by Casey Dawes
“Of course.” Anger shortened the vowels.
“You’re not paying me to be gentle with you, Alicia. I’m trained to ask the hard questions, the ones that get you to develop a life of joy and purpose. Why the anger?”
“Because you, like everyone else, don’t seem to understand I’m in a box. I don’t have choices. I need to take the next step toward achieving my goals as soon as possible.”
“We all have choices, Alicia. We decide how we’re going to live each day—whether from a place of resentment or a place of hope and intention. Yes, you have some constraints.”
Some constraints? Why did Sarah and Elizabeth think this woman was worth the time?
“Wow. You’ve got quite a reservoir of anger there,” Carol said. “I can sense it slithering through the wires with some venom.”
The image of a rattler making its way through the telephone forced Alicia to smile. “I guess.”
“Why?”
She slumped back into the car seat. No pacing today; the midsummer fog had extended its tendrils to the mountain ridges. She thrummed her fingertips on the steering wheel.
“Because of my dad and all that. Why couldn’t he have loved us enough to want us?” Her throat tightened, and tears forced their way from her eyes.
“Ah. Why do good people do bad things? There’s no one answer, I’m afraid. Most of us have made decisions that we look back on with regret. Haven’t you?”
Getting pregnant at sixteen hadn’t been smart, especially since the women around her, the women who’d already lived through teenage hormones and survived, had warned her about Eduardo and the risks she was taking. Her stupidity still haunted her. She loved Luis, but sometimes, making it through the day with him was pure hell. She always thought it was God punishing her for her foolishness.
“Yes.”
“Are you angry with yourself?” the coach asked.
“Of course.”
“I’ve found we need to forgive ourselves first before we can do an adequate job of letting others off the hook.”
She didn’t want to forgive her parents. She wanted to hang on to the small, hard rock of outrage so she could believe she was better than they were.
“What difference will that make?” She flung open the door. Fog or no fog, she needed to pace.
“Why are you angry with yourself?”
“Because I totally effed up my life by getting pregnant.” And Luis’s life. And her mother’s. And her grandmother’s.
God, she’d done a good job of it.
“Is that true?”
“Yes.”
“How do you know that’s true?”
“I wanted to go to Berkeley. My teachers told me I had a good shot at a scholarship. I’ll never have that chance again.” She kicked a pebble off the cliff.
“No, you won’t have that chance, but you may have another. You’re going to school and taking a challenging class. A doctor is helping you with Luis. You have support from your family, as well as Elizabeth. Sounds like you have a lot going for you. Why can’t you be anything you want?”
Alicia clutched her jacket more tightly to shut out the wisps of grayness that were chilling her, but she stopped pacing. Why couldn’t she?
“So is the statement that you ruined your life really true?”
“I guess not.”
“Good. What would be true?”
“I didn’t get the scholarship. I can still do something with my life. Something bigger than working in a spa.”
The bitterness in her voice startled her. When she’d started with Elizabeth, she’d been grateful for the opportunity, although a little terrified of the polished, professional woman who’d been her mother’s rival.
Why couldn’t she be satisfied with that?
“Work can be a calling. Many people work at jobs they dislike because they don’t feel they have a choice, but many more feel pride in what they do, even if it’s painting a hospital wing to cheer people who are ill. The most self-fulfilled people are those who pursue the work they feel in their heart they must do. What is your calling, Alicia?”
I have no idea.
“Luis has been the center of everything I do. I wanted to be the best mother for him I could possibly be. I searched everywhere for help.”
“And now you’ve found it. Maybe that’s why you’re lost. You’ve achieved what you thought you wanted. What did you think would happen when you found help?”
She started to walk again, trying to come up with an answer. “I guess ... I guess I thought he’d get better ... and ... and ... I could have a normal life.”
She sank onto one of the stones at the edge of the parking lot, oblivious to the dampness seeping through her jeans, barely aware of the tears on her cheeks. Oh, God. It’s never going to get better.
Mist enveloped her as her heart cracked open with pain. She rocked back and forth, arms around herself. Grief poured through the fissure inside her, widening the split so far she thought she’d never be whole again.
