella’s gonna take me to the park, right? That’s today?” Chloe tilts her head and furrows her fuzzy little brows.
“Um, well, that’s up to her. What do you think, Ella?” Jackson stands next to the bed, watching us like a painter putting the final brushstrokes on his masterpiece. The pride surging through him almost radiates from him like an aura.
“The park? Sure, I can take you.” I pick up another strawberry and hold it out. Her chubby little fingers pluck it from me and she stuffs the entire thing in her mouth.
“Fanks.”
“Thank you. I can’t wait for us to spend some time together today, Chloe. Just us girls. It’s a wonderful way to spend my birthday.” I look over at Jackson. “And thank you.” My tone grows more vulnerable, more fragile as the effort he put into this breakfast warms my heart. “For everything.”
“Anything to see you smile.” He leans back against the wall, resting his head back, and watches us with a wistful smile. It makes me wish we could photograph this moment. This point in time that I really became a part of their family.
34
Ella
“Ella, how come that mommy at the park, the one with the black hair, how come she told her little boy to stop picking his nose?” Chloe skips alongside me as I lead her back to the house.
It’s incredible to finally go out around the neighborhood without feeling like I’m sneaking out or breaking some kind of rule that could ruin my life. The sun seems brighter, the sky more blue. Everything feels like it’s been washed in hot water and hung out to dry. The crisp colors of the world glide past us as we walk past the vibrant leaves that will soon drop from the trees.
I force myself to keep a straight face at her question. “Well, because it’s bad manners to pick your nose,” I explain.
“Yeah, but, Ella,” Chloe whines, “then I saw her! I saw that mommy pick her nose right after! Why would she tell that boy not to pick his nose and then she did it too?”
“I’m not sure. I didn’t see her do that,” I admit.
“You know what? Adults are always like that.” She rolls her head and her long hair flops around. “They say ‘don’t talk with your mouth full’ and ‘don’t pick your nose’ and stuff like that! And then they do that too.”
“Really?” I bite the insides of my cheeks, trying not to laugh at the adorable four-year-old rant about adult hypocrisy.
“Really! They do! When I grow up, I’m gonna have three little girls.” She holds up her fingers just in case I’m not sure how many three is. “And I’m gonna say ‘pick your nose, that’s okay!’ and stuff like that ’cause it’s weird that adults do that.” She thrusts her hands on her hips indignantly.
“Sounds like you’ve got a good plan.” I smile.
“Mmm-hmm, oh look! A ladybug.” She stops next to a shrub and points at the red and black insect. The indignation she felt two seconds ago about nose picking seems to have floated away as her interest focuses on something new.
“It’s beautiful.”
“Oh, and we’re home. That one is my house. It’s your house too now, right?” She points to the simple two-storey home about a hundred feet away.
“Yes, I guess it is.” I think about her words. It’s my home. Our home. A peace I can’t remember ever feeling before washes over me as I realize that, after all these years, I finally have a home again.
“I’ll race ya to the door!” Chloe doesn’t give me a countdown or anything, just starts running down the sidewalk to her driveway.
“Hey, no fair!” I jog behind her, making sure she’s a couple short strides ahead of me.
Chloe’s giggles turn to unrestrained laughter as she makes it up the steps and slaps the palms of her hands against the door. “I won!” She cheers.
“Yep, you beat me fair and square.” I laugh and turn the handle, walking inside with her.
As we kick off our shoes in the front hall, I can hear whispers in the other room. I grip my hands on Chloe’s shoulders, pulling her against my legs protectively as I tilt my head and listen. “Hello?”
“Hey, come on in.”
My shoulders relax as Jackson’s voice fills the hallway.
Chloe grasps onto my hand and leads me to her father. We round the corner into the living room and I gasp.
“Happy Birthday!” Jackson and his mother yell as I blink in surprise at the transformed room.
“Wow, it’s so bee-you-tiful!” Chloe exclaims at the criss-cross of streamers twisted across the ceiling.
“You didn’t have to do this.” My eyes flicker from detail to detail. The bouquet of roses on the table, the balloons floating gently around the room, the beautiful cake covered in frosting shaped as flowers on the coffee table.
“Why not? You deserve a beautiful birthday, Ella.” Jackson walks over to me and slides his arms around my waist. “I know nothing could ever replace your quinceañera. I would never want to, but that doesn’t mean we can’t celebrate you every year. I mean, what’s not to celebrate?” He gives me a quick kiss and when I open my eyes I see his mother has her hands clasped over her heart while his daughter is sticking out her tongue in disgust.
“Thank you,” I murmur softly. Over his shoulder, I can see a couple of presents wrapped up at the edge of the table. “For everything. This is more than I ever dreamed of.”
“Can we have cake now? That looks yummy!” Chloe gets straight to the point and we all laugh at her no-nonsense attitude.
“Not yet, sweetheart.” Marie shakes her head. “First we sing Happy Birthday, remember?”
