The Empty Place at the Table

by Jode Jurgensen John Ellsworth

  "Isaac, aren't we going quite slow?"

  "I'm doing seventy, Aunt Mel. This one-lane road shouldn't be driven much faster. Do you want me to speed up?"

  "Not if you think you're at what the road can handle. So, have you found UCSD Hospital yet?"

  "Yes, it's in the GPS."

  Then I turned back to Lisa. I didn't mean to interrogate her, only to try and understand her. She was my daughter, after all. "Do you read and write English?"

  "No. I hear English because most of our mens talked it. How much? How much for? Would you do this to me? Can I do this to you? Would you like to have my baby? What about doing this?"

  "Commercial phrases, Aunt Mel. Don't worry. She knows more than that."

  I wasn't worried like Isaac thought I might be worried. I was way down the road on that. I was worried by now that she still might decide to just up and go live with some man. Evidently, there had been absolutely no grounding in the importance of family and parents, and now she was sitting like a ripe plum on the branch, waiting to be pecked.

  "You are going to live with me, Lisa," I said solemnly as if making a vow.

  "I am? What would I do there?'

  "Well, we'll see about school, first. There is much for you to learn."

  "Then I don't live with you. I want to be in my room with my TV, so I can watch MTV and Telemundo and do my nails and text to my friends in TJ. School is boring."

  "How do you know school is boring?"

  "Iggy said that."

  "Velasquez told you school was boring?"

  "Yes."

  "Do you believe everything Mr. Velasquez told you?"

  "Yes, I do. Iggy is a very smart man. He's not my father, he's better than my father. He's my uncle."

  "Iggy isn't your uncle. Iggy is a man who kidnapped you."

  "No one kidnapped me. I wanted to go with Iggy to Mexico."

  "Really? Where were you living when Iggy took you away?"

  "Santa Barbara."

  "What?"

  "Santa Barbara."

  "How do you know this?"

  "My Girl Scout card said Santa Barbara."

  "You were old enough to be in Girl Scouts when you were taken away by Iggy?"

  "Uh-huh."

  "Do you know your name?"

  "Yes. Do you want my American name or my Mexican name?"

  "Let's start with American."

  "Susannah Upchurch."

  "How do you know that?"

  "Because that's what everyone always called me. My dad is Franklin Upchurch, and my mother is Madeline."

  "What? Are you sure of this?"

  "Yes, I am sure. I was with them when I was little."

  I could hardly believe my ears. If what she was saying was true, I had the wrong girl. My mind jumped ahead three spaces. They brought the wrong girl when Ignacio sent Javier to fetch her. They brought some other blond girl.

  "Susannah, were there other girls with you who had blond hair?"

  "Everyone has blond hair."

  That wasn't going to work. Blond/blue was the paradigm, I told myself. Try something else.

  "Were any of the girls unusual in any way? Anything stands out in your mind?"

  "Well, I lived all over. My favorite girl was Pollo Loco. She lived down south, and she lived in the chicken house after she didn't get the job in Arabia."

  "Tell me about this girl, please."

  "I was older. She was very sick when she arrived. The nurse gave her medicines and kept her in bed. Then one day she got up and came outside to play with us. She loved the chickens at that place. After I was gone, she let the chickens loose. I only heard about this. Then they took her to Saudi Arabia, but he couldn't sell her. So they came home, and he put her in the chicken pen to live. That's all I know."

  My heart was racing. "How long ago was this?"

  "Last summer."

  "Where was this?"

  "At the ranch. Ignacio collects his babies, his chickens. The young girl turned them loose, so she has to live in their fence."

  "My God!"

  "But it's very good there. It doesn't get cold like nights in TJ."

  "Susannah, if I asked you to, would you guide us down to the chicken ranch?"

  "I don't know. I guess I would. Would Iggy get me back?"

  "No, I promise."

  "No, that's not what I mean. I mean I want Iggy to have me. I love him. He took me away from a very bad man in Santa Barbara."

  "Your own father?"

