Andreo's Race

by Pam Withers

  She waits for that to sink in. “The big difference between us is that my parents allowed me to come back to Torotoro. They were brave that way.”

  I nod.

  “Vanessa was nice to me while we were there, even though we barely knew each other before that.”

  My throat goes dry. What does she mean by “there,” exactly?

  “Hugo Vargas arranged it all.” Her eyes narrow, and bitterness infuses her voice. “The scruffy, overcrowded house in Cochabamba. The housemother who cooked and washed for us—and made sure we never left the house without her. The nurses and doctor who checked us. And all the paperwork that allowed people in North America to steal our babies.”

  My head jerks up at the word “steal.” The hint of a smile appears on her face, as if she’s pleased that it has gotten my attention. She shifts the baby in her lap and reaches out to hold hands with her husband.

  “After Vanessa had you,” Ardillita continues, “she stayed on to help the housemother. Nowhere else to go but the streets, I suppose. She was good to me.”

  Was she devastated at having lost me? I want to know. Did she fight it? Has she searched for me since? Is she still alive?

  “A month before I had my baby, I panicked. I decided I didn’t want it sold. I told Mr. Vargas I wanted to keep it, even if I had to beg on the streets with it in my arms. He produced all kinds of forms I’d signed. Said I had no choice. I confided to Vanessa that I was going to run away. She seemed sympathetic, but couldn’t help me. The housemother watched us all very closely. I wasn’t even allowed out of the house the last while. When it was time for the baby to arrive, things didn’t go well. They had to give me some drugs to help me. When I woke up, my newborn girl—the housemother and Vanessa told me it was a girl—was gone. Stolen.”

  Ardillita’s face crumples. She covers it as she sobs for a moment. Her husband strokes her back and whispers, “It’s okay, it’s okay.”

  After a moment, she raises her chin. “I told Hugo Vargas I would never, ever stop trying to find my child. He laughed.”

  “And did you find her?” I ask. This only produces more sobs. The three children are wide-eyed to see their mother’s face buried in their father’s neck.

  “When Juan Pedro and I eventually married,” she finally continues, “we swore we’d save until we could afford a lawyer to find our daughter.”

  I glance at Juan Pedro. “Yes, our daughter,” he says in a quiet voice.

  “We eventually did hire someone, and he tried. Vargas must not have liked that, because we started getting anonymous threatening notes and suspicious people following us—even here, hours from Cochabamba. In the end, the guy we hired could do nothing. Vargas was too clever. There was no paper trail to follow. And no one could lay a hand on Vargas. Until now.”

  “Huh?”

  “He has been arrested. Released, yes, but the police will get him in the end. Soon, I hope. We’ll testify. He knows it. And they’ll find others. That’s why he’s hiding, so they say.”

  Silence weighs on us for several moments. The two older children have crawled down from Juan Pedro’s lap to play with the kitten. The clink of dishes being washed sounds from the kitchen.

  “Do you know who my birth father is?” I ask. It comes out in a weak croak.

  Ardillita shakes her head sadly.

  “And my mom. What happened to her?” My voice trembles.

  “I saw her once after I returned from Cochabamba. A year or two later. She was in Torotoro just for the day; she stopped to see me. She had a wedding ring on. She told me she was happy; she looked happy. She wouldn’t tell me who she married or where she was going. She’d heard that Juan Pedro and I were engaged. She just wanted to wish me well. She also urged me to forget the baby I lost and to look forward rather than back.”

  Like she did? “So there’s nothing more I can do to try and find her?”

  Ardillita rises and walks over to where I’m sitting. With no warning, she leans down and hugs me, hard. I want to struggle loose, but somehow I know she needs this—to feel some kind of connection with one of Hugo Vargas’s stolen children. Do not pretend she’s Vanessa, I tell myself.

  Tears spill down her cheeks again as she releases me. “The police will get him. Maybe then you’ll learn something,” she says. “Maybe I will too. Remember, no mother can forget or stop loving, even if she’s forced to hide the pain deep in her heart.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Once again, my shoes make their way over the cobblestones as Ardillita and Juan Pedro walk me to the town square.

