The Exile

by Gregory Erich Phillips

  He looked down at the baby in his arms, surprised to see her looking back up at him with intrigued eyes. He smiled. Until he had one of his own, Ashford always thought one baby was more or less like the next. But this little girl was so full of personality and surprises. Her look toward him was filled with wonder and trust. She would not believe he’d been afraid to be a father. She thought he was the perfect father. It felt good to be depended on so completely by someone and to know that he could handle it. He would do anything for Leila, and he would do anything for this little girl.

  Leila had called their year in Santa Fe a dreamy break from the real world. For him, it meant something quite different. It wasn’t a respite from real life. It was his first real taste of it. He now knew what kind of man he was capable of being. He knew he could support not only himself but a family. He had grown to love his new identity as a dad—first so frightening, now unimaginably fun, even if it was a lot of work. In a month, he would have another identity still. He would be a husband.

  He put Cristina into her crib and sat at the kitchen table, trying to study for the job he would start in a few weeks’ time. The afternoon passed. About five o’clock, Cristina cried to be fed. Ashford took her on his lap and fed her from a bottle. At eight months, Leila was slowly weaning Cristina off of breastfeeding, having cut back to once or twice a day. With her little head against his arm, holding the bottle with the other hand, Ashford felt intimately connected to his daughter. She took the food offered from his hand with perfect trust.

  He knew that, as a man, there was no possible way for him to understand the intimacy of a mother’s connection to her child, first from the womb, then at the breast. A father’s bond was slower but no less profound. It lacked the physicality, which Leila told him she felt from the moment of conception. But this little girl was as much a part of his flesh and blood as she was of her mother’s.

  After Cristina was satisfied, Ashford began to prepare his and Leila’s dinner. When would her exam be over? He couldn’t remember if she had said. It was a timed test, so it couldn’t be that long. The testing center was only a couple of miles away, in downtown Santa Fe. It did seem like she had been gone a long time. He started to call her, then remembered that she told him they made the testers put their cell phones in lockers to keep them from cheating.

  He returned his attention to dinner. He enjoyed cooking for Leila on his days off. Just as little Cristina showed her trust in him while he held her bottle, he wanted to show Leila she could trust him by caring for her. She prepared dinner most of the time, since she was home while he worked. But tonight was an opportunity to flip the script. He hoped to surprise her with a nice meal, to celebrate her success and show her his support, despite his bungled comments yesterday. She had said they gave the results of the test right away.

  His mind raced back to that first night he cooked for Leila, almost a year and a half ago. How excited and nervous he had been that whole day, arranging the house for her visit while being careful not to do anything that would tip off his mother when she returned from her conference. That night was like a dream—the way Leila glowed when she walked up with a smile on her full lips, her long legs lit by the waning sun. When he first kissed her that night, it was different than before. That kiss prefaced what would happen. The ecstasy of making love to her that first time was something he would never forget. Through everything that followed—the next morning and in the weeks and months afterward—while Ashford may have wished that things had happened differently, he never once wished he had not met Leila or wished they had not dared to love each other. He glanced at the baby and was even more convinced of his feelings.

  Ashford wasn’t sure when he started glancing at the clock. By seven, his eyes were glued to it. Surely, the testing center wouldn’t even be open anymore. Where was she? Had she run an errand after her test?

  He called. No answer. Straight to voicemail. He forced himself to be patient. Either the test was much longer than he realized, or she forgot to turn her phone on afterward.

  Another possibility came to him. What if she failed the test? Perhaps she decided she needed time by herself before she talked to him. She might blame him for failing, after what he said yesterday. She might not have wanted to come home right away. Whatever the case, there was no reason for him to worry.

  But he was worried. This didn’t feel right.

  He Googled the local testing center. There was only one in town. He called, but they were closed. What should he do next? He could think of nothing but the police and that seemed extreme. Especially if she was avoiding him on purpose, he would infuriate her by taking drastic measures.

  Ashford took a deep breath and looked toward the crib. Cristina slept peacefully. She wasn’t worried; why should he be? Leila could take care of herself. She had done so for years. There was surely some obvious explanation for her tardiness. Any action on his part would seem foolish once everything became clear. He called again. Straight to voicemail.

  What could have happened? It was hard for him to picture her being in danger. It seemed impossible that she could have been abducted or something horrible like that. Leila would be a match for any potential kidnapper. In bustling downtown Santa Fe, she wouldn’t go quietly against her will. Had there been an accident? Surely the police would have come or at least called him.

  He tried not to entertain the thought, but it drifted in anyway, playing on his insecurities: What if yesterday’s argument had unmasked a deeper discontent? Could it be that she was not as happy with him as she seemed? He tried to force the thought out of his mind.

  From the beginning, Leila was slower to come into love than he was. Ashford was always aware of that. It was hard to say now what course their relationship would have taken had she not become pregnant. But what about now? Did she love him as much as he loved her, or was she with him for the sake of the baby? With a new job, and Cristina a little older, would she still need him? Every indication, every spark he saw in her eyes and felt in her body, told him that her love was growing stronger each month. They were developing new, special intimacies that could only come with the time they had spent together. But what if that was all an illusion born of his own infatuation with her?

