by Billie Green
"I'm too tired to eat," Glory said, then glanced at Booger, who was lying with his head in Addie's lap. "Speaking of food, have you lost weight?"
"The thought of getting married would scare the appetite out of anyone, even the Bountiful Beast here," Jack said.
Without moving, without opening his eyes, Booger said. "Addie is making me eat healthy stuff. I haven't had a Twinkle or burrito in months."
"Good for Addie," Glory said, snuggling closer to her husband. "I worried about how much weight you had put on since Dallas."
"I happen to have big bones," Booger said.
Jack opened one eye to look at Booger. "Dinosaurs don't have bones that big."
"Leave him alone or I'll give you a fat lip," Addie said. Her voice was tired and without noticeable emphasis.
Booger turned to kiss her stomach. "My hero."
She grinned down at him, then glanced around at the group. "You'll all have to accept the fact that Boog's changing and growing. Inside instead of outside. He even surprises me sometimes. I never dreamed he could be so romantic—stop laughing! He really is. He recites the most beautiful poetry to me."
The group reacted with raucous laughter. Even Bill had to smile at the thought of Booger reciting poetry.
Alan, with a perfectly straight face, said, "I'm sure it's . . . very moving."
"Nothing but the best for my Addie." Booger picked up her hand and stared up into her eyes.
Bill realized that the large, innocent-faced man they all called Booger had somehow managed to make his friends relax. He shook his head. Delilah's friends were an extraordinary group of people.
Glancing up, he found himself the center of attention and knew then why they had chosen this spot to rest. "How has she been?" he asked quietly. The others turned to look at Glory, who shrugged slightly. "Alan and I see her more often than we used to, but I just don't know, Bill. She dates quite a bit and still seems to be looking for her successful doctor, but something is different. She won't talk about Acapulco, and she won't let me talk about it either."
Glory shifted restlessly. "She doesn't realize I know this, but I've heard gossip at the hospital and the word is out that Dee's spending an awful lot of her time working at a free clinic." She shook her head. "I'm afraid she's as hard to read as ever."
Addie frowned. "I've always thought of Dee as being totally independent, but something in her eyes—"
Booger sat up. "Loneliness," he said. "It wasn't there before. But I noticed it the minute I saw her this time."
Jack nodded. "Yes, loneliness, but that's not all. Delilah has always distanced herself from people, from emotions. On the surface she seems even more distant, but I have a feeling It's a snow job. I think she's actively participating in life now." He met Bill's eyes. "In a way, I kind of hate to see it. It seems painful for her."
"I'll tell you something really strange," Alan said. "On the plane from Dallas I looked at the list of doctors and told Delilah that you would be here too. I figured she would be shocked or embarrassed . . . something. The funny thing is, she didn't show even a hint of surprise. There was no reaction at all."
Bill leaned his head back against the tree, smiling a tiny, crooked smile. "No," he said softly, "she wouldn't have shown surprise. Lila knew I would be here."
❧
The next few days were among the roughest of Delilah's life. Just when she would let herself believe that they were winning the battle, someone would be uncovered in the rubble or a group would come down from isolated places in the mountains seeking help.
It never let up. She would catch a few minutes of uneasy sleep at a time, then get up and go back to work. Delilah had turned off all feeling four months earlier, but in the brief periods that she managed to sleep, her emotions caught up with her. Her dreams were full of frightened children, Abuelo's carved-granite face, and Bill's pain-filled eyes. After a while she simply refused to go to sleep during her rest breaks.
Then, five days after they had arrived, activity in the church began to slow down, and eventually it stopped altogether. The people who had sustained life-threatening injuries had been taken out by helicopter, and the ones with less serious problems had been patched up and were waiting now for the road to be cleared so they could be moved to hospitals in Mexico City and Acapulco.
It was mid-morning of the sixth day when Delilah made her way through what had once been Nuevo Oviedo's marketplace. She remembered the afternoon she had walked through this street with Bill. They had returned after siesta time, and he had bought the red belt for her.
She kept the belt in a satin-lined box in a drawer under her lingerie.
Other memories began to demand attention, trying to push into her mind—glimpses of the Fuentes family, the cliff overlooking the valley of rainbows, patchwork eyes looking at her with so much love. But Delilah wouldn't let the memories in. She couldn't let them in.
For several seconds something other than memories had been hovering on the edge of her consciousness, and finally it penetrated. A faint, high-pitched sound came from a wooden building behind the market stands.
She frowned, moving nearer. The quake had hit at night. No one should have been here. The volunteers hadn't even bothered to search in this part of the village. They were concentrating on private homes.
When she heard the noise again, she bent and began to pull away planks and pieces of metal.
"What is it?" Bill asked, coming out of nowhere to stand beside her. "Did you hear something?"
She nodded. "I think so... I don't know, maybe it was an animal... a kitten."
They both stood very still and listened. The sound came again. This time it was clearer. And it wasn't an animal. It was a soft, whimpering sound, the kind only a suffering human can make.
Delilah dropped to her knees and began to pull at the rubble.
"Wait." Bill said sharply. Then he began to speak loudly and clearly in Spanish. Occasionally he would pause to listen for a response.
