by Cara Putman
“Good luck.”
“Thanks.” Emilie breezed out the door, looking ready to tackle the world in her red suit. No one could accuse the woman of disappearing into a crowd.
Hayden sank onto a bistro chair next to the table and nursed her tea. She rubbed the tight muscles at the base of her neck. If Emilie wrote an article too soon, there was a chance other news outlets would pick it up. Hayden needed to control the release—she needed to feed information to Emilie rather than the other way around. The information in the media at the right time could be exactly what she needed to force a settlement.
She ran upstairs and grabbed her laptop. While she finished waking up, she could track down the right Texas agency. Then when she got to the office, she’d make a few calls. By the end of the day she’d know what every agency knew about Miguel Rodriguez. Then she could search for his father and, she hoped, learn why Maricel was so scared of him.
The morning light streamed through his bedroom blinds, hitting Andrew in the eyes. He groaned and flipped over, but the damage was done. Zeus’s wet nose nudged his elbow.
“All right, boy, I’m up.” Andrew rose to his elbow and rubbed his eyes. Yesterday he’d e-mailed the cartoon to his editor just in time. The way it seemed to happen lately. In college, ideas had hit him everywhere he looked. Now the well was dry, and he needed to do something to get it recharged.
Zeus nudged him again, and Andrew stood. “Let’s go.”
A minute later the cold air hit him in the face as they entered the courtyard. Zeus sniffed around for a few minutes and then took care of business. Andrew grabbed his paper from the lawn and opened it. Below the fold, there was a story on the Senate vacancy. Looked like there were rumbles of competition for his father.
That wouldn’t sit well.
Congressman Wesley fully expected the open Senate seat to be his. He’d earned the right to occupy that office for the Commonwealth of Virginia. Maybe the governor would agree and appoint him to the vacancy, but there would be pressure opposing the selection.
Mrs. Bedford stepped onto her front stoop to grab her paper.
He waved to her. “Morning, ma’am. I tried calling that number on the card. You’re right. It’s a dead end.”
“I was afraid you’d say that. Should I be worried?”
“Not unless you see him again. If you do, call me immediately.”
“Yes sir.” Her smile was tentative, but she straightened. “Do you have a minute to change a lightbulb?”
Andrew smiled. Whenever she asked for help, it meant she’d baked something fresh. She would never let him assist her without repayment of some kind. His stomach appreciated her efforts. “Come on, boy. Time to be neighborly.”
Mrs. Bedford wrapped her robe tighter around her body and led the way into the small unit. “It’s in the hallway. You know how I hate standing on a chair.”
“And you know I wouldn’t want you doing that.” Who knew how long she’d lie there with a broken hip before someone realized something was wrong?
It didn’t take long to change the bulb, and a minute later she handed him a foil-covered plate containing four of her delicious fresh blueberry muffins. His mouth was already watering as he walked upstairs to his condo.
When Andrew arrived at the New Beginnings office, he knew it would be a busy day. Once the afterschool crowd arrived, he wouldn’t have time to focus on anything but the kids. Which was why he was there. Why he’d taken the job as a mentor in college and come back after he decided law school wasn’t for him. New Beginnings and its clients had given him purpose and meaning. The first preteen he’d been paired with had impacted him more than he’d impacted the kid. Seeing how hard he tried to transition to the United States humbled Andrew.
Until the kids trickled in, he would spend the day working on the community fair, start knocking off Emilie’s daunting lists. He worked at his desk for a couple hours, then yawned and stretched his back. When that didn’t release the kink in his lower spine, he decided to take a quick break. A five-minute walk might help his lagging concentration. But first he left a quick message for his cousin, begging her to accept his mea culpa and help with the fair after all. Then he slid his phone into his pocket and headed for the door.
A few minutes later he stood in line at Common Grounds, determined an espresso would power him through the day—at least to lunch. He glanced at the line in front of him and noticed a soft profile, long dark hair pulled back in a messy bun. It looked as though Hayden McCarthy had either had a rough morning or a late night. She stifled a yawn that hurt to watch and then turned his way as if she sensed his attention. He grinned at her, feeling a bit like the awkward and unprepared adolescent he’d been in high school when he’d decided girls were cool.
She saw him and nodded, then shuffled forward in the line.
That didn’t have the earmarks of a warm welcome. Andrew wasn’t the most eligible bachelor in town for nothing. He squared his shoulders and slipped closer with his winning grin. “Good morning, Ms. McCarthy.”
“I’m not sure there’s anything good about it.” She harrumphed, then yawned again. “Yesterday was one of those days they warn you about in law school.”
“Understandable.” The line moved forward again, and the barista looked at them with bored interest. “What do you want, Hayden?”
She glanced at the board, then down at the cups. “Venti café latte, one sugar packet.” She managed a smile as she added a please to the end.
“Wow, you are tired, Sunshine. I thought you were a tea gal.”
She quirked a look his direction before pulling her wallet from her massive bag. “I am most days. Today calls for heavy-duty reinforcements.”