  Maybe tonight she didn’t want him to reach her.

  There was nothing to do but go to bed and try to get some rest. He lay in bed but couldn’t sleep. Neither could the baby, restless without her mother in the room.

  Ashford didn’t get to sleep until it was almost dawn, then overslept, waking up at almost nine a.m. When he saw her vacant side of the bed, the gravity of the situation hit him, and he wished he’d done more the night before. Leila wouldn’t stay away by choice. Even if she was angry at him, even if she no longer wanted to be with him, she wouldn’t leave her baby daughter. How could he have thought her capable of that? He tried calling her one more time, then called the clinic and said he wouldn’t be coming in. Next, he called a taxi to take him to the testing center. He brought Cristina, strapped to his front. Leila’s car was still parked in the lot. He didn’t know if that was a good or bad sign.

  The testing center had just opened. The girl working the front desk said she hadn’t been working the night before. Ashford asked if she could call whoever had been working the previous night, which earned him a scowl. Could she look to see if Leila had checked in for the test, if her cell phone was still in the locker? Who was he? Her boyfriend? Oh, her fiancé. Another skeptical scowl and a repeated line about confidentiality.

  Deflated, Ashford walked out to the parking lot. Unsure what to do next, he called Manny. He hadn’t heard from Leila either. Manny had no hesitation in declaring that something was wrong and chided Ashford for failing to report Leila missing last night.

  Next, he called the police. He waited by the car for half an hour until two officers arrived. They didn’t seem very concerned as Ashford told the story, but they agreed to investigate.

  They went inside and the girl at the desk, suddenly c
ooperative at the sight of the police officers, checked her computer and confirmed that Leila had checked in for the test the previous afternoon, but there was no record of her having completed it. Her purse, with cell phone and car keys, was still in the locker.

  Up until then, Ashford had tried to believe there was an easy explanation. Now, his heart tightened with dread. Leila was in real danger, and he had stood by for a whole night doing nothing. So much for all his promises to take care of her.

  The police called the employee who had worked the testing desk when Leila checked in the previous afternoon. He told them he remembered seeing her check in but didn’t remember seeing her leave. She could have left during his break, or after his shift ended, he added noncommittally.

  Ashford urged the officers to pursue it. Something had obviously gone wrong during her visit to the testing center. They reminded him that this was their job and he ought to let them do it. It didn’t help when Cristina started to wail. They sent Ashford home.

  Back at the apartment, he felt sick to his stomach. Cristina didn’t know what was going on, but she knew her mother wasn’t there. She gazed at her daddy with confused but trusting eyes. He bit his lips to keep his tears at bay. He had to stay strong for her. He had to keep his mind sharp too.

  Leila was gone—unfathomably, inexplicably. He felt crushed by his helplessness and the fear that he would never see his beloved again.

  30

  MANNY HURRIED AHEAD on the Cartagena street in the darkness of night. The lights in the houses were all off, but there was just enough light to see his way. Gunfire sounded in the distance. He wasn’t sure if it was growing farther away or if it had always been that far. Even at such a distance, after all the fights he’d been in, gunfire still made him afraid.

  After walking for uncounted blocks, Manny paused. Yes, this was the place. He recognized the houses, the flickering lampposts, and the rough stones of the street, but it didn’t look right. Something was not as it should be. He wanted to keep going, away from here, but his feet were rooted in their spot.

  “This way, hermano. Hurry!”

  He looked toward the voice. A woman he had seen before was urgently beckoning him through a doorway across the street. His feet compelled him that way.

  Through the door and down a steep staircase he followed, behind a single lighted candle carried by his guide. The basement passage turned to the left and led into a wider chamber. The distant gunfire was more muffled from down here, but it still persisted.

  A dim lightbulb hung from the ceiling. Manny paused to allow his eyes to acclimate. On one wall was a window. The glass was dingy, and once he got a better look he saw that it was only a window into another room. A figure loomed on the other side. He hurried over and saw that it was Leila.

  He slapped his hands against the thick glass and called her name. She should not have been here. She was in danger. She saw him and ran to the other side of the glass, her eyes wild with fear. She wasn’t looking at him, but past him.

  Manny turned around.

  Inches away from him stood Paulo, his frame towering, his eyes gleaming, his face caked with dry blood from the cut below his eye. The room swirled around Manny. A sharp ringing sounded persistently in his ears. He wanted to cry out but could not. He could see that Leila was shouting, but no sound came from beyond the thick glass.

  Manny awoke, jolting upward in bed, drenched in sweat.

  It had been several years since he’d had this dream. Always before, the woman behind the glass was Marissa. Sometimes he saw her face, sometimes not, but he always knew it was her. The dream took different forms but often started with the woman who had guided him to safety that day in Bogotá. Paulo was usually there too, sometimes seen, sometimes merely sensed in the shadows. This was the first time the woman in the dream had been Leila.

  He looked down at the sideboard and the buzzing cell phone, which had awakened him. The ringing stopped briefly, then started again. It was Ashford, calling repeatedly. Taking a moment to steady his nerves—to bring himself out of the nightmare of sleep into the nightmare that real life had become—he answered the phone.

