by S. E. Rose
“OK, let’s see. It says your brother, Juan Nicholas, was born at one fifteen a.m. on April 7, 1993, and you, Elena Liliana, were born at one eighteen a.m. on April 7, 1993. Your brother weighed, uh, oh, it’s in kilograms, two point nine kilograms and you weighed two point two kilograms. Your mother’s name is,” I suck in a deep breath as he says this, “Rosa Miranda Rodriguez Ramirez and your father’s name is…hmmmm. That’s strange. It just says ‘desconocido’ (unknown).” Lance looks at me. “Do you know who your father is, Lily?” I shake my head. “Well, the only other thing on here is the doctor’s name, Dr. Juan Cristian Garcia Sanchez.”
Lance looks at me. I take back the document and take a few photos of it with my phone.
“What now?” he asks.
I look at him. “We find Dr. Juan Cristian Garcia Sanchez,” I answer.
Chapter 7
Lily’s Playlist: “Beautiful Pain” by Eminem
I walk out of the room and find the woman who showed us inside. I ask about Dr. Garcia. She shrugs and tells me to wait a minute and she’ll ask. Five minutes later as Lance and I sit on a bench, my hand still clenched in his, she comes back and announces that Dr. Garcia retired about five years ago. I ask if she knows where he is at and she shakes her head.
My shoulders slump and I lean my head back against the wall.
“Now what?” Lance asks me.
I shrug. I look at my phone, it’s nearly 11:30 a.m. “Let’s grab lunch. I need to think.”
We start walking down the hall, weaving our way through corridors that lead us back out of the facility. As we pass the next nurses station, I see two women talking. One of them looks up and signals to me to follow her. I glance nervously at Lance who tightens his grip on my hand, but I comply and follow her into a small office.
She speaks quickly in Spanish and says she overheard a conversation about Dr. Garcia and am I the woman looking for him? I tell her yes. She reaches into her pocket and pulls out a piece of paper with an address on it. I look into her brown eyes and I can see uncertainty but also something else, perhaps empathy. I thank her, and we quietly make our way out of the hospital.
Lance guides me down a few blocks to a small café and orders us coffee and empanadas. I sit and stare at the address. I pull out my phone and Google Map it. It’s exactly 1.2 miles from where I sit. I look up at Lance who is sipping his coffee and studying my face. I place the paper on the table and place a hand on it.
“This is where we go next,” I say softly. I look up at him and he puts his hand over mine.
“OK,” he answers and gives me an encouraging smile. The warmth of his hand gives me strength and I take a deep breath and drink my coffee. After lunch, we get back in his car and head toward the address on the slip of paper.
“One oh one, one oh two, one oh three,” he stops the car and pulls over. We both stare up at a rather posh-looking apartment building. He pays the road attendant and we walk inside the lobby. There’s a security officer and he asks us who he should ring. I tell him unit 607, Dr. Garcia.
He uses the old black phone with a cord to call, I’m guessing unit 607. He states that two Americans are here to speak with Dr. Garcia. After a minute he nods and asks us to follow him, he unlocks an elevator and presses a button, and says the unit is on the left when we exit.
I knock on a white door with the number 607 on it. A young woman answers the door.
“Please come in,” she says in English, American English.
“Thank you,” I answer and follow her as she leads me to a small living room with windows that overlook the city.
“I’m Julia. You are asking for my grandfather?” she inquires with a raised eyebrow as she sits gracefully on a leather chair across from the sofa we have sat upon.
“Yes, he was the doctor who delivered me,” I say and then seeing her confusion I add, “I was adopted and am here doing some research about my biological family.”
I see her face change from a look of confusion to a frown. “You know he can’t give out patient information, right?”
“Oh, of course, I understand that,” I explain. “I just have a question about my birth certificate, some information is missing and I was curious if he might remember why.”
She nods her understanding. “He’s very old now and not doing well. I highly doubt he’d remember something so minute, but I suppose I can ask if he is willing to speak with you. Give me a moment.” She excuses herself and walks down a long hall. I look at Lance. He gives my hand a squeeze and I feel myself relax a little.