He stilled her hand. “I’ve got this.” He placed his order with the barista before she could sputter a protest, then inserted his card to pay for their overpriced caffeine. He led her to the side where they could wait for their drinks. “Anything I can help with?”
Hayden’s clear eyes met his gaze with a spark of life in them. “Not unless you want to suddenly complete that law degree. Though after last night, I would urge you to reconsider. A partner ‘forgot’ to tell me he’d assigned something to me until after that something was due, so I had to pull an all-nighter to fix things.”
Andrew grimaced in sympathy. “Yikes.”
“Yeah, not the best twenty-four hours of my life, but it’s over. Now back to the normal zaniness.” She smiled her thanks to the man who handed her the massive cup of coffee, then inhaled the steam from her cup. When she looked back at Andrew, she already seemed more awake. “What are you doing today?”
“Other than deciding I’m a fool not to adopt wholesale Emilie’s suggestions for the fair? Board meeting coming up in a couple weeks has me consumed. If they don’t believe in what we’re doing, nobody will.” He took his drink, and then gestured to the door. “Can I walk you back to the office?”
She considered him a minute, her gaze searching his as if she wanted to weigh his soul. Then a smile warmed her face, fairly stealing his breath. “I’d like that.”
CHAPTER 13
All afternoon Andrew’s thoughts returned to that short walk with Hayden. She’d relaxed as they chatted about nothing important. He’d hated reaching her office and watching her disappear inside. Then he walked back to New Beginnings and the board report.
The heart of New Beginnings was working with recently immigrated children. At New Beginnings they could be tutored, learn English, and talk with kids or mentors who’d walked similar roads. Those expressions of interest and help could make a huge difference to their future success in the United States. Andrew made it a point to be in the community room when the kids arrived to talk with them in his version of Spanish and show a genuine interest. Because many parents worked multiple jobs to make ends meet, another adult who cared was critical to the kids’ success.
It wasn’t long before Andrew found the newest referral, a recent immigrant from Central America who had a good
handle on English, and had him sitting with Jorge and a couple others from Mexico. They were building a Lego Mindstorm kit, a STEM activity that got them collaborating.
“What are you building today?”
“A trash compactor, Señor Andrew.” Manny, a sixth grader, gave Andrew a toothy grin.
“Interesting.” He had no clue where they found inspiration.
“It is good, no?” Jorge looked at him, a question in his eyes.
“Sure. You can build anything you like.” These kids had limitless imaginations. Today a trash compactor, tomorrow a Mars rover. The only restriction was what they’d seen and their willingness to try.
His phone buzzed, and he nodded to an intern before stepping away. “Hello?”
“Hey, Andrew, this is Hayden.”
It was crazy how great it was to hear her voice. “What’s up?”
“Thanks for the coffee and walk. It really helped clear my tired brain.”
He grinned even though she couldn’t see it, strangely warmed by her thanks. “My pleasure. I have a feeling that’s not why you called, though.”
“Yeah.” She puffed out a soft breath. “Could you help me with a project?”
“Maybe.” He braced himself, some of the good feeling evaporating.
“Isn’t the congressman interested in immigration?”
“It’s one of his issues.”
“Can you give me his legislative director’s name? Emilie thought you could connect us and cut through red tape.”
“Hayden . . .” She couldn’t know how much he hated using his dad’s position for private purposes. He’d heard too many stories of congressmen on US business trips who stopped off in a country so their kids could visit. He’d never been that kid and wouldn’t start now.
“I wouldn’t ask if I hadn’t run out of sources.”
He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “Can you tell me anything about this?”
“You don’t want to know.” She paused, and he could almost see her gearing up for one more try. “Please, Andrew?”
“You can find her name with a Google search.”
“Sure, but then I can’t say you suggested I call.”
Andrew laughed. In a world filled with politicians and their minions willing to say about anything to get in and keep their jobs, she was refreshingly straightforward. He rattled off the info.
“Thanks.” Hayden paused, and Andrew searched for a reason to keep her on the phone.
He didn’t have time to mess with a distraction, he reminded himself as he hung up. But Hayden McCarthy was certainly intriguing.
Hayden hung up the phone and slumped in her chair. She’d spent hours on the phone and Internet searching for someone in the federal or Texas state government who would acknowledge that Miguel Rodriguez had come into this country and been detained. One state employee at the agency that oversaw prisons had made it clear she’d need more information, and the other agencies wanted her to believe they didn’t maintain a simple, searchable database. They acted as if the young man hadn’t existed—and she’d believe it except for the horrific photo. She’d searched for Daniel Rodriguez, too, but without more information the searches led to hundreds of hits.
Calling Andrew had been a last-ditch effort to make progress, and one she could tell he didn’t welcome. She placed a quick call to his dad’s legislative director and left a message begging for help.
Her intercom buzzed, with her paralegal’s line lit. “Ms. McCarthy?”
“Yes, Leigh?”
“Maricel Rodriguez is here to see you.”
Hayden sat straighter and pushed the legal pads and file folders on her desk into orderly piles. “I’ll be right out.”