“Oh, right.” Chloe nods at her grandmother. She takes a huge breath and then bursts into song, singing in the loudest, most off-key tone I’ve ever heard and somehow belting out the sweetest version of Happy Birthday.
“Happy birthday, dear El-la, happy birthday to you!” They sing the last line and, as if on cue, a knock at the door makes all our heads turn.
I smirk up at Jackson. “Now what did you do? This is already enough!” I slide my hand out, pointing to all the decor.
“I didn’t do anything.” He frowns. “And I’m not expecting anyone.” He walks across the room and answers the front door.
I can hear a muffled exchange grow heated between Jackson and what sounds like a couple. Oh Lord, did Sylvia and Raymond track me down somehow? Panic grips my heart as the thought forms ice in my veins.
Suddenly Jackson’s voice gets loud as he yells at them, “Hey! You can’t just storm in here. Get the hell out!”
I watch with unblinking horror as he’s pushed back. I can’t imagine Sylvia and Raymond being strong enough to shove him around, not even if they both tried at the same time. Confusion whirls around me like a cyclone as what my eyes expect to see and what I actually see fight it out in my brain.
Bursting in past Jackson are two police officers, a male and female, both wearing jackets that say: ICE Police. I squint at the acronym and my heart drops out of my chest entirely.
“Ella García! We’ve had an anonymous tip that you’ve been illegally working in this country for over six years.” They rush me like football players
scrambling for the ball at the championship game.
“I, um, I…” I have no real words. None to defend myself and none to protest. My mouth dries up as fear climbs up inside me, scratching its way to my brain, freezing me to the spot and leaving me breathless.
“Jackson, what’s going on?” Marie lifts Chloe up on her hip and waits for her son to explain.
“I said to get out of my house. You can’t come in here without a warrant. I know my rights.”
I’ve never seen Jackson so angry. His fists ball up at his side the same way they did when he punched out Raymond.
“Don’t, Jackson, don’t make this worse,” I plead with him not to make a stupid mistake that will land him in a jail cell too.
“Daddy, I’m scared,” Chloe cries, her cheeks stretching out and turning bright red as fat tears trickle down to her quivering chin.
“It’s okay, honey, it’s okay.” I try to reassure her. Or maybe it’s myself I’m trying to calm down. Either way, it’s not working.
“Ma’am, can you provide proof of American citizenship or a visa to prove your legal status in this country?” the woman barks at me.
The room is almost silent except for Chloe’s sobbing. Still, it feels like a train derailing. Twisting metal, screaming voices, and shattering glass would be quieter than the air is right now. I take in Jackson, the man I love. The man I’ll never see again. Tears blur my vision and I shake my head from side to side slowly.
“Then I need to inform you that you’re under arrest.” The man walks over to me and pulls out handcuffs, clicking them down onto my wrist tight.
“Is that really necessary?” Jackson rushes over to me. “She’s not fighting you. Take it off,” he growls.
“It’s procedure.” The man ignores him, but instead of clipping my hands together behind my back, he at least lets me keep them together in front of me. It’s a small human kindness, but it’s still one I appreciate.
“Jackson, please, listen to me.” I twist my mother’s ring up off my finger and hold it out to him. “I want you to have this.”
“I can’t take that.” Tears fill his eyes as he looks from the officers’ faces to mine. “I know how much that ring means to you.” His voice breaks.
“And that’s exactly why I need you to have it. Someday you’ll find me and put it back on my finger, but until then, I want you to keep it to remember me by,” I sob.
“Ella, are you sure?” He reaches out and touches the diamond crusted band and I nod, no longer able to utter words from how hard I’m crying.
“Okay, enough of this. Do you have the ring, sir? Great, time to head out!”
“Where are they taking her? Ella! Don’t go,” Chloe cries as the officers lead me back out the front door. “Ella!” Her tiny voice cracks as she screams for me. “Please, don’t go!”
The officers lead me out of the house. A house that only half an hour ago I considered my home. My home. How stupid could I be? I can’t even look out the window as the police put me in the back of the car. I can’t face the shattered expressions of the family I fell in love with. I broke their hearts. I can’t believe I let myself think I could ever belong here. That I could have my own happiness. That I deserved my own love. I lean over in the seat, my breaths hitching in my throat as tears pour down my face.
I must be cursed. I’ve lost everything. And everyone I’ve ever loved.
Again.
35
Jackson
I trudge into my empty bedroom and flop down onto the bed. I’m completely worn out. After work, I had Mom stay and babysit Chloe so I could call every number I could possibly get my hands on to try to figure out how to get Ella back. I spent hours getting transferred from department to department and then back again, only to be told there’s nothing I can do.
There’s nothing they can do.
Apparently there’s nothing anyone can do.
Their best advice was to wait and see what the outcome would be. Ella has been gone since yesterday. That’s when the ICE officers ripped a gaping black hole in our lives and took her away from us. ‘Wait and see’ doesn’t exactly cut it.
My bleary eyes settle on the alarm clock. I can’t believe it’s only a little after nine. I haven’t been this exhausted since my days in the SEALs. How can dealing with red tape and bureaucracy make me just as tired as when I did physically grueling training for sixteen hours a day?
