“Beth.”
Our plump waitress appeared with three plates on each arm. She put them down on the table, one by one, all in the wrong places. “Anything else?”
Wallace held up a finger. “More coffee.”
I waited for her to turn her back then pushed Nadine’s bacon and sausage sides over to her. I tried to convince myself that the flesh on the plate grossed me out, but my stomach growled at the aroma, greedy and animalistic. I grabbed my pancakes and fruit and snatched the butter and syrup before anyone else could get to them. Staving off meat cravings constituted an emergency.
I started slathering butter. “Y’all didn’t even open my gifts.”
Wallace had ordered biscuits with sausage gravy and a side of hash browns in addition to his pancakes. There was a benefit to maleness and triathlon, for sure. I’d blow up like a whale if I mixed all that fat with all those carbs. I scraped some of the butter off my pancakes, then a little more.
“Shit, honey, I’m sorry. Let’s do it when she clears the food.” Wallace stuffed a giant bite of biscuit and gravy in his mouth.
I eyed the syrup I’d chosen. Maple. There were a few more in a wooden rack. I read the labels and saw “sugar-free.” I sighed and poured a lake of it on my plate.
One of our cell phones rang. I still hadn’t reset my ringtone and sounds, and I glanced at mine. Nope.
Wallace pulled his from his pocket and answered in a robotic voice. “You’ve reached the voice mail of Wallace Gray. I’m celebrating Christmas with my friends and can’t come to the phone right now. Don’t bother leaving a message, because I won’t call you back until—”
He stopped speaking and listened, his face growing dark. “You’re absolutely sure of this?”
He looked at me, and it was a look of such incredible pity that I knew immediately something had happened to Betsy. I made a strangled noise. It must have been louder than I’d realized, because heads turned.
“What is it?” Nadine whispered.
“Betsy?” I croaked.
Wallace put his phone down and reached for my hand. “I’m sorry, Emily. Immigration is coming for Betsy.”
***
Our breakfast abandoned, Wallace and I huddled in his pristine car and I called Jack. Tiny crystals pelted the windshield and roof of the car. Snow? It looked more like ice. I hated ice storms. I turned the heater to high.
Wallace said, “It won’t get any warmer until the engine warms up.”
I ignored him.
Jack’s voice spoke into my ear. “Jack Holden speaking.”
I touched “speaker” on my phone screen. “Jack, you’re on speaker with Wallace and me.”
“What’s up?”
“Wallace got a tip from a friend with Immigration that they’re coming for Betsy after Christmas.”
“Shit. I was afraid this would happen. She’s not a secret to the feds because of the kidnapping and trafficking case against Johnson.”
I couldn’t hold my anger and fear in, and I shouted. “Don’t they have enough criminals here illegally that they can leave one poor little girl alone?”
Wallace hit the steering wheel with one hand. “It’s ridiculous. She’s not a danger to anyone.”
Jack sighed. “They do cast the net pretty wide.”
My voice came out shrill. “We have to do something, Jack. We can’t let this happen.”
Wallace held a finger up. “I can spend the day Monday in the Mexican consulate. We may not know where she was born, but maybe I can find someone who is willing to help me search for birth records for her anyway.”
I shook my head. “But you don’t have a picture ID for her.”
“I’ll take her picture and a notarized letter from CPS attesting to her identity.”
“Will they accept that?”
“I don’t know, but it’s better than nothing.”
Jack’s voice broke in and out. “I’ll”—crackle, crackle—“Monday”—kercrackle—“birth”—cracklety-crackle—“enough.” Bad cell reception.
Wallace said, “Can you repeat that?”
Jack tried again. “I’ll go ahead and file for Special Immigrant Juvenile status on Monday as well. They’ll return it to us asking for her birth certificate, but maybe the fact that we’ve attempted to file will be enough to forestall federal custody.”
My voice broke. “But they could still take her, and then she’d be in prison, basically, waiting.” I took a deep breath. “I can’t let that happen. Maybe she just needs to run away. She might end up with a nice place to stay and then not get found until we’ve got this all sorted out.”