  “Dinosaurio!” exclaims the oldest boy. As we stare at a giant fiberglass dinosaur, I wrap my arms around his little waist and lift him high to let him touch its teeth. We’re both laughing as he squirms in mock fright.

  “Hasta la vista,” Ardillita says as she bear-hugs me good-bye. Juan Pedro slaps my back like we’re old friends, and then I head to the Internet café.

  Well done, Andreo.

  Yes, your mother was born and raised in Torotoro, and I am delighted you have managed to come up with contacts and information to further our search. Congratulations also on finishing most of the race already. I know you are biking back toward Cochabamba after the caving tomorrow, so if you can just e-mail me the info you’ve gathered, I’ll pursue it and hopefully have something new for you by the time you get back here. Maybe I should hire you, given your sleuthing talents!

  Together, we’ll find Vanessa, I hope before you fly home. Also please let me know if you change your mind about persuading your parents to sign a statement about their dealings with Hugo Vargas, okay?

  Detective Colque

  My fingers fly over the keyboard as I explain about Maria, her grandmother, Ardillita and Juan Pedro and all they’ve relayed to me. I tell him I’ll sneak away from my parents at the race’s finish to visit him the minute I can. I end the message, My parents must not be involved in this at all!

  I’ve just pushed SEND when hands land heavily on my shoulders.

  “Raul! You scared me!” I twirl around to see my friend displaying the world’s largest grin. He plops down, face glowing, to tell me all about his caving adventures with Maria.

  “This place is utterly awesome, mon. We did an exploratory on a cave that reminded me of that bear cave back home. And she showed me a couple of other caves, including one place so huge it’s like a cathedral with big arched ceilings. People even pay to get married there. Everything today was just totally, unbelievably awesome!”

  “Totally, unbelievably awesome,” I mock him. “And Maria is …”

  “… totally, unbelievably awesome too, Andreo.” He feigns pulling a knife out of his heart. “Don’t want this race to end, mon.”

  I roll my eyes, but I’m happy for him. I tell my story rapid-fire, all the while keeping an eye on the door. “So, Raul, hurry up and check your e-mail, and let’s get back to the hotel before Mother and Dad send out a search party. I never even left a note.”

  He opens up his e-mail and I watch his face go from over-the-top happy to pale.

  “What’s up?”

  “Dad got arrested for drunk driving.”

  “I’m sorry,” I say, like I have a ton of times before.

  “And this time,” he says, lowering his face to cup it in his hands, “he’s going to jail.”

  Uh-oh. That’s new. “I’m sorry.” I struggle for something else to say.

  He turns his head so I can’t see his face. “And Mom’s leaving him. Divorcing him.”

  I jump as his fist comes down hard beside the computer. “My family sucks. Totally sucks. Why bother going home?”

  We sit in stunned silence. I reach out to touch his shoulder, but he slashes my hand away.

  “We’re not fighting, are we?” asks a sarcastic voice. “Where the hell have you two deserters been all day, anyway?”

  David, just who we need.

  “David, we’re about to head back to the hotel. Can you leave us alone till then?” I ask. �
�Where are Mother and Dad?”

  He moves closer, shifts off his blistered foot, then stands with his hands on his hips, studying Raul before turning back to me.

  “Tell you what, brother dearest. I’ll tell you where they are if you tell me why Mom is so upset. Something about seeing you with people you seem to know in the dinosaur square?”

  I freeze and look at Raul; he’s slumped in his chair, arms around himself. Distraction time. “David,” I say, “it smells like your foot is infected. When was the last time anyone treated it?”

  “My foot is fine,” he declares, but his eyes shift to it.

  “Not,” I say in my most concerned voice. “You know what Dad says about my sense of smell. Your sores are starting to get infected. I know where the doctor is in this town. How about I show you? Raul, we’ll see you back at the hotel.”

  Raul doesn’t respond as I put an arm around David’s shoulder and steer him out of the café.

  “It’s just blisters,” my startled brother says.

