by Casey Dawes
She trailed him to the registrar’s office. Maybe he was right. If she wanted the money she needed to take care of Luis, she might need to reach higher than a retail shop.
But it had worked for Elizabeth. Of course, Elizabeth’s child had been normal.
As Josh walked off with his counselor, he waved. “See you around. Maybe we can have coffee sometime.”
“Sure.”
Not happening. There was no place for a man in her immediate future, even casual coffee dates.
The image of the doctor teased her veracity.
Fifteen minutes later, Alicia had planned out her required program and registered for her first business accounting class.
“Which other classes do you want to take?” the counselor asked, returning to the web page that listed the available courses.
“What kind of classes would I need to take if I wanted a more advanced degree?” Alicia asked in spite of herself.
“What else are you thinking of? There are lots of possibilities.”
Alicia’s practical self deserted her. She wanted something big, grand, and frivolous. She was tired of being fenced in by her mistakes. “I don’t know. What do first year students take at UC Santa Cruz?”
The counselor laughed. “A lot of intro courses.”
“Like?”
“Oh, English 101, history overviews, sociology—”
“What’s that?” Alicia had heard the term but had never quite gotten a handle on its meaning.
“Sociology tries to explain why humans act the way they do. We have several classes.” The woman clicked a few keys on her computer and another page came up.
The name of a course caught Alicia’s eye. Sociology of the Family. “That looks interesting,” she said.
“Do you want to sign up?”
The choice was a fork in the road. One class decision shouldn’t have mattered that much, but somehow, in her heart, she knew it did. It was the difference between a predictable life and one that was pregnant with possibilities.
She took a deep breath. “Yes. I think I do.”
After she finished registering, she hurried to leave the campus, feeling giddy, like she had when she’d first started high school. Some of her friends from Los Banos were going to Merced College in the town. Like her, they still lived at home.
Maybe she wasn’t so different after all. It might take her a little longer, but she was going to accomplish something with her life.
Joy put a spring in her step as she walked to the top of the stairs.
The view of the bay caught her attention. The sun sparkled off the distant waters, and she forced herself to believe she saw dolphins looping through the waves while they played. A yearning for the shore overpowered her. It had been too long since she’d spent time there. No matter his protests, she’d take Luis this weekend. The doctor had told her to provide new stimuli. Maybe he become focused on the waves and leave her some time to experience the sun on her face.
“Hi, are you lost?” a sinewy older woman with faded red curls asked. The woman’s smile invited trust, and her gray eyes hinted at wisdom.
“Just looking at the ocean.”
“Yes, it is beautiful, isn’t it? There are so many places here that catch me unaware. I’m rushing about and then the beauty of where we live grabs hold of me.” She put out her hand. “Dr. Susan Walker. Most students call me Dr. Susan. I teach sociology. Are you a new student?”
“Oh! I think I just signed up for your class. Sociology of the Family.”
“Yep. That’s me.” Dr. Susan gestured at the stairs. “Headed down? I parked down there today to get the exercise.”
As they descended the stairs, Susan continued to ask Alicia questions about her intended degree. “It’s an occupational habit, I’m afraid,” the professor explained. “I’m so curious about why people do the things they do and the effect it has on others. Why did you decide to take my class?”
“I’m not sure, really. It seemed interesting.” Alicia shrugged. “I guess I wanted to do something irrelevant. Not that your class isn’t good ...” Damn. She’d put her foot in it.
“You’re not alone.” Susan laughed. “Plenty of people think sociology is irrelevant. They postulate that only courses that lead to a high-paying job are worth the effort. Bah!”
They reached the bottom of the steps.
“I look forward to seeing you again,” Dr. Susan said over her shoulder as she walked away. “I think you’ll discover sociology is very important.”
Alicia unlocked the door to her car, mulling over the last hour. An Anglo boy, an unexpected decision, and a chatty professor—all were very different from the events of her normal day. Her lungs expanded with new air, as if a breeze had blown in from a far-off country to change her life forever.
Chapter 2
Raúl pounded his fist on the steering wheel. Idiots!
According to the radio announcer, a private firm had taken over a public mental health service in North Carolina and put in place a policy that denied doctors Medicaid reimbursements if they treated undocumented immigrants.
“We’re not going to aid and abet the government in spending our hard-earned tax dollars on a bunch of illegals,” the company spokesman, a man by the name of O’Hannasy, said.
Damn it! Doctors would refuse patients, and treatments that could have prevented more serious illnesses would be withheld. What kind of a world was this, where families were ripped apart and children died because of greed? Where families were deported, leaving young children to fend for themselves?
And who was O’Hannasy to talk about immigrants?
Raúl’s Jetta almost flipped on its nose when he slammed on the brakes in his condo’s driveway. His car door’s thud! silenced the frogs in the stream running by his end unit but had no effect on the rustling eucalyptus.
Or his mood.
Everyone who looked Hispanic would be hassled more than they already were. Folks like Alicia Fuentes and her son would get screwed, and there wasn’t anything he could do about it.
She deserved better.
