by Susan Wiggs
“Oh, Will.” Sarah’s eyes shone with tears. “I’m sorry.”
Marisol told him she knew this was unforgivable, but she also knew if she stayed in Glenmuir, she would suffocate. She would be like Mrs. Dundee’s pet pigeons with their clipped wings, miserable and caged.
“What about Aurora?” Will had demanded, feeling the hurt but not the anger, not yet.
“She is your daughter now,” Marisol said. It was true. Thanks to Birdie, he had adopted the child and was her legal parent.
There was a date on the divorce decree that had come through—along with the electric bill—in final form months later, but Will paid no attention to it. He knew the marriage had broken apart long before that.
He told Sarah how hard it was to explain to Aurora that her mother was away, that she planned to stay away, maybe forever. He could still see the look on his daughter’s face—wide-eyed and hurt, a look of abandonment.
“She never came back?” Sarah asked softly.
“Not once. She’d call at Christmas and sometimes on Aurora’s birthday, but that was it. Eventually, those calls stopped, too, and I only heard from her when she was broke.”
There was a long silence, filled with the cries of seabirds.
“You deserved better,” Sarah said.
“Who the hell knows what I deserve? I ended up with Aurora, which is like winning the lottery.”
“Oh, Will. I love you so much—”
A pickup truck swung into the driveway. Gloria jumped out and ran up to the house. “Sorry to interrupt, but I just got a real interesting call. There’s been an anonymous tip about the arson.”
Will could tell from the expression on Gloria’s face that she believed the tip was genuine. When the phone rang, he was tempted to ignore it. Another call about the arson? He snatched it up with a distracted, “Bonner here.”
It was his mother. “I’m worried about Aurora. She’s not here yet.”
Will glanced at the clock. Hours.
As he listened to his mother, he felt all the air rush out of him. The panic must have screamed from his face, because when he hung up, Sarah demanded, “What happened?”
In a flash, he remembered Aurora confronting him: You’ve been paying my mother to stay away. She’d found the receipts. No doubt she’d figured out where Marisol lived, too.
“Aurora went to find her mother.”
Forty
In Las Vegas, Aurora felt the slap of desert heat in her face. It made her think of what Hansel from “Hansel and Gretel” must have felt, being shoved into the witch’s oven. Or maybe what her dad felt when he fought a fire.
Don’t think about Dad, she reminded herself. She’d come too far and there was no turning back, so thinking about him wasn’t going to help a thing.
Stowing away with Aunt Lonnie’s cargo had been fairly easy, the flight wedged between shipping containers uncomfortable but short. Aurora had slipped away from the cargo hangar while Lonnie was dealing with the delivery. Aurora didn’t want to get Aunt Lonnie in trouble, but she had to do this, and she intended to do it on her own. Although unsure of what would happen when she finally came face-to-face with her mother, she just had to see her.
It was a quick walk to the main terminal. She felt a little intimidated by all the people rushing around, dragging luggage, and the shrieks and bells from thousands of slot machines, but fear only made her more determined to see this through. At the ATM, she helped herself to some Quick Cash using her card and the usual PIN code that spelled her dad’s name. The taxi line moved fast, and within a few minutes, she was giving the address to the driver and praying her life savings—a wad of bills amounting to about a hundred dollars—would cover the fare.
In just a few blocks, boom. She was smack in the middle of Las Vegas. In the late afternoon, the city was hot and dry, the huge highway interchange crammed with traffic, the sidewalks crowded with tourists and booths where you could buy just about anything. All the buildings had glittering false fronts. There were man-made water features and palm trees that didn’t belong, but were kept alive by workers irrigating them in the sweltering heat.
She felt sick to her stomach, but it wasn’t from the flying or even from the hot, smelly cab. She tried to feel right about this but instead, she felt terrible. She was a bad daughter. Her dad deserved to be with people like his parents and Sarah—people who loved him and would never leave him. He had given up his dreams to rescue Aurora and her mom. Well, she was older now. She didn’t need rescuing.
It was a little shocking to see the apartment complex where her mother lived. The place was made of fake adobe and surrounded by desert plants with thorny-edged leaves like giant fans. Aurora paid the driver, squared her shoulders, and went to find apartment 121-B. The front door faced a courtyard that contained a landscaped play area and a swimming pool that sparkled in the sun.
Well, she was here now. She’d ask her mother. She curled her hand into a fist and knocked firmly at the door.
The wait was endless. She was almost relieved when no one answered. Maybe her mother had moved away, left no forwarding address. Aurora decided to count to sixty. Then she’d turn on her cell phone, call Aunt Lonnie and beg her forgiveness. Aurora scuffed her foot against the bristly doormat, disturbing a colony of pill bugs, running for cover. When she reached forty-eight, she knocked one last time. And the door opened a crack, pulling a brass security chain taut. It stayed open only a moment, but she recognized her mother’s face. A Spanish game show played on a TV somewhere.
“Mama?” she said, automatically switching to Spanish. “It’s me. Aurora.”
The door slammed in her face. Again, Aurora felt a welling of relief, but it was short-lived. There was a click as the chain was unhooked, and then the door opened wide. At the same time, a phone rang somewhere. They both ignored it.
