Thirty Nights (American Beauty #1)

by Ani Keating

  Sirens blare. Red lights spin. Dark, light, dark… Reagan’s hands are a vise around my fingers. She repeats slowly. Friday morning. Aiden said we knew. Another sound joins the sirens. Aiden talking on the phone,“yes we know about it”. An earlier unknown phone call in the backyard. A 253 area code. Aiden’s answer as he darts away from me.

  I have no senses left so whatever is still alive finds a sixth one. A sort of see-feel, more conscious than instinct and more subliminal than thought. It mutes the sirens.

  “Reagan, where’s Javier right now?”

  “At the Tacoma Northwest Detention Center. His bond hearing is at one thirty. I was just about to head over there. That’s why I was shocked you were here.”

  “What is Tacoma’s area code?” Of all the questions that will never be answered, and the ones that will, this is the threshold that decides my next step. Did Aiden really know and why did he lie?

  “Two five three,” Reagan reads from her phone.

  The room tilts and the sirens wail again. I dial Javier from Reagan’s phone, hoping against all evidence that this is all a mistake. A huge, terrible mistake.

  You’ve reached Harvey. Leave a message.

  “Maria said they take away their phones.” Reagan’s voice is hushed as she caresses my hair.

  “They get one phone call when they’re caught. Sometimes, a second if they can’t get through.”

  “That’s all?” Reagan’s horror doesn’t touch me. I’ve lived this reality for four years.“What about lawyers? Visitation rights?”

  “No right to a lawyer. Undocumented families can’t visit because they’re afraid they’ll get deported.” Of course, ICE doesn’t tell them that. This is communal wisdom from broken families.

  “So he’s all alone? That’s why Maria can’t go to the hearing?” Reagan covers her mouth with her hand.

  “He’s alone.”

  The words erase my bedroom. A sterile endless corridor reeking of ethanol, formaldehyde and something putrid stretches before me.

  You can’t see them, Miss Snow…stop her…she hit her head on the pavement, fainted.

  “Is it like jail?”

  “Yes.”

  “But it’s not a crime.” Reagan has no volume. Her face is white and her lips thin.

  “I know.”

  “What are the conditions like?”

  I shake my head. Should she know the stories? Suddenly, although she’s holding me, I’m protecting her. She’ll see the dark soon enough. I grip her hand as I ring Casa Solis.

  Maria answers but she doesn’t sound like Maria. Her voice is a shadow of sound too ephemeral to be called a whisper. “¡Amorcita! You in Tacoma? Tell him I’m there corazón y alma. Tell him I’ll set a plate at dinner every night.”

  “I’ll tell him, Maria. Did someone turn him in?” Is this the DOJ? Feign? But why?

  “I don’t know. The guard said they were waiting down the street around six in the morning as he headed to work.”

  Someone must have reported him. That’s too exact a time and location for ICE to be there accidentally. “And the girls?”

  “They don’t know.”

  “Good. Don’t tell them. Today is his bond hearing, he may still be released until the removal trial.”

  It’s highly unlikely. For Javier to be released on bond, the judge needs to decide he’s not a flight risk. With a paralyzed father and four sisters, Javier looks exactly like someone who would leave and not return for his trial. But Maria doesn’t need that reminder.

  When she hangs up, I turn to Reagan. “Let’s go.”

  “What about your signing?”

  “I have until four. Tacoma is an hour away. Drive like hell, Reagan.”

  “Maybe we should call Aiden? Maybe he can get him a lawyer or be a witness or something? I still don’t understand why you didn’t know.”

  I do. Aiden got the call Friday morning and didn’t tell me. I’m sickened to think of the reasons. To protect me? Or to make me hate him and leave him? You’ll get over it in a couple of hours, he said.

  We sprint out of the apartment, the door slamming behind us. Benson is leaning against the Rover. When he sees me, he straightens in a rigid way. Is this why Aiden gave him a stern look earlier?

  “Did he know?” I ask, hoping I’m missing something. I cannot hear my voice but Benson must because he hesitates and purses his lips. Reluctantly, he nods.