He strode into his kitchen, grabbed a plate, and thunked down the taqueria burrito he’d purchased on the way home. Not the diet he’d recommend to his patients, but childhood habits were hard to break.
Dinner in hand, he slumped into his recliner and flicked on Telemundo. When the anchor reported the same news Raúl had heard earlier, the spicy beans and meat in his stomach protested at the acid surge from his anger.
Too many of his relatives were old before their time, and already too many children didn’t get the vaccines they required. Someone needed to protest these damaging policies.
But he would remain silent.
He couldn’t get involved, not with anything or anyone. Especially not a patient. Getting his parents and siblings back into the country had to remain his main focus. A corkscrew of tension twisted up his vertebrae.
Mierda!
The doorbell chimed, making him stuff his anger into its usual mental box and smooth his features to the pleasant expression people expected from a professional.
He pulled open the door without looking through the peephole and immediately regretted it.
His next-door neighbor, Laura, stood holding a plate covered with aluminum foil. Mid-twenties, her body toned and fit, she was exactly what he needed in a woman—at least that was the impression she’d attempted to give him time and again.
“Hello.” Her smile was bright and her eyes intelligent. Based on the aroma wafting from the plate she proffered, she was also a good cook. “After your long day, I thought you might be hungry.”
Automatically, he took the food. “Thank you.” No need to tell her about the half-eaten taqueria bomb in his stomach.
“If you aren’t too busy Friday night, I’d like to invite you over for dinner. The Ramirezes are coming, too. I was planning on some hamburgers, a few salads.”
He should go, get to know the neighbors, but if he went, it would mean s
omething to her.
Uninvolved in anything or anyone.
He shook his head. “I’m going to have to decline.”
“But you need to eat.”
“Some other time.” He looked at the dish in his hand. “Thank you for this. I’ll return the plate soon.”
“No problem. Any time. I always have coffee ready.”
“I see. Thank you again.”
She gave him one more glance, waved, and departed, her seductive walk suggesting he was missing out on something good.
He tossed the half-eaten burrito in the trash, peeled back the foil on Laura’s dish, and smiled. Enchiladas. He scooped some onto an empty plate.
Meghan, his college sweetheart, used to make great Mexican, in spite of her Irish roots. He’d put everything he could into the relationship, but his damned depression had condemned it from the beginning.
“You need help,” Meghan had told him when she’d finally given up on him.
“I’m fine,” he’d said.
“No, you’re not, but you can’t see it. You had a rotten childhood, Raúl, but stewing about it for the rest of your life isn’t going to make it any better.”
“I’m not depressed. Sometimes a little sad, but not too bad.”
She rolled her eyes, a gesture they both knew he hated “I hope you can move on from your past. Or else you’re going to die a lonely and bitter old man.”
“Once I get my license, things will get better. It’s just the pressure that’s getting me down.”
Meghan had shaken her head. “It’s more than that, and you know it, Raúl. I wish you luck.” She’d given him a quick kiss and left. Although his heart had ached every time he’d seen her across campus that was the end.
He shook off the memory, but a sense of unease remained. Would her prophecy prove true? Maybe he should reconsider and have dinner with Laura and the neighbors.
Somehow a casual gathering seemed frivolous. He needed to take some action—do something productive. His thoughts drifted back to the young woman he’d met that morning. What if he helped her develop a full plan of treatment? Even if it was too early to diagnose, it was obvious she needed help.
How could the boy’s father have left her and her son?
Some men were simply jerks. He wanted to find Luis’s father and wring his neck—or maybe some other part of his disloyal anatomy so the man would never be able to get another woman pregnant and abandon her.
Raúl glared at an imaginary deadbeat. It was easy for strutting young bucks to seduce or shame girls into having sex.
And when he finished with the young man who’d knocked up Alicia, he’d start on the men who’d deported his family when he was fourteen.
He’d end with his Uncle Santino, the man who’d made his life a living hell for the four years after that.
• • •
The bell jangled when Alicia pushed open the door to the Elizabeth’s shop and day spa. “Sorry I’m late! Couldn’t find a parking place.”
“No problem.” Elizabeth emerged from the back. “As you can see, it’s been a slow day. I’ve been reduced to straightening up the stock room.”
In spite of doing physical work moving merchandise, Elizabeth looked like she’d come out of a meeting at a high-end advertising firm. A quick glance in the mirror next to the jewelry stand told Alicia she couldn’t say the same.
“All registered?” Elizabeth asked.
“Yes. I’ve got classes on Tuesdays and Thursdays starting at four.” Alicia frowned. “Is it still okay I leave early then? I mean it’s summer—the busy season. Maybe I should cancel and start in the fall.”
“Nonsense.”
“But what if you go on a trip with Marcos? Who will mind the store then?”
“My husband is firmly planted in the Santa Cruz vineyard for now, so nothing to worry about. But I think we do need to make some changes. Let’s sit and talk.” She gestured toward the Victorian couch against the back wall.
“A young woman dropped off a résumé today,” Elizabeth continued. “I’d like to hire her on part-time. Like you were, she’s still in high school and interested in cosmetology.”