Wallace shot me a killer look. “I’m going to pretend I didn’t even hear you make that terrible joke.”
I averted my eyes.
“And on the subject of runaways while I have you together, I’m sorry to pass along more bad news, but we still haven’t found Greg or Farrah.”
I squirmed inwardly, but said, “Oh no.”
“Yeah, I wanted you both to know.” When neither of us spoke again, Wallace added, “Jack, anything else you need me doing in the meantime?”
“No. I think this is all we can do, Wallace.”
“Okay. Well, Merry Christmas, and thanks.”
“Yep, you, too. Emily, the weather’s supposed to keep getting worse. Dress warm tonight.” He ended the call.
Wallace smacked me in the shoulder. “Emily Bernal, what haven’t you told me about tonight?”
Worry about Betsy weighed me down, but a flicker of happiness still made it through. “Jack’s taking me to Christmas Eve services with him.”
“Shut the front door.”
“It’s not that big a deal.”
“The hell it’s not. This is a date. A bona fide D-A-T-E.”
“Do you think so?”
“I know so.”
“Okay, then I need your help.”
“I’m glad you’ve finally realized that.”
I punched his arm. “I need an outfit that says ‘I’m the one,’ but in a Catholic-church-appropriate way. Any ideas?”
Wallace threw his head back and laughed.
“What?”
“Have you ever been to a Catholic church before?”
“Once.”
“How did they dress?”
“Normal, I guess.”
“There you go. Dress like you would normally, except wear a garter and fishnets underneath.”
“Wallace!” He had a point. Everyday lingerie wouldn’t do. I had a pair of lavender tap pants and matching bra that would work, just in case.
“You’re gorgeous. It will be fine.”
My phone rang. Expecting Jack, I hit accept. “Yes?”
“Hi, my name is Beth. Nadine from the Polo Club suggested I call for Emily?”
Beth. Beth who was having a problem with a bad cop. “Yes, this is Emily. I’m with Jack Holden of Williams and Associates. How can I help you?”
“I’m sorry to call over the holidays. I work with Nadine, and I’ve got a problem. She said you’ve had a similar one: a bad cop messing with you?”
“Yes, two of them, unfortunately.”
“Yeah, well, that’s my problem, too.”
“Would you like to get together?”
“If it’s not too much trouble for you.”
“Not at all. But I’m leaving town tomorrow. Can you get together today, say about noon?”
“Yes. Can I text you an address?”
“Sure.”
The call ended and seconds later a text came through: This is Beth. 1000 Shasta, noon today. Thank you for meeting with me. I didn’t know where else to turn, and I’m scared to leave my house in case he sees me.
I replied: See you then.
Wallace had unwrapped his present while I talked to Beth. He held up the gift certificate to Sun Adventure Sports, the store he favored for triathlon gear. “You’re a peach.”
“I feel like I’m contributing to the delinquency of a misogynist.”
“A what?”
“A misogynist. You know, a person who enjoys pain.”
Wallace groaned, laughing. “Masochist, Emily. Masochist. A misogynist is someone prejudiced against women.”
“Oh. Well. Yeah, masochist then. I’m contributing to the delinquency of a masochist.”
“Nah. I’m much more into—”
I stuck my fingers in my ears. “La la la la la la.”
***
I spent the rest of the morning with Mother decorating sugar cookies for her Sunday school classmates. She was blasting Christmas music through the house and singing along at the top of her lungs. I usually couldn’t resist joining her, but I was really preoccupied with worries about Betsy. If I dwelled on it too long, I started to think about the Freeman family, too, so I tried not to dwell. Tonight I had a date with Jack. No matter how grim things seemed, I couldn’t lose sight of that, and I certainly couldn’t let anything mess it up.
I squirted from a miniature tube of white icing to create snow on a Christmas tree. “You sure you’re going to be all right without me tonight and this weekend?”
“Why, of course. I’m so glad you and Jack are spending time together.”
I put the top on the tube and licked my fingers. I’d finished my last cookie. “I’m worried you’re going to be lonely.”