  “Why didn’t he tell me?” I know this question is not for Benson but I can’t stop it. He presses his lips tightly like he cannot speak.

  I have been violent once. Four years ago as they strapped me to a gurney. Whatever triggers the savage fires now. Anger strikes inexorably across miles, and finds him in his log cabin. The entire U.S. Marine Corps won’t be enough to save him when I see him. Impotent for release, anger expands. The epicenter envelops his cabin. The shock waves unleash me on his Rover. I start kicking it but Reagan yanks me back from my waist.

  No…let me see them…one last time…maybe they’re still warm… Please…let me say goodbye.

  * * * * *

  We get in Reagan’s MINI. I expect Benson to stop me but he doesn’t. He simply steps back, his face blank, as the tires screech on the pavement.

  “Isa, can you explain the process? How the hell does it work?”

  “Well, he could depart voluntarily but Javier will never do that with the women and Antonio behind. He’ll fight if he can because he’s their main support. So today the judge decides if he should be released on bond. Then, they set a removal hearing in a few weeks where they decide if he has any legal basis to stay. Chances that he wins are very low. Then, they ship him off and he cannot return for ten years.”

  Reagan’s profanities fill the car as it speeds over the black asphalt. At the immigration courthouse, we file through the security guards. Weapons? No. Illegal substances? My family. Intent to harm the U.S.? No. Passport? Not American? No. Why are you here? To live.

  The guard hands me to another, who pats me down. Numb as I am, I feel the hands more, not less. Reagan does not get patted down. They smile at her differently. You’re one of us. She doesn’t smile back.

  The courtroom for Javier’s hearing is sterile. American flags. Wooden chairs. The judge’s bench. One table for ICE, one for Javier. Twenty-nine days ago, a similar room crushed me. Today, I could demolish it with my heart alone. I fix my eyes on the clock on the wall, waiting. 1:16, 1:20, 1:21.

  The double doors in the back of the courtroom open. My knees give out.

  Javier wears an orange jumpsuit. An armed officer follows him inches behind. Javier’s head is down and he takes small steps. His skin is pallid despite its sienna beauty. For the first time in my life, I see him with a thick, dark stubble.

  I stand as he comes closer. He looks up at me with hollowed eyes. His face is haggard; his lips chapped. I stumble forward to hold him but the officer —Bailey, his tag says—slips between us.

  “No contact with detainees, ma’am.” Bailey holds out his hand. “Please step away.”

  I ignore Bailey and keep my eyes on Javier’s. “I’m here. Corazón y alma.”

  He’ll know it’s from Maria. And from me. Bailey drags him to the table. In minutes, a sharply dressed man strides in with a leather briefcase. Lawyer. I expect him to take ICE’s table but he sits by Javier. How did Javier get a sharply dressed lawyer? Maybe Aiden? The emptiness inside vibrates with something like life.

  “Mr. Solis, Christopher Benetto with the law firm Benetto and Briggs. I apologize I couldn’t meet you at the detention center. I was getting the details on your case.”

  Benetto scans the courtroom. His eyes rest briefly on Reagan and me. He and Javier whisper ear to ear away from Bailey. After some hushed conversation, Benetto strides toward us.

  “Miss Snow, Miss Starr, are you both documented?”
>
  “Yes, sir. I’m on my grace period, Reagan is a citizen.”

  “Good. Listen. It’s imperative that you don’t say anything during the hearing. Sometimes families and friends speak up but that does more harm than good. Particularly if you know something that could hurt him.” As he says the last words, Benetto looks straight at me. I know what he is not saying. Javier has worked illegally and I am a witness. If I speak up and ICE questions me under oath, I could harm Javier.

  “Did someone turn him in?” I try to speak normally but my voice comes out in whooshy wisps of air.

  “Yes. ICE got an anonymous tip. It must have been someone who knew when and where Javier would be.”

  “Was it the DOJ? They’ve been investigating a few things,” I suggest.

  Reagan raises an eyebrow at this news but I squeeze her hand. There will be time to tell later.

  Benetto shakes his head. “No, I checked. They seem to have closed the investigation and are starting Feign’s prosecution. The tip came from somewhere else—before the DOJ closed the file.”