• • •
Alicia stopped at Starbucks on the way to work to repair the damage her tears had done. Elizabeth didn’t need to see her sorrow.
The coach had given her more assignments. In addition to journaling, she had to ask people what talents they thought she had.
That was the last thing she wanted to do.
Elizabeth left for lunch as soon as Alicia got to the spa, and she set to work restocking supplies in the treatment room, the clean, sweet smells from the open containers of Elizabeth’s skin-care line scenting the air and soothing her soul.
The kiss she’d shared with Raúl had haunted her dreams. When she’d awakened in the morning, she’d been startled to realize how aroused she was.
If a simple kiss could do that to her, what would the rest be like with Raúl?
Smoothing a sample of moisturizer on her face, she was startled by the dreamy expression of her eyes in the mirror—the look echoing the luminescent gaze of heroines in the old black-and-white movies she’d loved to watch before her life crashed and burned.
Joan Fontaine in Rebecca.
Ingrid Bergman in Casablanca.
Romance. So different from reality.
Sighing, she closed the jar.
“Rescue coffee is here.” Elizabeth’s soft voice called out from the front of the store.
Alicia wiped the dreams from her eyes and went to the front room. “I need this right now.” She took the coffee from Elizabeth and sniffed. The pleasantly tannic aroma tickled Alicia’s nose.
“You’ve got a lot going on. How are classes?”
“Good.”
“Glad to hear it. Remember Dylan is coming in this afternoon to start work.”
Alicia frowned. “Are you sure we need her?”
“Yes, I’m sure.” Elizabeth gave her a sharp look. “Are you okay? You seem a little off.”
“I’m fine.” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she knew she was in trouble.
“Fine. Uh-huh. Isn’t that the code word for ‘Don’t ask, don’t tell’?”
“Something like that.” Time to change the subject. “Do people get degrees in sociology? I mean, it’s interesting, but what’s the point?”
“Hmm. I can’t say I know. I mean, there’s got to be a degree in the subject. How else would they get someone to teach it? Why? Are you thinking of leaving all this behind?” Elizabeth gestured to the products, scarves, and jewelry that adorned every available shelf in the small space.
Maybe not the best choice of topic. Elizabeth had always been honest with her; it was time to live up to that example.
“I’m not sure.” Alicia walked to the front window and gazed out across the street. Heavy fog still lingered—one of those summer days when the sun only poked through for a few hours.
Welcome to July at the shore.
“Remember when you first hired me?”
Elizabeth nodded.
“I was amazed you did it. And grateful. Back then,
I thought all I wanted to be was a cosmetologist—help young Latinas take care of themselves and their skin. Maybe open my own place someday.”
“And now?”
“I’m taking that business finance class. And ... well ... I’m not crazy about it. But it’s what I wanted.” She walked to the lipstick counter, uncapped a tube, stared at it, and recapped it.
“It’s not meant for everyone.”
“I thought it was meant for me.”
“It could have been at the time. What we want at sixteen is usually very different from how life unwinds. You’ve been through a lot, Alicia, with pregnancy and Luis’s problems. It’s bound to change you.”
Elizabeth’s presence was a still pebble in a churning river. “How did you do it? I mean, you had Sarah, and you were alone.”
“It’s nowhere near the same, sweetheart.” Elizabeth propped her forearms on a counter near Alicia. “Sarah was five when Joe died. She was already in school. There was enough life insurance to start this place. You know I love what I do—especially now that I can craft my own line.”
“Did you always know what you wanted to do?”
“Yes. I was using my mother’s makeup on my dolls.” Elizabeth chuckled. “She would have such a fit every time she caught me.”
“I’m supposed to ask people what I’m good at.” The statement was out before she could snatch it back.
“I’m going to guess that request came from Carol.” Elizabeth cut open one of the unending supply of boxes that UPS delivered weekly.
“Uh-huh.”
Sitting on her knees, Elizabeth looked far younger than someone in her forties.