“I can’t believe you’re here,” her mother said, stepping back and motioning her inside. Then she hugged Aurora.
Awkward. That was the only thing Aurora felt. She had always pictured her mother as a large, powerful figure, but now she realized that was the impression of a little kid. Now she was taller and heavier than her mother. Mama still had that air of glamour, though. She wore lots of makeup, beautifully applied, and her hair was glossy and stylish. She wore a great outfit, too, a microsuede skirt, lacy camisole, tall wedge sandals.
“What are you doing here?” her mother asked, her large brown eyes seeming to drink in the sight of Aurora.
“I found your address on some papers and decided to come and see you. I didn’t tell Dad. I just came. I need to call him later and let him know I’m all right.”
“Come in,” her mother said, seeming nervous and eager. “Come and sit. Look at you, all grown-up and so beautiful.”
The apartment smelled of perfume and a slight dampness weighted the air, as though someone was using the shower. Then she realized someone was; she could hear the steady hiss of running water.
Mama noticed her glance flickering at the door, slightly ajar, which led to a bedroom. “Eduardo,” she explained, fluttering her hand. “We were on our way out to dinner.”
“Oh!” Aurora’s nerves jangled. This was hard enough, seeing her mom. She wasn’t quite ready to meet the boyfriend, too. Why did parents do this? she wondered. Why did they have a kid and then split up and expect the kid to deal with all these other people? “I guess I should have called.”
“I’m glad you’re here,” Mama assured her. “Please, please, sit down.”
Aurora lowered herself cautiously to the sofa. It was cushy, its tall sides seeming to close around her. The place was decorated with lots of pink and white. Aurora was beginning to think her dad was totally wrong about her mom. He seemed to think she had this sketchy lifestyle Aurora shouldn’t know about. In reality, Mama was perfectly normal. Younger and prett
ier than other mothers, and the boyfriend in the bathroom was a bit of an issue, but still... The host on the TV talk show was annoying, rolling his Rs and cheering when a contestant got the name of a song correct. She found the remote control and hit the mute button.
“Are you hungry?” her mother asked. “Thirsty? What can I get you?”
“Some water, I guess.”
“Water. Of course. With ice?” Mama darted toward the kitchen, which was adjacent to the main room. She brought Aurora a big tumbler filled with ice and tap water, and had a seat on the sofa, tugging her skirt down. “So. Here you are. I still can’t get over it.” She reached out and touched Aurora’s cheek. Her hand was damp and chilly from the ice water. “How old are you now? Remind me.”
Remind her? Was she kidding? How could somebody not know the exact age of her own child? She laughed a little and ignored the question. “I found out some things Dad never told me, and I decided to come and see you,” she said, getting right to the point. She explained about the statement describing their life in Mexico—the squalor, the danger, the building with no fire escape. “Is it true?” she asked.
Her mother wore an odd smile, not like she was happy, but maybe a little amused. The phone rang again and she grabbed the handset, checking the caller ID before she set it down and let it ring until it stopped. “Not everybody grows up like you did in America,” she said. “I learned to survive on my own when I was younger than you.”
Aurora wondered what she herself would do in order to survive. Become a prostitute? Take off her clothes for strange men and have sex with them? The thought made her dizzy with nausea, but at the same time, she realized she wouldn’t be here if not for one of those strange men. She studied her mother, the face she didn’t know anymore, the hands that flitted and fidgeted in her lap.
“Dad took you away from that,” she said to her mother. “We had a good life—”
“You had a good life. I had a job cleaning for an old lady and no one to talk to, because your dad was working and training all the time. Every single day was the same, except that my back hurt more each night, and I was more and more bored.” She scratched her hands up and down her bare arms, as if the recollection made her skin itch.
“If you didn’t want that kind of life, why did you leave Mexico in the first place?”
Mama kept scratching her arms, not seeming to notice the long red welts she was creating. The memories must be painful, and Aurora felt bad for asking, but she really wanted to know.
“The statement William gave left that part out,” Mama said. “I was arguing with Uncle Felix—the owner of the house.” She hesitated, then took a breath and said, “I was the one who set it on fire.”
Aurora watched her mother’s hands, scratching up and down, up and down, on her arms. There were things about that night that haunted her, memories locked deep, but she felt them rising slowly to the surface. She saw her mother’s hands, heard her voice, telling her to stay in the house. She heard her own shrill, baby voice, begging Mama to let her come.
“You set the fire with people in the house?” Aurora said. “With me in it?”
She waved her hand. “It was an accident. I was fighting with Felix. Everything happened so fast, and I couldn’t get to you. But I knew you were safe, thank God.”
Aurora’s heart was beating fast with fury and betrayal. “How did you know, Mama? How did you know I was safe?”
“Because of William. He saved you. This is something else you were never told. When the house was burning, William climbed up on the roof and rescued you.”
Even then, thought Aurora. Even before Dad knew her name or anything about her, he’d risked his life to save her. Oh, God, she thought. What have I done?
“William never wanted you to know these things about our last night in Mexico,” Mama was saying. “He did not think you could handle it.”
