by Sylvie Fox
“Dori wants to take a voluntary departure.”
Cameron’s head spun as he tried to wrap his brain around what she was saying. “She wants to go back to Mexico?”
“Yes. And take Mama with her.”
Minefield. Even without a metal detector, Cameron knew one when he saw it. He did what he did best, stayed silent.
A purple Post-it note fluttered on her finger as she waved the paper around. “I need to see Victor Alvarado and then this guy.”
He tried not to shift his weight or seem impatient. A man needed mind reading skills with a woman. His were on vacation.
“Will you go with me now?”
“I’ll drive,” he said, tossing his keys in the air. That much he could do.
Once they were in the car, Jessie got on the phone and got the lawyer’s schedule cleared.
He pulled into a space on a side street, came around and helped her out of the car.
“Elevator?”
“Only four stories,” she said and they walked the quarter mile to the building. In the third floor lobby, she turned to him. “He doesn’t speak Spanish.”
He knew that was a slight of the highest order. Jessie thought every Mexican in the U.S., if not most Angelenos should speak both languages. He almost felt sorry for the guy.
Victor looked wary when they entered. Cam patted himself down. Nope, he didn’t have a gun. Squirrely guy. Wondered how this one got picked, but decided not to ask. He must have some redeeming value beyond a law license.
They sat in his office. Victor closed the door before returning to his high backed leather chair. Someone should have told the lawyer the oversized seat made him look like a kid playing dress up.
“You know I can’t discuss the details of your sister’s case. Confidentiality reasons.”
“I’m not here as a family member. I’m here as a reporter for KESP.” Jessie set a mini tape recorder on the desk. Clicked it on. “Hypothetical case. Undocumented Mexican gets arrested for a couple of misdemeanors. What are her options?”
Heaving a sigh, Alvarado slumped. “She’d probably have three options.” Good, the man knew on which side his bread was buttered. Not only was Jessie paying the bill, but she had the megaphone of television. “Fight the charges. But doing that may bring her to the attention of the ICE. She could be found guilty or plead guilty. But then she’d serve a jail term and face immigration detention and ultimately deportation.”
“What’s the third option?”
“If she wasn’t under threat from her government or drug lords, then I might advise her to take herself home.”
“Could she ever come back?”
“Maybe. Only a handful of voluntary departure applicants get background checks. So she could go, and possibly apply for entry at a later date.”
“But there’s no prohibition for her to travel to the U.S., right?”
“Probably not. But I would encourage the family legally residing in the U.S. to visit their relatives in Mexico.”
“Oh.” The indignation and fight had left Jessie in an instant.
She poked around the edges looking for a solution, but didn’t find much of anything to deal with the fundamental issue—Dolores had screwed up big time.
Cam followed her directions and drove them from the business corridor of the Wilshire District to a nearly carbon copy area on the border of Sherman Oaks and Encino.
The mysterious Alejandro of the purple Post-it was on the fifteenth floor of the building. He took a deep breath ready to tackle the climb. Jessie had gotten him in the habit of taking the steps and he’d never really shook it.
But the guard refused stair access.
“I’m here,” he said. “Can you do it?”
“Can you hold my hand?”
He gripped it hard, pressing the up button. The elevator was empty when they stepped on. Using his other hand, he kept the door open while she made the move onto the carpeted floor of the car.
“Press fifteen.”
Jessie gripped his hand with ferocity and held her breath at the same time. When a ding sounded and the doors opened, she got out like the hounds of hell were on her heels.
A big logo greeted them in the corridor. The gleaming hub and spoke wheel affixed to the wall said nothing about what the company did.
Jessie took a moment to shake off her fear and turned toward the huge reception desk on the right. “I’m here for Alejandro Molinero.”
A guy not five minutes over eighteen greeted them. Cameron shook his hand, scanning his fully tattooed arm for gang symbols. Nothing there. A bunch of trees and buildings, but nothing else. Cameron made a big effort not to shake his head. When did it become okay to wear earrings and tattoos to your day job? Country was going to hell in a handbasket. And Jessie wanted her family to stay? Maybe they had some semblance of order in Mexico.