At last, as though the words came from a great distance, they heard, "Jaime, Guillermo. . . estoy Jaime."
Delilah felt her heart jerk in her chest. Jaime. The missing child. The bright young boy who had tried to teach her Spanish. They had to get him out. They couldn't let anything happen to the child Abuelo had died trying to find.
Together they began to move the rubble out of the way, working silently, frantically. The material was lightweight, and soon they had cleared a tunnel of sorts. Bill spoke regularly to the boy, and Delilah knew he was testing the child's reactions, trying to gauge how extensive his injuries were.
Judging by the nearness of Jaime's voice, they seemed to be only a few feet away from him when they came upon a solid stone structure, an oven or furnace of some sort.
Bill sat back on his heels and studied it. "I don't think we're going to be able to get past this," he said. He glanced back at her. "Lila, you'd better find Arturo. Hell get some workers to help us."
She stared into his eyes, silent as the dust set-tied around them. It was only a second, a tiny piece of time, but it seemed to last forever. Then she nodded. "I'll be back as soon as I can," she said, and turned to crawl out of the tunnel.
She hadn't realized they had dug so deeply inside the building, but they must have, because it felt as though hours had passed before she finally stood up outside the building.
The market street was long and straight, but it was filled with remnants of the wooden stalls. She moved as quickly as possible and had gone perhaps a hundred yards when she ran, literally, into Alan. She turned a corner and almost knocked him over in her rush to get help.
"What is it?" He frowned as he surveyed her face and torn shirt.
"We—Bill and I—" She broke off and tried to catch her breath. "We've found the missing Fuentes boy. He's trapped in a—"
Grabbing Alan's arm, she pulled him around the corner and pointed toward the collapsed building behind the marketplace. "See that building? We—"
At that moment
a sound reached them. There was no giant explosion, merely a low, shifting rumble. And suddenly the pile of rubble seemed to grow smaller.
There was a bright flash in Delilah's brain, then a convulsion in her chest, and the world stopped.
Without a word to Alan she began to run back the way she had come, keeping her eyes on the place where she had left the only thing that mattered in the world as she felt her way back across the ocean of debris.
When she reached the ruins she found that the tunnel they had cleared was still there. She dropped to her hands and knees and began to crawl, unaware that Alan was behind her until she reached a place that was impassable. Earth and rock filled the tunnel.
A frantic, whimpering sound came from her throat, and she began to claw her way through, tearing at the material with bleeding fingers. She was reacting instinctively. Rational thought had no place in her mind. She knew only one thing: She had to get to Bill.
"Dee, wait," Alan said from behind her. "We've got to go get help."
"You go. Go get help," she said, her voice fierce. "But don't ask me to wait. Bill's in there somewhere."
He hesitated for only a moment, then turned and began to crawl out of the tunnel.
Moving steadily, Delilah continued to clear the same area they had cleared together minutes earlier. Her hands didn't falter, but as she worked, she prayed.
God, she begged silently, I need help. I know when Mama died I said I didn't need You anymore. I said a lot of things I shouldn't have said. That's because I'm not a very good person. I know that. But Bill Is. God, he's—he's such a good man. Please, If You'll just help him . . . just watch over him, I'll be better. I swear to You I'll try to be a better person. She swallowed hard. But if It's not possible . . . If Bill dies, please, God . . . let me die too.
It seemed that hours had passed when Delilah realized she had almost reached the spot where they had had to stop because of the brick structure. Every time she moved a piece of rubble aside she expected to find Bill beneath it. But she didn't find him. She had called out to him several times. But he didn't answer.
She told herself that Bill simply hadn't heard her. The building was still settling, making creaking, shifting noises. Combined with the insulating layer of dust in the air, that was enough to obscure her voice.
She had to tell herself something. She couldn't believe he had died without her. She refused to believe it.
At last, after pulling what must have once been a small table out of the way, she reached the brick structure. And Bill wasn't there.
She felt a wave of relief sweep over her, making her weak. He must have found a way around it. That's why he hadn't heard her. He was deeper into the building than she had thought.
"Bill?" she said softly. She was afraid to shout, afraid any loud noise would cause another collapse.
Holding herself still, she listened, but she heard nothing other than the sound of settling debris.
"Bill," she said again, just a little louder.
Then faintly she heard, "I'm here, baby."
Closing her eyes, she dropped her head to her hands as she crouched in the tunnel and began to shake.
"Lila?"
She raised her head and ran her hands across her face, making muddy streaks on her fingers. "I don't know how to reach you," she said hoarsely. "Are you all right?"
"I'm okay ... I think." His voice sounded very far away.
"This is no time to be cryptic," she said, almost angry. "What does that mean?"
Incredibly she thought she heard him laugh. "Something fell on my left hand. It's bleeding and so numb I can't really feel it, but I think it's simply bruised."
"Thank you, God," she whispered, then louder, "And Jaime?"
"He's in remarkably good condition, considering what he's been through. He's dehydrated and his left forearm may be broken. It's trapped under a metal desk."
She hesitated, then said, "Bill, Alan has gone to get some workers. They'll be able to help Jaime. Can you get out?"