  "That's the one. Bastard!"

  "Do you know the roads to take to get back there?"

  "Of course. We drive there many times. Sometimes we live there."

  "All right, here's what we're going to do. Isaac, let's head back to San Ysidro after all."

  "What about the doctors?"

  He was right. Would I offer Susannah less medical care than my own daughter? It was a terrible thought because it would slow us up. But I knew I had to do what was right for her.

  "All right, keep on to UCSD. We'll get her checked out then we'll go back to Mexico and let her direct us."

  "We taking Mark and the Colonel this time?"

  "Yes. We're going to need them."

  I was totally deflated. After all the hell I'd been put through I still didn't have my daughter. Don't get me wrong, I was happy we'd managed to tear Susannah away from that horror chamber, but Susannah wasn't my Lisa. I wanted to cry but held back, knowing that Susannah would catch on to how anguished I was that it was her with me and not Lisa. Instead, I began chewing the inside of my cheek until blood could be tasted. Then I swiped the back of my hand across my eyes and said something about how hot it was. Unspeakable images raced through my mind, taunting me with what Lisa was going through because I'd been there. Then the tears couldn't be held back, but I made sure no one noticed. Alone in my pain, again, but a feeling of determination rising up through it all now. In the end, I was more determined than ever to get to Lisa and save her. I vowed this incredible mixup wouldn't hold me down any longer.

  Two hours after, we were in San Diego, where we found the hospital and took Susannah into the ER. There was no insurance; I put it on my American Express. It came to right at five thousand dollars when they finished with her four hours later. They had performed a complete physical exam, psychological assessment, blood work, chest x-ray, and body scans. I was surprised it didn't cost more, but that was it. Susannah was crying when she came back out to us.

  "I'm never doing that again."

  "We know, sweetheart. But it was important to get you checked over."

  Then we headed to San Ysidro and Mark and the Colonel. I had spoken to Mark twice by phone and James once by phone while I was waiting in the hospital. I also got to tell Gladys goodnight and give her a long-distance phone kiss.

  Mark was adamant: I was not going with him to get Lisa out of the chicken farm. I was going to stay at the hotel with Susannah and keep an eye on her while Children and Family Services assessed her Santa Barbara home. I got the ball rolling on that with a phone call; Susannah's future whereabouts were in the works, but CFS made a temporary placement to me.

  It was just for forty-eight hours, but it was something I gladly ran with.

  28

  We arrived at the San Ysidro Restoration Hotel sometime after dark--I say "sometime" because I was too tired even to lift my wrist and check the time. Mark and I—twin beds—took the adjoining room and put Susannah in there. She had no toiletries and no clothes, so Isaac made an emergency run with her to Target. They came back after nine with four brimming shopping bags. Now Susannah had enough to sustain her for a few days while we went after Lisa.

  The next morning, Mark, the Colonel, and I met around our suite's dining table and laid our plans. Susannah would go with them--contrary to what Mark had earlier said--because only Susannah knew where we were going. Which meant I would be left behind all alone. There was no justification for that, so Mark finally relented and agreed I could go. Truth be told, it wasn't
his choice to make. I was going to take Susannah with me and go without them if I had to--but I was going one way or the other.

  Susanna joined us at the table. She explained that there were many men at the chicken farm. All of them carried guns on their shoulder and guns in their holsters. There were also places where the children were never allowed to go--mine fields, she'd been told during her earlier years. "You just don't go over there," she said. So we had her draw us a map, and she was able to locate six guard towers in addition to the mine fields. When she finished, the Colonel and Mark exchanged words. In their opinion, they were outgunned and would be even with the soldiers-of-fortune they had recruited. Evidently much had happened while I was gone, including the arrival of these men and the arrival of the guns and ammo and armaments needed.