“How can I help you?” Alejandro said.
“Can we go back to your office?” Jessie asked.
For a moment, the kid looked embarrassed. “There’s no office. And there’s head honchos meeting in the conference room.” He gestured to the guest chairs lined up like fence pickets. “We can talk here.”
“Your friend Raul knows my sister.”
Alejandro immediately looked wary. Apparently Raul’s drug dealing, pimping reputation was widely known. “Yeah.”
“Did he call you about getting my job a sister in Mexico?”
“Dolores?”
“She’s my sister.”
“Um. Okay. Well, I can get her an interview here for a job in our Mexico City call center.”
“Paying what?”
“Compensation is—”
“Confidential, I’m sure,” Jessie said. She pulled her press credentials from her bag. “I’m not here in an official capacity. I just want to know what my sister’s getting into. If you know Raul, you know I can’t trust him.”
“Pays about five dollars U.S. an hour. The minimum wage is only five dollars a day there. So we’re competitive. Our employees enjoy a middle class lifestyle in Mexico similar to what they have here.”
“We don’t need the PR spiel,” Cameron couldn’t help saying.
Alejandro eyed him. “Gotcha, Officer.”
Everyone assumed he was a god damn cop even without flashing the badge. While he was wondering if that was a good or bad thing, Jessie was finishing up with Alejandro.
The ride down the elevator probably left as many bruises on his right hand as the earlier ride had made on his left.
When they got in the car, she turned to him. “What do you think?”
“About?”
“Should I let her go?”
“Don’t think you have much choice.”
“Why?”
“She’s an adult, Jessie. Dori got into trouble and is making the best of the situation. You should be proud of her for getting out ahead of this.”
“I can’t fix it, can I?”
“Maybe Dolores is fixing it. I met you because I arrested Raul. Back then it was petty theft and low level dealing. That’s escalated. Informants say that he’s moved up the chain for drugs, and has moved into bringing girls across the border for sex work. Dolores has never been able to quit him. This will finally force her to do what I told her to do at the police station that first time.”
Jessie pulled his hand from the gearshift. She squeezed, not as hard as earlier. Hope leapt into his chest. She was touching him out of honest affection, not from fear or desperation.
“Thank you for coming with me today. I needed to find out for myself.”
“That’s what husbands are for. We’re in this together, you know. We always have been.”
She let go of his hand and smiled at him before turning and staring out at the traffic from the window.
For once he was grateful the traffic was slow. “You ready to go home?”
“Yeah, I think so. Maybe I’ll just veg and think.”
He walked her to the front door.
&n
bsp; She hesitated, blushed. “You want to come in?”
Cameron’s dick jumped to half mast. His wife wanted to have sex with him. His heart skipped a little happy dance inside his chest. It was working. “I think I’m going to head on home,” he heard himself say, restraint keeping him in check for once.
Jessie shifted, looking like she wanted to hug him, kiss him, maybe shake his hand. He couldn’t tell. “So, I guess I’ll see you.”
Cameron got a little closer. Kissed her on the forehead. Inhaled that smell so uniquely hers. He should pull away now, but he couldn’t. He kissed both her eyelids, her cheeks. The heart that beat against his chest thumped a little faster. Breath panted in his ear. Because he couldn’t resist, he took her lips. Brushing against them slowly, keeping it chaste. “I want you to call me. Anytime.”
She thrust a thumb toward the front door. “Are you sure you don’t want…some of Mama’s cooking?”
“I didn’t come here for food, or sex. I came because your family’s going through a hard time and you needed me. That’s what couples do for each other. Think on that tonight while you’re thinking about Reina and Dolores.”
Before the little head could change the big head’s mind, he lifted her right hand, kissed it. Turning on his heel, he strode to the car.