Mother didn’t look up from the cookies she was arranging in a red basket. “What, why would you say that?”
“Um, because I won’t be here.”
“Oh. Yes, well, I’ll be fine, dear.”
Mother wasn’t an unhappy person, per se—although she harbored some bitterness about how hard her life had turned out, especially in comparison to people she felt got more help than she did—but she was especially cheerful today. That was good, I guessed. Better than the alternative: making me feel guilty for deserting her over Christmas. It was the second time in a week, though, that she’d seemed much more jolly than usual.
I scrutinized her more closely. “Is that a new dress?”
“This?” She ran the back of her hand over a black suit-dress with a Peter Pan collar and gorgeous square black buttons. “Oh, well, hmm, I can’t remember if you’ve seen it before.” She giggled.
If I didn’t know better I’d suspect she’d been into the box wine, or had a boyfriend. Neither was plausible for her, though. I had planned to tell her about Betsy while we did the cookies, but I didn’t have the heart to weigh her down with something that heavy when she was in such high spirits. Besides, I needed to be optimistic about Betsy and positive in general. And optimistic meant that I had to plan for Betsy to remain in the U.S., and for me to adopt her. Which meant I needed to tell Mother I was moving out.
I turned on the sink water and rubbed my hands together under it. “You know how I’m applying to adopt Betsy?”
“Yes, dear. How’s it coming along?” She started on a new cookie basket.
“Well, fine, except I have to live on my own. And I’ve found a place.” I shook my hands to get the excess water off.
She froze with a cookie in each hand. “Really?”
“Yes.” There was a dish towel hanging by the sink, and I used it to blot the last of the water off my hands.
She resumed putting cookies in the basket. “And?”
I turned to her. “It’s a duplex off Soncy Road.”
“That’s close.” She smiled at me.
I exhaled. A smile was a good sign. “My lease could start after New Year’s. I need to sign it and take the security deposit and first and last month’s rent over.”
She nodded. “Good for you.”
I nearly fainted. That had gone so much easier than I’d expected. Who was this woman, and what had she done with my needy, dependent mother? Battle won—or rather, battle conceded by the opposing side—I didn’t linger on the subject.
I leaned back against the counter. “So, what are you going to do this afternoon?”
“My friend Josie is opening her salon for me, and she’s doing a complete Christmas makeover on me, including manicure and pedicure.”
“That’ll set you back a pretty penny.” I was a little bit jealous that she hadn’t invited me, but I was glad she was doing something fun.
“She’s giving me a huge discount as a Christmas present.”
“Do you want me to drop you off and pick you up? The roads are getting bad.”
“No, that’s okay.” She finished up Bing Crosby’s big number with him, wishing for a white Christmas, which she’d definitely have this year.
I looked at the time on my phone: eleven thirty. “Mother, I’ve got to go meet a client. I can help you with the dishes later.”
She waved her hand at me, and joined in with the next tune. Dionne Warwick: “O Holy Night.”
I threw my apron in the dirty clothes, smiling at my mother’s off-key voice. I hadn’t forgotten about my problems, or Betsy’s, but I was keeping them in perspective and looking forward to an evening with Jack. Before I realized what was happening, I heard my own voice belt out, “A thrill of hope, the weary world rejoices.”
Mother had broken me down. In a good way, because I was no help to anyone if I didn’t stay upbeat. It didn’t mean I didn’t wish Betsy was here with us so we could teach her all the words to our favorite carols and how to decorate cookies with the perfect swoosh of snow icing. I wiped a tear from my eye, happy mixed with sad, and pulled open the front door, singing, “O ni-ight divine.”
Chapter Twenty-two
Siri directed me through the slippery white streets of Amarillo. I took Washington south from I-40, driving slowly and carefully. The pellets earlier had definitely been ice, and they’d stuck. Nothing I hadn’t driven on every year since getting my license, but what I’d learned from Dad years ago still applied: heavy sliding objects don’t stop or turn well, but they crunch real good. I had stomped my brakes and turned too late one winter day, sliding my car right into one of Tech’s new stock trailers, and I still winced as I remembered waiting for the inevitable sound of crumpling metal. Lesson learned: The best way to stop or change direction on ice was to coast.