  Susannah drew more maps, and the two soldiers put their heads together. Then they sent for a retired sergeant newly arrived to help. He had been an airborne assault officer and served in two wars. Billy Prekam was his name, a stout, bowlegged man who came bounding into our room wearing cargo shorts, a T-shirt that said Sea Shepherd and carrying a baseball bat. "Let's fuck someone up!" he said to Mark and the Colonel, as Susannah and I were at the other end of the table, and he couldn't see us when he first came in. "Ooops! Sorry, ladies. My bad."

  "I've heard worse," I told him. Susannah rolled her eyes.

  He was invited to sit down. Mark and the Colonel went over the hand-drawn maps with him. They then went over the satellite photos provided by the Colonel. I was listening intently during all of this, making damn sure that my daughter wouldn't be jeopardized by the ultimate go-to plan the soldiers decided upon. But in the end, there were no guarantees—not just for Lisa but all the captives at the finca. I interposed my thoughts, which the men seemed to consider the comments from someone who worries too much. Then I got up next to them and explained why the plan they were proposing was going to get people killed. It couldn't help but get people killed. The children, in my opinion, would be used as human shields and some of them would probably die.

  I looked to Mark for help and gave him a look that said he didn't have my buy-in. There were enormous implications to this, and he knew it: for one, if something tragic happened to Lisa it would be on him and him alone because I wasn't in the boat with him. I opted out. We took a break and Mark and I stepped out into the hallway where we could be ourselves and say what we needed to say to each other.

  "This isn't what I signed on for," I told him.

  "Seriously? What did you think was going to happen? You were with me at the Colonel's. You heard about the soldiers and guns and explosives. Where were you then, Mel? This is all a surprise to me and it—it—“

  "It makes you look foolish?"

  "That's exactly it!"

  "Now think about that for a minute. Do you go home with your daughter or your pride intact? Because this plan isn't going to give you both."

  "All right. Assuming for the sake of argument I agree with you. What is the alternate proposal you would make?"

  "Take the money and buy her. She's a commodity, she's inventory to this bastard. So pay the going-price for a beautiful sixteen-year-old American girl. Give them what they want."

  "There's a thought.”

  “No, it’s out plan now. I’m the general, remember?”

  He slumped against the wall. “Let me run it by the others."

  I put my hand squarely in the center of his chest. "No, there is no running it by. This is how it's going to be."

  "Wait, Mel. How do we get from a small military action clear over to giving them what they want?"

  "One thing. It ain't your million dollars. And it's not the Colonel's. And it's not the Devil Dog's, or whatever you call the new guy in there. You know whose money it is? Mine. I earned it and I get to spend it like I want. If it will guarantee my daughter's safety and guarantee that I'm not jeopardizing other children, there is no alternative. Now you get back in there and tell these guys this is what we're going to do. Agree?"

  He backed away, drawing my hand into his and holding it. Ever so slowly he began shaking his head side-to-side. "Now you know why I'm going to hate losing you, Mel. You're the real deal."

  I could feel my face reddening. Slowly, I withdrew my hand.

  "Just bring my daughter home."

  We went back inside. I watched Mark as he sat down with his soldiers.

  Mark looked grim. "This isn't a place where we can successfully launch an assault. Too many will be killed, and we cannot afford that. Plus, there is the safety of the children kept there. We don't know where they are, we don't know how many, and we don't know what our own daughter looks like to carry her out of there. I don't like this, Colonel."

  The Colonel's face turned red, and he said, "I was attached to the Corps of Engineers. I know next-to-nothing about assaulting enemy prisons. Zero, nada."

  Clearly, it was up to Mark to make the next call. We waited while he rolled it around in his head.

  "You know what we're going to do?" he said at long last. "We're going to bribe someone."

  "Who might that be?" the Colonel asked.

  "The Federal Police commander for Baja. We are going to give him the suitcase full of money and let him come out with Lisa. Half up front, half on return with our daughter."

  I immediately liked the idea. The idea of bribing the Federal Police resonated with me.

  So we put it in play.