Chapter Nine
A week later Cameron looked at the phone buzzing in his hand. No one who valued their life called him this early in the morning. The 323 number was vaguely familiar, but he couldn’t place it when he swiped to accept the call.
“Yeah.”
“It’s Reina Prado, Yesenia’s mama,” she said. Like he wouldn’t recognize that voice.
“Of course, Reina. How can I help you?” Cameron was wary. Reina had been nice to him when he proposed to Jessie, making an honest woman of her, when he helped Jessie get citizenship, when he helped them buy the house. But when the INS closed the door on possible citizenship for her and Dolores, he had become the bad guy. They had all entered the country without visas and there was little he could do to change that. But Reina didn’t see it that way. Somehow he’d become the embodiment of much that was wrong. As if he could wave his LAPD badge and make it all better.
He resisted the urge to disconnect the call. He’d vowed to be there for Jessie and a huge part of that was accepting her family for how they were, even if that was needy and angry.
“I’m having some people over for breakfast. I want you to come.”
“Okay, I’ll call Jessie and pick her up on the way,” he said.
“No. Jessie’s already coming. I want you here.”
He made a mental note of the time he was to be over the next morning and disconnected the call.
He pulled up behind Jessie’s white Jeep at the appointed hour. In response to her raised eyebrow, he said, “Your mom called. Said it was important.”
For a long moment, she stood there, obviously at a loss. He gave into the urge tugging him forward, and pulled her into a tight embrace. She relaxed into him. They held each other for a long second. It was like a time machine pulling them back to the years when all they’d needed was each other before work and family got in the way.
“We should go in,” he whispered through her hair. If he wanted to get on even footing with Jessie’s family, he didn’t want to be late.
Following Jessie through first the iron, then the wood door, he was engulfed in a hug from Reina. Dolores’ welcome was effusive as well. He looked around to make sure he was in the right place. He could count the times Reina had hugged him on a single hand. Maybe it wasn’t a time machine, but a personality transplant machine that had fucked with the space time continuum. Reina wasn’t exactly a social butterfly, more like a curtain-flicking nosy neighbor. Nonetheless, their house looked like New Year’s, Christmas, and Cinco de Mayo all wrapped up in one. Except it was nine o’clock on a Wednesday morning, one of the least celebratory days of the week by his reckoning.
In response to Jessie’s eyebrows, even closer to her hairline now, he gave a tiny shrug. No one had clued him in. Maybe Dolores was getting married or was pregnant, though he couldn’t imagine Reina pouring out little shots of strong Mexican coffee, and passing sopes if Dori was knocked up with Raul’s baby.
Staying in the country, tied up with Raul, who was hellbent on living life on the wrong side of the law had to be the worst of all possible decisions. He took the plateful of food handed him by a man about Reina’s age, and sat down at the last free dining room chair.
“Mama, what’s going on?” Jessie finally asked. She remained standing, stiff as a board, her purse clutched in a tight fingered grip, her back against the wall.
“We’re moving,” Reina said, joviality personified.
He soaked in the personality transplant. Was this the woman who just last week was bemoaning the fact that Dolores wanted to go back to a country plagued with drug cartel violence? Jessie was not jovial. Her face was taut with distress. He’d thought after their talks with the lawyer and the outsourcing guy, she’d made peace with her sister’s decision.
Obviously not. Cameron pushed away his plate. Put his knife and fork down. Despite the mouthwatering smells wafting up from the food, this was a meal he wasn’t going to be able to enjoy.
“¿Dónde, Mamá?” Jessie’s voice was full of resignation. She’d roll with whatever they said, he knew. She’d sacrifice whatever she had to.
“Mexico City,” Reina said, clapping her hands together like a toddler taking her first steps.
A loud chorus of cheers in Spanish arose from everyone around the table. China coffee cups clinked together.
“Mama? Dolores?” Jessie’s voice rose above the din. “There’s still a chance Dolores could win this case, be found innocent.”
“I’ll still be on the ICE radar. I can’t wait for the hammer of deportation to drop. How many times have you told me to take charge of my life? I am. Not you. Not Raul.”