“It’ll be OK, Lily,” he whispers in my ear, brushing my hair aside so I can feel his warm breath on my earlobe.
“I hope so, Lance. I just want answers,” I say quietly, partly toward him and partly just to myself.
Julia walks back in and motions for us to follow her. We go down a long narrow hallway and enter a den. A frail-looking old man lies in a hospital bed with an IV hooked up to his arm. He looks at me questioningly.
“Please sit down,” he says in English in a gruff old voice. He has a thick Spanish accent, but I can tell he is well-educated and speaks perfect English.
“My granddaughter tells me you are here to ask me about your birth certificate,” he says, smiling. “I’m not sure I’ll be of much help. My memory isn’t what it used to be.”
“Oh, of course, I understand,” I answer him and take a seat next to his bed. “My name is Lily, it was Elena Liliana Rodriguez Ramirez. My mother was Rosa Miranda and I had a twin, Juan Nicholas.” I think I see his expression change, just slightly, almost indiscernibly. I continue, “My birth certificate says my father is unknown. We were born in April—”
“Nineteen ninety-three,” he finishes my statement. “I often wondered if you would ever come looking.”
I know my eyes must have enlarged to twice their size as I try to comprehend what he has just told me.
“You remember me,” I whisper.
“Yes, I remember you, but mostly I remember your mother,” he says slowly as though he’s remembering something from a very long time ago, which I guess is exactly what is happening.
“Rosa was young. She was maybe fifteen. And she was small, so small, smaller than you. She didn’t seek treatment prior to coming in to have you. Most poor young women don’t. She must have been in labor for some time because when she arrived, she was already trying to push you out, but considering how small she was I was certain that wasn’t going to happen. She pleaded with me that she didn’t want surgery, that she couldn’t take time off work. Her face still haunts me. I had been working in the U.S. for a number of years but had come back here when my mother took ill with cancer. Your mother was my first patient, my first day back working here in Ibague. It was just after midnight when she arrived. I asked where your father was and at first, she refused to say. Then she said there was no father. I asked if she was Maria and she started to cry and said she wished she was. I asked if she had been raped and she didn’t answer me. I examined her and there was substantial vaginal scarring. I knew the answer; I didn’t need to pry further.”
He looks deeply into my eyes. “She was stubborn, and she did push you out after she managed to get your brother out first. There was so much blood loss. I tried to stop the bleeding for two hours.” I can see the pain in his eyes at this memory and he repeats himself before going on. “I tried to stop the bleeding. We took her to the OR when it was available, but she died right there on the operating table. I’ll never forget that. She was so young. Anyhow, no one came to claim her for a day or two. Eventually, a priest with a church just a few blocks from the hospital came. I don’t remember his name, but he was American, I think. It was that church with the blue door by the Parque de San Cristobal. He said Rosa had worked for him and he had heard she had given birth. I said yes and showed you both to him. He held you both and then asked to see her. I explained she had died and he just nodded and walked out the door.”
“So, no one knows who my father is?” I ask, my eye
s wide with the knowledge that has just been shared with me. I know that tears are flowing down my cheeks, but I don’t stop them. Julia hands me a tissue and I thank her.
“No, I’m afraid she never said,” he answers thoughtfully. “It happens more often than not especially with young girls; they don’t want to get anyone in trouble or sometimes they really don’t know if it’s one boy versus another. I’m sorry I couldn’t be of more help.”
“No, no, you have given me so much information,” I say as I stand and take his hand. “Thank you, Dr. Garcia.”
“You were the feisty one, you know,” he says with a wink. “Your brother was lazy and didn’t want to breathe, but you came out wailing.”
I laugh at that. “Well, some things haven’t changed much.” He nods.
“I’m glad you came to see me,” he says with a raspy cough. “I’m glad you found a family.”
“I did, a wonderful family,” I say.
“Good,” he answers.
I thank Julia and him and walk out of the apartment. Lance follows me, but I’m so deep in thought I don’t notice until his hand touches the small of my back as I wait for the elevator.
“You OK?” he asks. He brushes a tear from my cheek with the back of his finger.