  Mark and the Colonel drove across the border at San Ysidro and found the offices of the Federal Police in Tijuana. He later called me to report that the commandant had accepted the five-hundred-thousand and immediately left for the chicken farm. He didn't even have to take Susannah. He knew exactly where it was. All of which made me wonder just how closely aligned the Tijuana Cartel was with the Federal Police, but I knew better than to ask. This operation was way above my pay grade, and all I could do was wait around the Restoration Hotel with Susannah and watch TV. She wanted to go shopping after a couple of hours of this, so I took her up to Seaport Village and bought her some shirts and jewelry. Her tastes were very adolescent, but she was happy with what we found for her, and that was all that mattered. When we arrived back at the hotel, Family Services was waiting in the lobby. The caseworker reported that a preliminary study was done at Susannah's home and the report was inconclusive. So they were making a temporary two-week placement of Susannah with a foster family in Santa Barbara while the home study continued. We said goodbye right there in the lobby after I called up and had Isaac grab her things and bring them down in my small suitcase. That left me with my "Captain's Club" bag for my things. Isaac and I sent her off like that, outfitted and dressed, to face God only knew what in her life. It was going to be so hard for that child that it made me cry after she was gone.

  Now I could only wait to see if there would be another girl to take that one's place.

  It was getting later, and by dusk, I was totally climbing the walls. Isaac went down to the pool to wait there while I ordered dinner and ate alone in my room. Rachel Maddow kept me company over chicken and creamed peas and homemade rolls.

  Finally, my phone chimed.

  It was Mark. "Set three places at the table tonight, Mama."

  "Tell me!"

  "We have Lisa! We're coming home."

  The phone slipped from my hands while I broke into the most violent sobbing and wrenching crying I'd ever experienced. Tears fell from my eyes as I stumbled around the room, foolishly trying to make the place presentable for my daughter. Nothing helped, of course, but it kept me occupied for the next little while.

  Just after eight o'clock I heard the door open and went to investigate.

  There she stood. Looking exactly like I thought Lisa would look at sixteen.

  We stood fifteen feet apart and just stared. Her chin trembled. Mark cleared his throat behind her. The Colonel had gone on to his room.

  Ever so slowly so as not to alarm her I began moving toward her. Astonishingly, she at the same mo
ment started walking toward me. She held her arms outstretched, and I felt her wrap around me as I passed my arms around her and laid my face against the top of her head. Crying broke out among the three of us. No words could express our feelings.

  Then I held her at arm's length. "Let me memorize you," I said.

  She instinctively seemed to know what I meant.

  "You're home, I'm your mother, and this is your father. What's your name?"

  "They call me Pollo Loco. It means crazy chicken."

  "No, what's your real name."

  "Lisa. My name is Lisa, and I'm hungry."

  WE FED her then we drove her back to the hospital ER and repeated the earlier set of tests and examinations. It was quieter in the ER this time and altogether took about two hours. While we waited, Mark made arrangements. He used his own money to pay the soldiers who had come into town to help us. He had his back pay and insisted on handling that himself. He told me he had paid them as if they had undertaken and completed the actual mission. We both thought that was fairer than fair; the Colonel agreed.

  The Colonel caught a Southwest flight into Phoenix that night, and Isaac tagged along to check out ASU. He wanted to learn about teaching assistantships while working on a Ph.D. in Arabic. Working for the CIA was his goal, and he evidently knew what it would take to get there.

  Then the ER doctor came out and brought us up to speed. Blood tests looked normal; major organ functions were within acceptable limits; the physical exam revealed a slightly undernourished, slightly underweight sixteen-year-old girl who bordered on anemia. We were told to take her to our family doctor when we returned to Glencoe and repeat everything. They didn't need to tell me that; I was already lining up doctors and dentists in my head while I was waiting in the ER. Funny aside: Mark wouldn't let her out of his sight when she went off with the ER doctor and nurse. He went right along with her and waited outside her curtained exam room. No way was he ever going to be without her again, he swore. He was stunned, as well: she looked just like him, and Rebecca, his mom. She had Mark's eyes and his mom's facial structure. Her blond hair was considerably darker than I remembered.