  Incapable of doing something productive with that information, I focus on other horrors. “Does this mean that ICE will go after his parents now too?”

  Benetto smiles for the first time. “That’s highly unlikely. Recent presidential orders require ICE to focus on high-priority cases. They won’t waste resources on his parents. And even if they did, they wouldn’t deport them and leave the minor girls alone. Still, it’s best if his parents keep their distance—avoid the lion’s den, as it were.”

  I draw in some air—one horror down, too many more to go. “Mr. Benetto, what about your fee? Javier doesn’t have much money and—”

  “Don’t worry, Miss Snow. I can do this pro bono but fee arrangements are privileged. I cannot discuss them with you but he’ll be taken care of.”

  “How did you hear about Javier?” Something isn’t clicking. How would Benetto know about a random immigrant getting caught?

  “I can’t discuss that either. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” He ends the discussion with a nod and strides back to Javier. They resume their whispering. I keep my eyes on Javier, a symbiotic line keeping us tethered.

  ICE comes with pageantry. One lawyer and two support staff. When they walk past us, the lawyer’s eyes linger on Reagan and me. He takes his place at his table, setting out high stacks of paper and scribbling. I look away from his furious hand flying across the pages, and fix my eyes on Javier. The only way I can tell he is breathing is by the small rise of his shoulders.

  In twelve shoulder rises, the Honorable Judge Lopez walks in and we stand. The judge watches Javier as he swears to tell the truth, and nothing but the truth, so help him God.

  Help him God? Whose God? Who is he swearing to? The government that won’t recognize him? How can you recognize a man’s word but not his life? What credentials do we have but the way we live?

  ICE puts on its case. Illegal alien for ten years. He is not eligible for relief from deportation. The anonymous tipster mentioned painting supplies and frames. This evidence indicates he’s working illegally somewhere. He has accomplices that will harbor him. He will disappear. He should not be released on bond. ICE rains blows on Javier. He’s a creature of law, not of nature. Not a human, an alien. Not undocumented, illegal. Not families, accomplices.

  When ICE rests its case, Benetto takes over. Javier came here as a young teenager. He has minor sisters who are citizens, talented and dependent on him financially. His father is injured. He has no criminal history. He will return for the hearing. He should be released on bond. Benetto’s tactic is simple: highlight the man, the son, the brother, and not the law.

  At last, it’s over, and a silence descends on my eardrums. Judge Lopez’s face is inscrutable. He taps his pen mutely on the bench.

  It’s freezing…I’m barefoot…the hospital gown billows around me…rows of stainless steel boxes in the wall, doors shut.

  “Isa?” Reagan whispers urgently in my ear. I resurface as the judge’s voice fills the room.

  “Mr. Benetto, does your client have a legal basis that may allow him to stay? Marriage to a citizen or children?”

  “Not at this time, Your Honor. However, he has exigent circumstances with his family. We’ll be pursuing that argument vigorously.”

  “They all have exigent circumstances, Mr. Benetto, but the success of his removal is not before me today. I need to decide if I’ll release him until then.

  “I understand Mr. Solis has strong ties to this land. But unfortunately, none of them give him a statutory basis for relief. On the contrary, they make him a flight risk. He has reason to run and not return if I release him. Bond denied. He will remain in detention but I will expedite his removal hearing to June fifteenth. I will review your evidence about his role in his sisters’ well-being at that time. Adjourned.”

  Javier’s body slumps, mine with his. Benetto lifts him and Reagan lifts me to stand for the judge. I have no lungs, no heart, no blood. Not even tears. Benetto takes Javier’s arm, Bailey shadowing their every move.

  At last, Javier looks at me. Eye to eye. I know we’re seeing the same thing. Our first Christmas. Carnitas. Dancing. Babysitting. Feign jokes. Paintings.

  Paintings? ICE said the tipster knew about painting supplies and frames. Only three people know about the paintings outside of family: Feign, Aiden and Benson. An idea tries to take root in my head like a poisonous weed but my mind rejects it.