"No—I don't know." He paused, then said, "I can't leave him, Lila. He's so scared."
She should have known better than to ask. He wouldn't be Bill if he could leave an injured and traumatized child.
Seconds later she heard voices in the tunnel behind her, then suddenly the place was crowded. Arturo spoke to Bill, asking his advice on what direction they should take. When they had decided, Arturo turned to Delilah.
"It will be better if you leave," he said. "I thank you for finding Jaime, but there is no need for you to put yourself in further danger."
She shook her head. "I can help. And if you don't need my help. I'll stay out of the way. But I won't leave."
He studied her face for a moment, then nodded and the work began.
Two and a half hours later, both Bill and Jaime were brought safely out of the shifting wreckage.
Later, at the church, the group stood around joking with Bill as he sat on a wooden crate and allowed Delilah to bandage the cut on his hand.
"It's a bad cut," Delilah told him, her voice subdued, "but luckily none of the bones are broken."
He didn't respond. He merely sat looking up at her. He hadn't taken his eyes off her once since they had arrived at the church. Delilah wondered what it was he saw in her face.
When she had applied the last piece of tape, Delilah murmured, "Excuse me," then walked calmly away from the group and out of the church.
Without a word Bill stood and followed her. He found her in the plaza garden leaning against a tree, her body trembling violently.
When he pulled her into his arms, she pushed tightly against him, as though she couldn't get close enough.
"It's okay . . . It's over now," he said, stroking her hair. "You're simply having a delayed reaction to the scare. Youll be all right in a few minutes."
She pressed her face to his throat, moaning, "I think I'm going to be sick."
He moved with her to one of the stone benches and pushed her head down between her knees. Take deep breaths, sweetheart. Slow, deep breaths."
After a moment she turned her head sideways to look up at him. "Bill, I think I'm in big trouble."
"You're pregnant?"
Delilah gave a choking laugh. He sounded intrigued by the possibility.
"Not that kind of trouble," she said. She raised herself up and folded her hands in her lap. "When I couldn't find you . . . when I didn't know what had happened to you, I promised God I would be a good person if—" She broke off, feeling the trembling begin again in her limbs.
"If what?" he asked sofuy.
'"If ... if He would just let you live," she whispered. "And He did."
"Yes, He did." He raised one thick brow. "So what's the problem?"
She lifted her gaze to his. "Bill, I don't know how to be a good person. What if I can't do it? What if I've got bitch in my bones?"
He laughed, putting his arm around her. "I know your bones intimately. There's not a bitchy one in the bunch."
She glanced away from him. "I hurt you," she said. "I will never forgive myself for that. Never."
There was a long, taut silence, then he said, "Why not? I did."
She turned back to him, studying his features. "Did you?" When he nodded she drew in a rough breath. "That's only because you're Mr. Nice Guy. You do that kind of thing."
That's only because I love you, he corrected her silently.
"Having you forgive me shouldn't be that easy," she said tightly. "You should make me go down on my hands and knees and beg your forgiveness." Her lips twisted in a bitter smile. "If I thought it would make up for some of the pain, I'd do it."
He stared at her in confusion, then rose to his feet. "I don't understand you. Would you really do something like that?" he asked. "For me?"
There wasn't a trace of the old aloofness in her face as she met his gaze and said, "For you, Bill?" then slowly dropped to her knees beside him.
"Sweet heaven, Lila!" he exclaimed, pulling her to her feet and back
into his arms.
A long time later Bill and Delilah sat on the grass under a tree. His arms were wrapped around her waist as she leaned back against his chest and filled him in on what had been happening in her life since Acapulco.
"After a couple of weeks I went back to find the warehouse that I told you about, where I had stayed for a while," she said, moving her face against his arm as she spoke. "It wasn't there. They tore it down years ago. The area is just as bad as I remembered, but I didn't run from it. I made myself talk to the people who live and work there. I began to see them as people instead of something out of a nightmare. Some of them I liked, some I didn't : . . they were just like people everywhere." She twisted her head to look up at him. "The memory of those years I spent there had grown all out of proportion in my mind. Or maybe it was simply that you brought things into perspective for me. I had convinced myself—no, I really believed—that money would bring me security. Finding a rich doctor was part of that. It was part of the dream, the image I had carried around with me for so long. We would be the perfect couple, and nothing could touch us. That Image was security to me. I relied on it."
She grimaced. "It didn't take long after I left Mexico for me to realize that the only time in my life I had ever felt really secure was when I was in your arms."
"Do I get to say 'I told you so' now, or do you want me to wait until later?" he asked, dropping a kiss on her shoulder.
She laughed, then turned her head to meet his eyes. "Being without a lot of money doesn't scare me now. And I think I can be a real help at your clinic. I've never thought of myself as an altruistic sort of person, but I really believe I'll be good at it. I know how the people feel. I know what they're going through so I'll be able to communicate with them."
"I believe you," he said. "I've always believed in you . . . besides, you promised God you'd be a good person."
Her expression became wary. "Exactly how good do you think Hell expect me to be?"
He laughed. "I don't know about God, but for me, you'll do just the way you are."