I don’t even bother getting all tucked into bed. Instead, I yank the corner of my blanket over me so I’m wrapped up like a burrito and let my head sink into my pillow. I blink slowly. My head is pounding and the voices of all the government agents I spoke to on the phone buzz in my ears as my body drifts into sleep.
“Oh no! Daddy! Help me!” Chloe’s voice makes my eyelids pop back open as I fling back the blanket and leap from the bed. Immediately I rush to her room, my heart pounding as my suddenly very awake senses search for danger.
Tears streak down her face as she shakes like a leaf under her little blanket. “Chloe! What’s wrong? What’s going on?”
Her finger trembles as she points to her window. I cross the floor and look outside but don’t see anything.
“I saw him, Daddy.” She chokes on her words and sputters them out. “Hampy was there. He came back again.” She winces at the giant imaginary spider that I thought we’d gotten rid of for good.
Of course Hampy is back. Ella is gone. Her magic song is gone. All this confusion and sadness is too much for me, let alone a little girl. Her world has been tossed into chaos and her young brain is trying to make as much sense of all this as it can.
“Chloe, it’s okay, hon. Hampy isn’t real, remember? You just had a bad dream, sweetheart.” I sit beside her bed and my daughter scoots into my arms, clinging onto me tight.
“No, he’s real,” she insists, “I saw him on the window. Ella isn’t here and he’s not scared of her song no more.”
I rock her gently in my arms and listen to her fears.
“Sometimes dreams can feel real, but I promise you, hon, there’s no big spider like that here. I swear.” I brush her tear-soaked hair from the side of her face.
Chloe regards me skeptically. Like she wants to believe me, but she isn’t fully convinced just yet. “Dad?” Her eyebrows scrunch together.
“Yes?”
“Is Ella a bad woman? Is that why the police took her?” She sits back in her bed, waiting for me to make sense of a senseless act for her.
“No, she’s not bad at all,” I reassure her.
“Then why’d they take her?” She frowns again.
“It’s complicated.” I sigh. “The police might want Ella to go back to the country she was born in.” My lips tug down as her eyes grow wide.
“No! She can’t leave. Tell them she can stay here, with us. Don’t make her go away!” Fresh tears fall from the brim of her eyes and blot on her fuzzy pajamas.
“We don’t know if that’s going to happen yet, so let’s not get too worried about it. These things take time.” I echo the frustrating words I heard over and over on the phone today.
“But I miss her so much.” Chloe holds her hands over her heart and it almost tears mine right out of my chest.
“I know, hon. I do too. And I know she misses us.” My voice cracks. I swallow hard to get control, pushing down my own pain. “Come here.” I give her another hug and Chloe begins to calm down.
“Daddy?”
“Yeah?”
“Did I do something bad?” she whispers against my chest, like she’s afraid of the answer.
“Not at all. Why would you say that?”
“I dunno.” Her tiny shoulders shrug. “First I had a mommy and then she died. Then I had Ella and she was taken away too. Maybe I did something bad? Maybe I can’t have any more moms.” Her brilliant blue eyes shine with tears.
“No, Chloe.” I swallow the growing lump in my throat as her question reached into my chest and tore out my heart. “You’re not bad at all. Those thin
gs have nothing to do with you, baby. You’re a perfect daughter, okay? Nothing you ever think or feel or say or do will ever make people go away. Don’t think that because it’s not true.” A tear slides down my face and I brush it away quickly, struggling to keep myself under control, to be the rock she needs. Her question was like a dagger to the gut, leaving me emotionally crumpled on the ground.
Chloe sniffles and I hold her close, rocking her in my arms as we both try to understand the dull ache that Ella’s absence has left in our lives. I don’t have the heart to explain that Ella might never be coming back. It’s too awful to even think those words. I don’t have the strength to admit it to myself that we may have both just lost a woman we loved.
36
Ella
I’ve been sitting in this room for probably close to an hour, but no one has come to talk to me yet. It doesn’t look like the dark, sinister interrogation rooms I’ve caught glimpses of on television shows. There’s no bare bulb hanging over the table and no fake mirror on the wall that they can watch me through.
Fear keeps splashing around in my gut like waves tossing around a small boat on the open seas. I try not to let it overtake me, but I want to lean over and hyperventilate. I want to scream. I want to bang on the door and cry until they let me out of here. But I know none of that will help me. It’s no use. I’m trapped. Again.
No, this space is bright. Almost too bright. The multiple fluorescent lights overhead make me want to shield my eyes. The desk is similar to my family’s old kitchen table and the chairs could have easily been taken from a classroom. On the opposite wall is an unblinking eye of a camera, recording my every move.
Not that I’m giving them much of a show. Occasionally crossing and uncrossing my legs and fidgeting with the space on my finger where my ring should be isn’t exactly interesting for them to watch.
Hot, Quick & Dirty: 12 Steamy Short Stories Page 53