“I don’t know,” I say as I walk into the elevator and lean my head back against the wall and close my eyes. As the elevator's door closes, I feel his arms come around me and pull me against him. I don’t struggle against him. I just let myself melt into his embrace, my tears leaving wet trails on his polo shirt. The ding of the elevator door sounds. We don’t move.
“I’m taking you back to my place,” Lance states. I don’t acknowledge what he’s said, but I follow him to his car. He opens the door for me and then, after I sit, he pulls the seatbelt out and fastens it. I’m too lost in my head to fight this overbearing gesture. I hear the door shut and then he’s beside me and driving. I stare out the window, watching buildings and people go by. We drive to the edge of town, opposite of where we would go if he were taking me back to the orphanage. We’re heading toward the airport. He pulls off into a gated community along the main road. He waves at a guard and the gate opens as we drive in and down several streets. He pulls up to a two-story house with a garage. He parks, and I start to climb out. He’s around the car before I even get the door open. He helps me out and places his hand on the small of my back, guiding me toward the front door. He ushers me inside and toward a sofa.
“Have a seat,” he says softly against my ear. “I’ll get us a coffee.”
I nod and sit. Well, really I curl up, tossing my sandals on the floor. I bring my knees up to my chest and put my forehead down on them. I can’t believe my mother was raped. I can’t believe I killed, we killed, our mother. I can’t believe she was only fifteen. The doctor’s words come back to me, something about how she wished she was the Virgin Mary. Jesus, what awful things happened to her that she would wish that? I let myself sob, for the mother I never knew, for the father who did the most unspeakable thing to her, for my brother, for myself. I sob for a long time. At some point, I feel Lance sit down next to me and pick me up, placing me half in his lap. I curl into a ball with my head on his thighs. He strokes my hair as I cry. At some point, I fall asleep.
I’m not sure how long I’ve been asleep. I wake with a start, my eyes flying open. My body stiffens as I realize that I’m using Lance’s lap as a pillow.
“Hey, it’s alright, Lily,” Lance says soothingly. “You just fell asleep.”
“What time is it?” I ask, sitting up.
“Two thirty—you only slept for an hour,” he says. “I didn’t want to wake you.” He brings a hand up to my cheek and brushes it softly with his knuckles. I glance up and find his brilliant blue eyes boring into me.
“Sorry,” I mutter. “I guess I was just exhausted. I haven’t been sleeping well. I mean I never sleep well.”
“No?” he prods.
“Nope,” I answer.
“You want more coffee?” he asks, holding up a mug. “I think it’s cold, but I can make more.”
“No, no, this is fine, thank you,” I respond as I take the mug from him.
I sip the now lukewarm liquid. I close my eyes and try to center myself.
“How are you doing?” he asks gently, a hand still resting on my back.
I put the mug down and look at him. “I just…I never thought…I can’t believe…” I trail off, not sure what to say.
“That was a lot to process, Lily, a lot for anyone,” he whispers against my cheek before he plants a soft kiss on it.
“Yeah,” I reply. I feel a bit numb at the moment.
“Do you want to stay here tonight?” he asks. “Can you? I mean, do they need you at the orphanage tonight?”
“Uh, I don’t know,” I say honestly. “I hadn’t thought I’d be later than dinner time. I’ll call and ask.”
I reach into my purse that’s sitting on the coffee table and call the orphanage. Yenny answers and I ask her if I’m needed that night. She says no and asks that I be back by 7:00 a.m. the next morning to help with the younger kids.
“So you can stay?” he inquires after I finish my call.
“Yes,” I answer, although I’m not sure if I want to. “But I don’t have any of my things.”
“That’s OK, we can run to the Exito,” he says. Exito is the Colombian Walmart. I know there’s a big one not far from him, as I saw it on my way from the airport.
“Alright,” I answer.
He takes me to the store and I pick up a few things. He insists on paying for them. I don’t have the wherewithal to put up a fight, so I give in and accept his generosity. He stops by a pizzeria on the way back and comes out holding two pizzas. They smell amazing and I suddenly realize I’m very hungry even though it’s only going on 4 p.m. We drive back to his house in silence and I sit at the kitchen table and watch him put pizza slices on two plates.