So I rolled along like a turtle, creeping through intersections, passing other vehicles planted against each other, curbs, and light poles. I saw a tree seller in a parking lot on my right. He had nothing but a few scrubs left, and he was ringing a large handbell. He’d have a heck of a time selling the rest of them in weather like this, but I was impressed that he was trying. I hoped those fuddy-duddy Hodges at least had a Christmas tree at their house.
I made a right on Shasta without losing traction, stopping in front of 1000 without even applying the brakes. The house was at the end of a cul-de-sac, with an oversized square of yard on one side of the front sidewalk and a smaller square of one on the other. It looked like most of the other houses on the street. Small one-story ranch houses circa 1970, brick mostly in shades of tan to match the landscape, what there was of it. The house had no driveway or garage in front, nor any car at the curb. No lights shone from inside, either.
My phone made a random noise. I sighed. I really had to fix the notification sounds. I turned it over. A call, but I’d lost my darn contacts so iPhone couldn’t tell me the name of the caller. It was a 340 area-code number, though, and that meant Katie, or someone else from the Virgin Islands.
I accepted. “Hello?”
“Merry Christmas!” Katie’s pretty voice sang out.
“And to you, Katie Kovacs! Did you get my card?”
“I did. Ours will be late. But that’s not why I called.”
“Oh? What’s up?”
“You know Ava is in Amarillo?”
“I knew she would be in the area sometime soon, but not when.”
“She had a big Christmas Eve shindig there tonight, but it’s been weathered out.”
How weird to be doing a show on Christmas Eve, in Amarillo no less, I thought. But I said, “Poor Ava.”
I got out of the car, slamming the door. The cold a
nd wind and ice pellets attacked my exposed nose. I’d worn a scarf, but now I wound it higher, over my nose, muffling my mouth. I started for the front door.
“Yeah. Her phone battery was on fumes, so I said I’d call you to see if she could crash at your place tonight.”
Oh. Oh my. I love Ava, but she is, well, a handful. I pressed the button for the doorbell. “Mother and I have a guest room she can stay in, but I’m heading to New Mexico tomorrow with Jack—”
“With Jack or ‘with Jack’?”
She sounded like Wallace. “I’ll let you know when we get back.” I rang the bell again and peered through the opaque glass in the front door. I couldn’t see any movement inside. I knocked on the glass, hard enough to hurt my gloved knuckles.
“Sounds promising.”
I couldn’t text Beth while I was on the phone with Katie, so I decided to walk around back and see if I could get her attention from there. I tramped over icy ground cover in the yard. “Anyway, she’s welcome, but I won’t be here after tonight.”
“I’ll tell her.”
I opened the side gate, leaving it ajar behind me. “And you guys, is everyone doing all right?”
“Oh my gosh, the girls are about to start walking, and Thomas is so hyper. Thank God for my in-laws. And Nick. Nick is a dream.”
As I emerged from the narrow strip of brown and white patchy lawn between the six-foot wooden fence and the house, I came around the back corner straight onto a concrete porch, placing my feet carefully so I wouldn’t slip on the ice that was thicker there from the gutter downspout. I looked up after I was on the porch and stopped short. One more step and I would have planted my foot in the midsection of a woman, a woman lying facedown and unmoving.
I screamed, once, long and loud, and dropped my phone to my side. Even from that distance I could hear Katie.
“Emily, what’s wrong? Are you all right?”
I put the phone back to my ear. “I . . . I, yes, I just found someone who’s not. I’ve got to go. Have Ava contact me.”
I hung up and crouched beside the prone woman. She had on gray sweat pants and a matching hoodie with zebra-print house slippers. I rolled her toward me. Her face was ghoulishly pale, but still I recognized her. Ivanka, the woman I’d met at the Love’s truck stop. The makeup that had camouflaged her a week ago was absent now, and she looked closer to my mother’s age than mine. She was even smaller than I remembered her, almost like a young girl.
Earth to Emily Page 17