  “Infected blisters during an adventure race can be a disaster. You know that.” We’re headed up cobbled streets to where Maria’s grandmother told me the doctor’s clinic is located.

  Walking together with arms around each other’s shoulders feels weird. Like when we were six and performing in a three-legged race: Mother’s “twins.” But even back then, I don’t remember laughing and tumbling around together in fun, like normal brothers. I was too busy competing for Mother’s love.

  “What’s up with Raul?” David interrupts my thoughts.

  I tell him Raul’s news from home. He goes quiet for a moment. “Sucks to be Raul,” he finally says, but I detect no sarcasm. He really means it. “You know, I prefer the four-person adventure races,” he says, changing the subject as we slow down on a steep uphill.

  “You mean, when Raul’s not with us.”

  “Yeah. I mean, when it’s just family, you and I can hang out. When Raul’s around, you guys are such a unit. To be honest, I get a little jealous. And it forces me to be with Mom and Dad all the time.”

  Hang out? Jealous? Since when are he and Mother and Dad not their own permanent, impenetrable unit? His face reddens at my lack of response. “You really think I need to go to the doctor about this foot?”

  “I think it needs a professional opinion, maybe some prescription ointment,” I lie.

  “Thanks, Andreo,” he says, stopping and looking at me all serious-like. I feel a stab of guilt. We’ve reached the clinic. I’m losing my nerve for going inside. A beauty queen and a married doctor. And this is the only doctor in town, been here twenty years.

  “I mean,” David is saying, his face reddening further, “I wasn’t sure anyone really cared. Mom was dressing it, but she and Dad were both saying that the trekking part’s over and it won’t mess much with caving and biking, so I should tough it out.”

  “Sounds like Mother and Dad,” I say. “Ignore it, suck it up, carry on like it’s not there.” Especially if it involves acknowledging birth parents or adoption.

  David spins around and puts his arm back on my shoulder. “I can’t believe you said that. It’s so true. Andreo, can I tell you a secret?”

  There’s a temptation to brush his arm off and run. I’m not sure which is worse, my hand on a door I’m scared to open, or David’s arm on me. But I say, “Go for it,” a new helping of guilt weighing on me.

  “When this race is over, I’m going to stop adventure racing. I don’t want to compete anymore.”

  “No?” Chickening out, I back away from the clinic door. At the same time, I catch a glimpse of the doctor’s small house near its rear door, like Maria’s grandma said.

  “I don’t even want to do track at school. I just want to concentrate on grades. But Dad’s going to freak. Maybe … maybe you can back me up? Argue for me? I didn’t think I’d have the nerve to ask you, but, but … You do get how they are. I’m just not athletic like you. To be honest, Andreo, I’ve always been jealous …”

  “Let’s go in and deal with your foot,” I say brusquely.

  His face falls. My insides twist with shame, but my nerves are totally jangled by the possibility of meeting my birth father. And David—or some weird version of him—is seriously increasing my anxiety level.

  “Okay,” David says. “We’ll talk about it some other time. But while I have you alone, I have to ask you something else.”

  “What?” Hopefully I don’t sound impatient.

  “Are you and Raul up to something? I mean, the way you guys whisper and sneak off and keep checking the Internet. And the way you got Mom upset about something this afternoon. Are you in trouble?”

  “We’re not up to anything that concerns you.” It comes out through gritted teeth.

  He nods slowly but doesn’t look convinced. “And it’s nothing that will hurt Mom or Dad?”

  “Nothing that should hurt Mother or Dad.” I’m making sure they won’t find out, and anyway they have no right to feel hurt by our gathering information they should have given me ages ago!

  Pushing the door open, I step into the clinic, David on my heels. He hangs back, maybe because my Spanish is better.

  “Can I help you?” asks a tall, broad receptionist with an unfriendly face. The room is small and plain, with stiff curtains on the windows and green walls. A lineup of metal chairs is occupied by patients who pretend not to stare at me.

  I feel a drop of sweat trickle down my back. “Um, my brother here needs to see a doctor about some blisters that may be infected.” At least, that’s what I hope my limited Spanish has said.