  Javier, Benetto and Bailey start moving in a slow procession. As they pass by us, Javier stops in front of me. As if released by his presence, my tears finally flow and drip between us. I throw my arms around him, ignoring Bailey’s protests. Let him arrest me for holding my only family.

  “Isa.” Javier speaks softly, tucking my head in his chest. He no longer smells like peppermint and paint. Only like an aged home. “Don’t tell the girls and don’t bring them here. They won’t understand.”

  “I know.”

  “And don’t you come here unless you have that green card in your hands. Swear it.”

  “What? No—” I lean back to argue but Benetto places his hand on my shoulder.

  “He’s right, Miss Snow,” Benetto says. “If you’ll be evaluated, it’s best to be safe.”

  “But who’ll come to see you? I don’t want you to be alone.”

  “I will.” Reagan’s voice is thick but confident. “Every day, Javier. Anything you need.” Javier thanks her, his face registering a shadow of embarrassment and surprise. Then he turns to me and takes my hands.

  “Don’t let them starve if this doesn’t work out,” he whispers.

  “I won’t,” I promise.

  He holds my gaze for a long moment then, abruptly, crushes me to his chest. His tight hold hurts my bruises and I jerk reflexively. He notices my reaction and frowns.

  “It’s nothing. Just me being stupid.”

  He looks like he’s about to say something but Benetto nudges him. Bailey is watching us. I want to ask about Javier’s call with Aiden but I can’t here.

  “It’s time, Miss Snow,” Benetto says, then everything happens too fast. Javier’s arms are gone, Bailey steps between us and they all walk away. I follow mindlessly in their wake. At the double doors, they pause once and Javier’s eyes meet mine.

  “Love you,” I say, giving my voice the full strength of the words. The love Javier has given me, and I him.

  “Always.”

  The doors close on him, as his face loses life.

  Elisa, remember we change in death…two metal tables, side by side…white sheets…two discolored hands in rigor mortis… Are you sure, Elisa?… No, not anymore. The hands are nothing like them. I walk backward…the doors close in front of me.

  Reagan’s arms wrap around me tightly. Somehow, we’re in the parking lot, in her car.

  “Who could do this?
” she says over and over again. “Could it have been Feign himself? You said he’s being investigated.”

  I shake my head, staring at nothing. “What would he stand to gain now in the end?”

  “I don’t know—maybe he panicked. Who else would do this?”

  I try to consider her theory but my brain starts connecting dots I don’t want connected. Painting supplies still at Aiden’s home, Aiden’s demand that I turn Javier in, his promise to destroy anything that might hurt me, the tipster knowing Javier’s location and schedule, no links to the DOJ. I hate the suspicions my mind is forming so I dial from Reagan’s phone to dispel them.

  Aiden’s phone rings for a long time, compared to the one ring it usually holds for me. As I am about to hang up and call again, he answers.

  “Elisa.” His voice is quiet.

  “I know you know he was caught and we’ll deal with that later. Right now I need to hear you had nothing to do with it.”

  He doesn’t answer. I listen for sound but there is nothing. Empty as I am, I feel like a pipeline. Free for the flowing of any sewage-like emotion. First, fear.

  He’s still silent.

  “Did you turn him in?” My voice drops to terrified whisper.

  “Yes.” His voice is low but even.

  “No! No, you’re lying. Tell me you’re lying.”

  He doesn’t speak.

  “I don’t believe you.” With no reason, I cling to instinct. But as I say the words, I remember his hideous threat to Javier if something were ever to endanger me.

  “You wouldn’t do this. You would never hurt me this way.” Every cell—and there aren’t many left—rejects the idea.

  “I’ve already done it.” His voice is resigned. The asphalt of the parking lot morphs into black cloth. Black mourning dress, black lace, then darkness.

  I fight, reason and plead with him but his answer never changes. Pain comparable only to a fatal accident fills the emptiness. I wait for thought to find me. It forms in scraps.

  “Why did you do it? Did you want me to leave you so badly that it didn’t matter how many paid for it? Is this some sick way of saving me from yourself? Of making my dreams come true at the expense of others?”