“Cheese or pepperoni?” he asks.
“Cheese, please,” I answer as I take a plate from him. He hands me a bottled water and places one down in front of him. We eat in silence.
“Thanks,” I say quietly, glancing down at my empty plate.
“You’re most welcome,” he answers. “You want to watch a movie? I bet we can find a good horror movie on Netflix.”
I smile at him. “That sounds great.”
He reaches over and takes my hand again. “Lily, I wish I knew what to say. I just want you to know that I’m here for you if you want to talk about it.”
I look at him for the first time since this morning. I mean really look at him. “It’s just a lot to process, Lance. I…what happened to her…I didn’t know any of that. The adoption agency just said my mother had died. That she was a teenager and likely had an affair with another teenager. I just can’t believe it. Why wouldn’t they tell us that? I don’t even know what to think or what to believe anymore.” I close my eyes and then I feel him move toward me and pull me up into his embrace. His strong arms wrap around me and crush me to his body.
“I’m so sorry, baby,” he whispers against my hair as he kisses my forehead. I let him hold me for a few moments. It feels so natural, it almost alarms me that I feel so comfortable in his arms. “Shall we go watch a film?”
I nod against his chest. He turns me around and walks me back to the sofa. He turns on the TV, a smart TV, and brings up Netflix. We find a classic horror movie and he puts it on, sitting down next to me. He pulls me against him and I comply, placing my head on his chest and sliding my legs under me. He uses his free arm to wrap a blanket over us.
“Where’s Cody?” I ask as I realize it’s now 6:00 p.m.
“Oh, he’s in Bogota for a few days on business,” he answers nonchalantly.
“Oh,” I murmur against his chest.
Around 8:00 p.m. when the movie ends, I can feel my eyelids growing heavy. “Where shall I sleep?” I ask him.
“There’s a guest room upstairs,” he says. He tak
es my hand in his and leads me up a modern staircase with a railing suspended by thick wires running from the ceiling to each step. “In here.” He motions me in the room. “I’ll give you some privacy.”
He’s already laid the Exito bags on the bed. I put on my pajamas and brush my teeth. I go to thank him, finding he’s in nothing but pajama bottoms. He’s sitting at a desk in his room, typing a message.
“Everything OK?” he asks, not looking up from his computer screen.
“Yes, fine, thanks,” I say not sure what to do. “Thanks again, Lance.”
He looks up at me and stops typing. He stands and walks over to me. “You sure you’re OK?” I nod, but not very convincingly. He turns to me and leads me back to my room. He tucks me into my bed, something that even my mother hasn’t done in years. I feel so calm when he’s near me.
He stands, as though to leave. “Lance?”
“Yes, Lily?” he answers, his voice sounds raspy and deeper than normal.
“Will you…I don’t want to be alone.” I feel silly asking him to stay until I fall asleep, but I know I’ll sleep better if he’s there. Instead of answering me, he pushes back the covers on the other side of the bed and gets in next to me. He pulls me against him and I wrap myself around his body. He runs his hand in long motions up and down my back.
“We’ll need to get up early if you have to be back by seven,” he says in a whisper.
“I know,” I answer as I listen to his heart beating in his chest.
I lift my head up so that our faces are mere inches apart and I kiss him. When I pull away, he’s looking at me with wide eyes. “Thank you.”
Placing a hand on the side of my face and my jaw, he pulls my head back to his and then kisses me back. His tongue probes my lips and I let him explore my mouth with it. His free hand runs down my shirt and under the hem. I feel him caress my stomach and then my breast. His finger finds my nipple and runs circles slowly around it. I moan into his mouth.
I feel his hardness against my thigh. His hand runs down my stomach, and I feel him separate my panties from my skin as he moves further down my body. Then he’s touching me. One finger slowly separating my folds, feeling how wet I am for him. He runs it back and forth over my entrance, teasing me before attempting to push a single finger inside of me. He stops suddenly and I know, he knows.