“And what do you think, Mama?”
“I think you are like me,” she said, her hands coming to rest in her lap as she fixed Aurora with a keen stare. “I think you can handle anything.”
“You don’t even know me,” Aurora said. “Why didn’t you ever come back? Why did you stop calling?”
The phone rang yet again. This time, her mother darted into the next room and picked up. Aurora could hear the murmur of her voice, could smell the waft of steam from the shower. She sat perfectly still on the sofa, not wanting to disturb anything. The bald facts about the past stared her in the face, but it was as though they were written in code, incomprehensible.
At least she understood her father better now, though. He had lied and lied and lied. All to protect her. The day they met, he’d saved her, and through the years, he’d done so again and again. And this was how she repaid him. By running away to a woman who didn’t know her, didn’t understand her, didn’t want her. Aurora felt tired, as though she’d reached the end of a long journey, much longer than the flight to Vegas. Her childhood lay behind her, like the wreckage after a storm.
When Mama exited the room, she looked different. Brighter and more animated and relieved, maybe. It was so hard for Aurora to tell what her mother was thinking and feeling. But it wasn’t hard to figure out, finally, the real reason for her mother’s behavior. She was on drugs. Maybe she was even an addict. Back when Mama lived in Glenmuir, she had to be taken to the hospital a lot, and Aurora’s dad always said something vague, like she wasn’t feeling well. Now Aurora knew it had to do with drugs. It hurt so bad to realize drugs had turned her mother into a stranger. The minutes seemed to crawl by. Aurora took out her cell phone.
“This is Eduardo,” Mama said.
With a guilty start, Aurora stuffed the phone into her backpack and jumped up. “Hello,” she said. “I’m Aurora.”
He was older and nice-looking, with comb furrows in his hair and a neat mustache. “It is a privilege to meet you,” he said. “Marisol has told me about you.”
“She has?”
“Indeed.” He held out his hand, and Aurora felt obliged to take it. Otherwise, he’d think she was rude. But instead of shaking hands, he did this really corny thing, bowing over her hand and lightly kissing it. The gesture was quick, but not quick enough. Maybe it was Aurora’s own nervousness, but she swore he did this creepy, fluttery thing with his fingers. It made her want to wash her hand.
“So we will all go to dinner, yes?” her mother said brightly. “You must be hungry.”
“Actually, I—”
“The restaurant is called La Paloma,” Eduardo said, holding open the door. “It is a favorite of mine.”
Though she tried to stammer that she needed to get back to the airport, Aurora felt swept along by his smooth manners and her mother’s blithe chatter. At least the restaurant was in the main part of the city, right on the Strip. She could see planes landing and taking off. At the restaurant, people seemed to know Eduardo. There was some bowing and scraping, a sense that he was in command. Aurora could feel speculative stares poking at her.
“I need to go to the restroom,” she said.
“We’ll go together.” Mama popped up.
Great, thought Aurora. Her mom might seem distracted, but she probably knew exactly what Aurora intended to do—call her dad, right away. “Never mind,” she said, sitting back down. “I can wait.”
Dinner was excruciating, with lots of different courses and these dumb little sorbets in between. Aurora wasn’t hungry at all. She barely looked up, because the people who kept hovering around the table seemed way too interested in her. Finally, after a dessert of hot pastries dripping with honey, she said, “I have to go to the airport. I’m sure Lonnie’s wondering where I am.”
“We will take you,” Eduardo stated, signing the check with a flourish.
“It’s really close. I’ll take a taxi, or walk.”
“Nonsense. Let us take
you.”
As she stood waiting for the valet to bring the car around, Aurora felt as if she was on the way to her own execution. She knew she was being totally paranoid, but she had the feeling they weren’t going to take her to the airport, that they had other plans for her. It didn’t help matters that Mama and Eduardo were hissing and murmuring to one another, obviously caught up in a disagreement.
In the car—a fancy Cadillac—Aurora eyed the door handle next to her. If they didn’t head straight for the airport, she’d jump out, even if the car was still moving. They seemed to move at a crawl. The lights of Las Vegas colored the sky. She fixed her attention on the airport and willed the car to go faster. After an eternity, they turned in and she pointed out the air cargo center.
Aurora couldn’t get out of the car fast enough. “Thanks,” she said, yanking on the door handle.
Nothing. The lock was down and she couldn’t find the button to unlock it.
“Hey, what—”
“Aurora.” Mama turned in her seat. “Now that you’re here, I wish you would stay. Eduardo wishes this, too. We could have fun together, go shopping, go to restaurants. Movies and shows.”
“I need to get out of this car.” Aurora manually unlocked the door and, thank God, it worked. She jumped out, hearing her mother call her name. Maybe she’d only imagined the creepy looks, maybe she was being totally paranoid. It didn’t matter now.
Because there, looking as though he had run all the way from Glenmuir, was her dad, striding toward her. Aurora almost cried with relief as she broke into a run. This was her dad, and he had chosen her, even when her mother abandoned her. It was time to quit pretending she had this cool mom in Vegas when the truth was, she had the best dad in the world, even if it meant she was grounded for life.