She pulled up her calendar and confirmed that the afternoon was blank, and this visit wasn’t an appointment she’d overlooked. After the last meeting, Hayden thought the woman was the most reluctant plaintiff in history, but now here she was, without explanation. Hayden quickly swiped on fresh lipstick, then hurried to the reception area.
Maricel Rodriguez sat on the chair as if afraid to sink into its buttery softness. Her black slacks and cashmere sweater contrasted with the rich aubergine walls. She clutched a Coach bag in her lap and lurched to her feet when she saw Hayden.
“Señora Rodriguez. What can I do for you?” Hayden held her voice steady and kept her expression neutral. Mrs. Rodriguez would not have come to Elliott & Johnson unless she had something to say.
The woman’s fingers toyed with the handle of her bag, a constant dance of agitation. “Can we go somewhere . . . privado?”
“My office should work.”
A few minutes later, Hayden watched her client over a mug of English breakfast tea. She had taken a seat in the chair next to Maricel, rather than retreating behind her desk. Maricel’s back was ramrod straight and her hands trembled around her coffee cup.
Hayden set her cup on a coaster on the desk and leaned forward. “How can I help you, Maricel?”
“You can’t.” Moisture pooled in the woman’s dark eyes, and she set her mug on the desk.
“Then why are you here?” Hayden softened her words by placing a hand on Maricel’s arm.
“Miguel’s father wants progress. He says he pays too much for no information. Miguel was his heir. And he wants his son’s possessions.”
“That’s interesting, because I can’t find anything on his father. I need you to give me his address or other contact information. I’ll personally update him.”
“No. That will not work.”
“But if he’s paying for this, I need to communicate with him.”
“No. Only through me and Mr. Campbell.” Maricel’s jaw firmed, echoing the stubbornness.
“Gerard?”
“Sí. What can I tell Daniel?”
“Why does he want to know?”
“It is his money.”
Hayden filled her in on the procedural aspects of the case, but the dazed expression on Maricel’s face communicated that she didn’t understand. Hayden sighed and tried again. “I’m working on learning information and interviewing witnesses before I refile.”
“Here?”
“Because we will sue the federal government, we can sue where you live. This will make things much simpler. But I need official confirmation about where Miguel was detained and what happened.” If only Snowden had been helpful.
“The death paper was not enough?”
Hayden straightened. “What do you mean? I don’t have a death certificate.”
“The paper I mentioned before. I gave it to Mr. Campbell with the ICE letter.”
Hayden frowned as she grabbed the file. She’d allowed the photo to distract her from getting this information. A mistake she couldn’t afford to make, especially when she was positive she’d never seen it. Leigh did an excellent job organizing case files and wouldn’t misplace something as important as the death certificate. Neither would Gerard. A first-year associate would understand the document’s importance.
Her senses went on high alert. “Do you have another copy?”
Maricel opened her bag and pulled a sheet of paper from a plastic sleeve. She held the sheet in her lap, her fingers caressing the edges. “It is all I have left.”
“I’m glad you brought it.” Hayden pressed the intercom button and summoned the paralegal.
“Leigh, I need three copies right away, if you don’t mind. We’ll give the original back to Maricel.” Eventually Hayden would obtain an original, but at this point it seemed safer in Maricel’s control.
While they waited Maricel didn’t say a word, but her hands never stilled. Hayden’s every attempt to initiate small talk fell flat.
“How is Jorge? Is he well?”
“He tries.” The woman shrugged, as if dislodging a weight. “It is hard.”
“I’m sure there are many changes.”
“Sí, and he misses Miguel.”
“Were they close?”
The woman waved her hand in
an así-así motion. One that suggested they weren’t.
Hayden jotted a note to follow up when Maricel wasn’t so anxious and uncomfortable. “Where are you working?”
The woman stiffened, raised her chin, and met Hayden’s gaze for the first time. “I do not work.”
But Jorge had told Hayden his mother was at work Saturday. Was it a language issue? Hayden made a note and continued. “How do you live?”
“I am sponsored.” The sponsor must be wealthy, if Maricel’s clothing was any indication. “I have time to establish before I work.” She slumped against the seat as if the small speech had exhausted her.
Hayden watched the woman, mystified. There was much more to her than she understood. Leigh brought the death certificate back and Hayden scanned it, then looked at Maricel. “How can I help you? You’re here, but I’m unsure why. I can’t help if I don’t know.”
“Miguel’s father, he wanted me to check on the progress.” She sank back into the chair, her accent heavier, causing Hayden to lean in to catch the words.
“I’ll gladly update him.”
Maricel’s eyes widened, and she shook her head. “No. You talk only to me. You do not want to talk to him.”
“Okay.” Hayden waited, but the woman remained silent. “I can use the information on the death certificate to ask better questions.” It would fill in a few gaps in her knowledge of Miguel’s story, but wasn’t enough alone. “It’s more than I had before. Thank you.”
“You will tell me everything?”
“Yes ma’am. Everything.”
Maricel’s eyes glistened as she blinked rapidly. “Gracias.” She sniffed, then stood. “I must leave.” She started to the door, then paused and turned back. “Promise. Everything.” Desperation filled her gaze, more than a grieving mother should have.