  “Dr. A is on lunch break.”

  “You mean, in his house behind the clinic?” I can’t believe I say that.

  She stiffens. “Does Dr. A know you? What’s your name?”

  I lean in so close that she pulls back, but I have to make sure that David, who has taken a seat near the door, doesn’t hear.

  “I’m Andreo Gutierrez. Son of Vanessa Gutierrez. I’m sixteen.”

  She stares at me coldly. The name obviously means nothing to her, and for a moment, I think she’s going to throw us out. Then she turns on her heel and goes out the back door. The bell on it jingles as she disappears.

  I take a deep, steadying breath and glance behind me. David is calmly turning the pages of a magazine. I look down to see my own hands shaking. I count slowly to ten. The jingle sounds again and I look up. The receptionist enters, then I’m staring at Dr. A, who is staring back at me. He’s black. Behind the desk, I notice a photo calendar of Rwanda.

  “Dr. Zacharie Akumuntu,” he says, all businesslike. “You have some kind of emergency?”

  Seeing me struggling for words, David leaps up, shakes hands with the doctor and says. “Es, um, necessario—to have a—tener una, um, cita? An appointment?” Before I can pull myself together, the door clicks as the two disappear into an examination room.

  Not my birth father is echoing through my head as I lower myself into a waiting room chair. I’m so humiliated that I don’t notice when a woman clutching a baby enters the clinic and slides into the seat beside me.

  “Andreo,” Ardillita is whispering, even though no one else in the room but the icy receptionist pays attention. “Your mother is in Torotoro. Andreo? Are you okay? I saw Vanessa an hour ago.”

  I sit bolt upright and look at her.

  “Mrs. de los Angeles said she’d given you the clinic’s address, so I hoped I’d find you here. I saw Vanessa in the marketplace. She was buying food. I recognized her even though she had a scarf pulled partway around her face. But when I headed over to say hi, she disappeared. I don’t know if she actually saw me.”

  I glance at the receptionist, now busy taking a phone call. I look at the examination room door, still closed.

  “Ardillita,” I say with urgency, “do you have a cell phone on you?”

  She hands it to me with a smile; I rush outside and phone Detective Colque.

  “You’re certain?” he says, his voice
rising with excitement. “This Ardillita is sure it was her?”

  “She’s sure.”

  “Okay, Andreo. This is our big break. Tell me, what time do you leave the hotel for the caving event tomorrow? Nine o’clock? Good. Do you still want to meet your birth mother, son?”

  I choke up. “Yes.”

  “Of course you do. So, go back to your hotel. Check with the receptionist there for a message from me before you go to bed. I’m on my way to Torotoro. I will track her down, and I will set up an early-morning meeting that won’t interfere with your race.”

  “My parents can’t know anything about this.”

  “Don’t worry,” he says and clicks off.

  I step back into the clinic, glance at the receptionist and the closed examination-room door and whisper to Ardillita, “I’m meeting her tomorrow.”

  Her eyes light up. She gives me a quick hug and takes back her phone. “E-mail me about it,” she begs, her eyes glistening. As she slips out the door, I look up to see David frozen in front of me. There’s no sign of Dr. A.

  “Just a blister,” he says slowly, eyes boring into me. “Who was that?”

  “Friend of Maria’s.”

  “Sure,” he says coldly.

  Okay, so we’re back to being brenemies.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Running joyously over the uneven cobblestones, running like I’m flying, running to her open arms.

  “Mom!” I mumble into her peasant blouse as she embraces me.

  “Andreo!” she replies, the warmth of her voice enveloping and lifting me like the pinkish dawn of the day.

  “Ask me anything; tell me all about you,” she says as we step back, still holding hands, looking into one another’s faces. “But before you start, I have a question: Will you come live with your birth father and me?”

  The cobblestones under my feet tremble, or is it my knees? I look down to see the stones shake more violently, then push upward and shatter. This is a dream, right?

  I’m running over the heaving cobblestones. My birth mother is several steps ahead of me, her sandaled feet moving like they know every inch of the way. The distance between us is growing. Is she trying to run away?