“Mama? You always said you were grateful to be out of Mexico.”
“Dolores promised me I don’t have to work if I don’t want to. I miss my family.”
“You never said anything about that,” Jessie said.
“You weren’t the only person making a sacrifice, Yesenia.” To Dolores, Reina said, “Dígaselo a tu hermana.”
Yesenia pulled Dolores to the corner. Abandoning a perfectly good breakfast once and for all, he followed his wife’s pleading eyes. She needed backup. When he joined them, Jessie’s hand was tight upon her sister’s wrist, tugging insistently.
“I’m tired, sis. I know it may not seem like it, but I’m tired of not being able to work, worrying every time I drive a car or cross in the middle of the street. Nearly shitting my pants every time I pass the federal building, or drive to San Diego. I want to go home.”
“Mexico isn’t home. None of us have been there in over twenty years. It’s not some resort. It’s a gang infested hell hole.”
“Does that mean you won’t visit?” Dolores said, a sad smile tilting her lips.
Jessie’s hands moved further up her sister’s slim arms. She shook Dolores, hard. “This is not funny.”
For the first time in a long time, Cameron saw Dolores’ face firm with determination. Gone was the lackadaisical weed haze she usually wore. Jessie’s sister was serious and probably unshakeable. “I already have a job, Yesenia,” she said.
Jessie looked as surprised as he was. Dolores had never held a job. Not a real job. He remembered her working under the table at some restaurant, helping her mom with cleaning jobs, even picking up the occasional childcare work. None had lasted longer than it took to earn enough for some designer jeans or a fancy phone Jessie wouldn’t buy. He’d always thought Dolores was allergic to work.
“You take that call center job?”
“Alejandro said you and Cam showed up at their office. So you know it’s legit. I went in. He interviewed me. Offered me a job. Maybe that college degree you made me get is actually worth something.”
J
essie ignored the dig.
“Where are you going to live?”
“SOB Solutions set us up with temporary housing. Mama can look for a permanent place down there while I’m working.”
“Dolores—”
“I want to stop running, Yesenia. I want to live.”
“What about this place?” Cameron hadn’t heard one word about the house Jessie’d sacrificed to buy for them.
“Cameron, can you help her with the stuff we don’t take?” Dolores asked, acknowledging him.
He wanted to scold Dolores for leaving L.A. without a thought for her sister, but nodded instead. He and Jessie could handle it.
“But—” Jessie was at a loss for words.
“But what? We won’t bother you anymore. Do you think I wanted to spend the rest of my life relying on my sister por dinero, por abogados, todo?”
“I never complained.” To them, Cameron thought. She’d complained mightily and bitterly to him over the years. And when he agreed that they were taking advantage, somehow he was in the wrong.
“You didn’t have to. Let this guy make you happy. That’s all he’s ever wanted,” Dolores said.
Jessie’s sister walked back to the celebratory group. Cameron shoved open the back door and urged her outside. They’d handed his wife over to him. He wasn’t going to waste the opportunity.
Chapter Ten
Air. She needed air. After pushing her way out the back door, Yesenia took great gasping gulps of freeway-tinged, particulate-heavy, smog brown air. For once she was grateful for the ever present hum of L.A. traffic. The noise of the Santa Monica freeway drowned out her thoughts. The slam of the back door brought her back.
Move. To Mexico? Doing the one thing they’d all be avoiding her whole life? Why hadn’t she taken Dori seriously in the lawyer’s office? Why hadn’t she pushed the LAPD harder to dismiss the charges? She hadn’t wanted to put Cam into an awkward position. But she could have asked Rivera. She’d known Cam’s partner nearly as long as she’d known him. Yesenia shook her head of all the regrets and recriminations. It was all water under the bridge.
Her family’s plans made no sense. And made perfect sense. Some guru KESP had interviewed when she’d subbed on the morning show talked about walking into fear. Was that what Dori was doing?