Alicia’s breath shortened. “I’ll quit my classes for now. You don’t need to hire anyone.”
Elizabeth put her hand on Alicia’s. “Stop. Your job is safe. I don’t know what I would have done without you over the last few years. But I see the toll Luis is taking on you.”
“I can handle it.”
“Alicia, I’m not trying to replace you. I’m helping you. With another person, there’s more flexibility if you need to go to the doctor or study for mid-terms. Can you understand that?”
The tightness reluctantly left Alicia’s chest. Elizabeth had never lied to her and had always done what she’d said she would. Another employee would give both of them a chance to attend to other things in their lives.
Replacing the income wouldn’t be easy, though.
“Oh, I’ve been meaning to ask," Elizabeth said. “Did the new guy—Dr. Patel’s partner—have anything helpful to say? My OB/GYN has lots of good things to say about him.”
“He says he can’t tell for sure until Luis is older, but he may have Asperger’s, which is a type of autism from what I’ve read.”
“Sounds hard.”
“It is.” More time at home would give her more chances to work with Dr. Mendez’s techniques, but less money would delay her chance to move out on her own. Of course, if she could get Luis to behave better, she’d be able to find more care for him.
Her life wasn’t going to go in a straight path. As long as she put one foot in front of the other, she’d make it. But it was so very hard to wait!
“Life can be a challenge, and you certainly have your fair share.” Elizabeth stood and began to re-shelve products. “Can you do the lipsticks?”
“Sure.”
They worked in silence for a while.
“If we hire the new girl,” Elizabeth said, “I’ll give you a small raise because you’ll be training her. And ... I’ll pay you for the time you’re in class.”
“Thank you.” A new worry surfaced. “But I’m only taking one business class.”
“I thought you were taking two.”
“I decided to take a sociology class.” Would Elizabeth think she was goofing off?
“Really?”
The happiness in Elizabeth’s voice surprised Alicia.
“That’s wonderful,” her boss added. “I know liberal arts classes are looked down on these days, but I think they’re important. They teach you about people—including yourself.” She frowned at the door. “But the people question I’d like answered right now is ‘Where are the customers?’”
“It’s a nice day.”
“Of course. People don’t shop when it’s clear. Too busy messing up their skin in the sun.”
“How do we get them inside?”
“Let’s run a sunscreen sale,” Elizabeth said, hastening toward the shelf of sun products. “That should get us some traffic. What do you think? Ten percent? Twenty?”
“How about twenty-five?”
“Okay. Twenty-five it is. Make up a sign.”
An hour later, the shop was humming with patrons, and the rest of the afternoon whizzed by. As she drove home, Alicia sang to the radio, her life radiant with sunshine even though deep fog shadowed the summer sky.
• • •
A sense of trepidation preceded Raúl down the nave of the Church of Our Lady. Ever since Graciela had told him she attended his church, he’d been leery of running into her and arrived just in time to continue his entreaty to God before Mass began.
He slunk down the left aisle and sank to his knees in a pew by the far wall. After crossing himself, he began. Mi Dios. I ask you to bring my family home safely to America. I pray you give me the skills to treat my patients wisely and help my people as best I can. But most of all, care for my family, Dios. They are all I have.
A rustle and whiff of
light citrus perfume let him know a woman had slid in beside him.
And may that not be Graciela. Amen.
A quick glance told him he was safe—at least from Graciela. But not from the tantalizing effect of the female gender. As Alicia settled next to him, he remembered the warmth of her skin when they’d touched in his office.
The rousing strains of “Lift High the Cross” pealed from the organ pipes. “Hello, Alicia,” he whispered, nodding in what he hoped was a respectful manner.
“Hello, Dr. Mendez.” The smile she gave him was tentative, as if she was unsure how to interact with him outside of the office.
Through the rituals of the early part of the Mass, he was conscious of every move they made together—standing, sitting, kneeling—calisthenics for the faithful.
As the exchange of the peace came closer, his palms began to moisten. Would he receive the same electricity he’d experienced in the office? It probably didn’t mean anything even if he did. She was simply an attractive young woman with a difficult problem.
One he wanted to help her fix.
“The peace of the Lord be with you always,” the priest intoned.
“And also with you,” the flock obediently answered.
Raúl wiped his hands on his pants.
“Let us offer each other a sign of peace.”
After shaking hands with everyone he could reach in the pew in front of him, behind him, and to his right, he turned to the woman on his left and held out his hand.
Her touch was the same, and he held her hand a second too long.
With a smile that lightened his mood further, she said, “Peace of the Lord.”
“Lamb of God,” the priest began.
Raúl released her hand and turned his attention back to the Mass, unsure whether to be pleased or angry with God for letting the encounter happen. During the rest of the service, he forced his attention forward, failing in his attempt to chill the heat to his left.
As the final procession started down the aisle he turned to Alicia, hoping to cover his momentary lapse of good manners.
“How are you doing? How are things going with your son? Is he at home with your grandmother?” Aware he was sounding like an interrogator, he stopped talking.