  “Manny, I’m sorry to call so early. I finally found out what happened. Leila was picked up by ICE—immigration enforcement.”

  “What? Why?”

  “They wouldn’t tell me why or where she is, since I’m not technically related. It’s obscene when I’m here with our own child! It can’t be right.”

  Manny’s head swirled with horrible possibilities.

  “Why would immigration want to arrest her?”

  “I don’t know.” Manny caught his automatic answer—the trained lie—and a knot tied up in his stomach. Because he did know. He had gotten so used to hiding the truth for Leila’s own protection. But wasn’t it time to tell Ashford? The lie hadn’t protected Leila at all.

  “Let me give you the number. You’re her father, so they should tell you more.”

  Manny wrote the number down on a notepad Carmen kept by their bedside. “I’ll try, but I’m not sure they’ll tell me anything either.”

  “Why not?”

  He took a deep breath. “Ashford, come back to Phoenix . . . as soon as you can. The immigration detention centers are here, south of the city. That’s where they’d take her.” He paused. “There are things you need to know . . . about me, about Leila, about your daughter. Leila may be in more danger than you think, and if so, we don’t have a lot of time.”

  “The car’s packed. I’m leaving now.”

  Manny got up. He ran his hands along his face, then walked into the kitchen to make coffee. His new knees clashed painfully against the old muscles that held them in place. He glanced at the clock. Yes, it was early, too early to call the number Ashford had given him. What was there to do but go into the motions of another day? He would go to work again, come home and try to sleep, then do it again, even though it all seemed like such a waste.

  Could Leila really have been picked up by ICE? Surely, she hadn’t committed a crime to endanger her legal status. Could they have found out who she really was, or more accurately, who she was not? This had always been a possibility. He and Leila had known it from the start, even though they never spoke of it.

  Everything he did was for his daughter. His whole life had become an expression of his love for her. For twenty years, even before he met her, his own life had been lived toward the purpose of making a good life for her. Now, she had vanished. Everything seemed lost.

  His mind returned to his dream. All these years, his inability to save Marissa had haunted him. What sinister force had brought Leila’s face into that recurrent nightmare? The thought of losing her too was more than his tired heart could bear.

  All the failings of his life pressed down on him. Leila had been his one success—the one good thing he had done to earn the right to be proud of his life. If he could no longer give her anything, or worse, if his very gift of a new life had turned itself against her, then what use had he to go on? Was his life’s work, all his love, all her work, about to disappear?

  He was growing old. He craved the peace of a life well lived and the love of the family he had worked for. Ah, but peace was not the reward for men such as him.

  31

  EXHAUSTION STUNG ASHFORD’S senses. His eyes resisted the urge to close. His back muscles ached. His right foot was stiff from driving for too long. He sat in the hot car, at a loss for what to do next.

  He looked out at the grim detention center: a low, tan building, rising from the desert, the same color as the barren hills behind it. Even the twisting barbed wire fence faded into the colorless landscape. It was a prison, and the girl he was supposed to marry had been caged here.

  That she had been here, so recently, was poor consolation now. He tried to summon a sense of her into his heart, but it was no use. There was nothing about this place that echoed her presence.

  The car, her car, was packed with as many of their belongings as it would fit: two empty c
offee cups, a water bottle, and a crumpled fast food bag littered the passenger-side floor. Driving straight in from Santa Fe, he had dropped off a confused Cristina and an angry Romeo with Carmen in Phoenix before continuing south to find this place.

  He was too late. By how long, he couldn’t know. Now, the search started over. Another day would end with Leila still missing.

  Exhaustion tempted him. He wanted to rest. He wanted to hope that everything would work itself out. He leaned his head back against the headrest, his eyes open, fixed on the detention center across the empty parking lot and wire fence. With the ignition off, the car was starting to heat up.

  It used to be that way for him. Things did work themselves out. His mother always made sure of it. Even the risks of his adolescence, in hindsight, weren’t risks at all because of the huge landing pad of a safety net she always had for him. But everything was different now. He was on his own, and now he was alone. He had wanted that, in order to take care of Leila.

  Some care. He’d utterly failed her.

  He couldn’t allow himself to rest, not even for a minute. Manny’s words on the phone this morning haunted him: We don’t have a lot of time. He started the car and drove onto the highway back toward Phoenix.

  All the memories of his time with Leila rushed back at him, but they had lost their joy. How could he forget that their last day together saw their first argument? Would she know he was looking for her, desperately trying anything to find her? Would she trust that he could find and save her? He wasn’t sure he believed it himself.

  Ashford had never been a hero. Even the single heroic moment in his life had been turned against him by his mother’s pride. Now, when he needed to be a hero, he wasn’t sure if he had it in him.

  Almost as soon as the doubt crept into his mind, he remembered Cristina’s little face and the way she had looked at him this afternoon when he left her in Carmen’s arms. He already missed his daughter after only a few hours apart. He had to do this for her too, not only for Leila, not only for himself. She didn’t doubt that he had it in him. There was nothing like being a daddy to make a hero of a man.