Will I look that good when I’m her age? Even if Alicia did leave the store, she could still take care of herself. Everything didn’t have to be either/or.
“Well,” Elizabeth said. “Why don’t you grab some paper, and I’ll tell you? After two years, I have a pretty good idea of your talents.”
Once her boss had listed out her good traits, Alicia had to sit down on the Victorian couch. She’d never considered herself any of these things.
Articulate
Organized
Good at selling
Competent with money
Persuasive
Kind to others
Persistent
Quick learner
She finished the last of her coffee and stared at the list. What do I do with these? She’d hoped the exercise would bring clarity to her life.
Instead, she was more confused than ever.
The doorbell jangled, and a redhead with a pixie haircut walked in. “Hi, I’m Dylan. You must be Alicia.” She stuck out a pale, skinny hand.
The competition had arrived.
• • •
“Dr. Mendez! Dr. Mendez!” Laura Torrez hustled toward him, yet another foil-wrapped package in her hands. The skirt of her pretty sundress swayed as she came down the sidewalk that ran between their two units, and even he, an ignorant male, knew she was overdressed for cooking.
Too bad she didn’t have the same effect on him as Alicia did. He would’ve eaten well.
“Ah, Laura. I see you have come to a bachelor’s rescue again.”
“Yes. I have chile rellenos for you. An important man like you must keep his strength up.”
“Thank you, Laura,” he said as he took the casserole dish. “You’re very kind. But you need to stop feeding me.” He patted his stomach. “I’ll set a poor example for my patients.”
“It’s no bother.” She put her hand on his arm. “I’m having a small get-together on the Fourth of July. I’m hoping you’ll stop by.”
“I’m afraid I’m busy.” The lie meant he’d have to find somewhere else to be, but somehow he needed to discourage her.
She frowned. “Well, if your plans change ... Have a nice night.” Her hips seemed to sway with greater emphasis as she walked to her condo.
He’d never known an MD’s license could turn him into a sex object for any single woman in his vicinity. Maybe he should invite Alicia to his house for dinner.
Too soon.
Besides, what would he serve her? A taqueria burrito? Leftovers from his neighbor?
Why couldn’t life be simpler?
After supper, he dialed his parents’ home in Mexico. “Hola.”
“Raúl.” His father’s voice was cautious.
“Sí, Papá. ¿Cómo está?”
“Estoy bien.”
“I’m good, too,” Raúl said. “It’s good to hear your voice.” A voice that was the only thread to a distant memory.
“Sí.”
The pause that followed shimmered with the differences of distance and culture. He wanted to ask about the papers but knew the family came first.
“And Mamá? She’s good?”
“Sí. She has much pride in you.”
His mother’s pride didn’t make up for his constant ache of loneliness. No one had been at his graduations or celebrated his birthdays. There was no way his parents would ever understand his pain. They thought they’d done the right thing by leaving him in America.
“My brothers?”
“The younger ones, they do well. We have not heard from Juan in a month.”
“Sí. Tío Alejandro let me know. I haven’t heard from Juan either.” Raúl stared at the dust motes visible in the late evening sun sneaking through the blinds while he waited for his father to continue.
“Raúl, I know it was not easy for you, to be left alone those years ago.”
You don’t know the half of it. Raúl pushed the unhappy memories from his thoughts.
“We did what we thought was best for you. We were right. Look at you now. A great doctor.”
“Not so great, Papá. I’m only beginning my practice.”
“You will be great. Your mamá and I, we know it.”
Maybe now?
“Papá, the lawyer I hired sent you some papers. Did you receive them? He says you haven’t returned them.”
His father cleared his throat. “We have been here many years. The two younger boys are settled. Perhaps they will try when they are older. It is good for us here.”
His head began to throb as he anticipated his father’s next words. “What about Juan? He’s a vigilante—with a price on his head. That’s not good. What if Jorge and Javier follow his lead?”
“Each man must choose his own path, Raúl. You do not know the ways of Mexico. You are an American.” His father’s voice was strong, brooking no disagreement.
The distance between them was as mammoth as the wall that divided the two countries. Would he ever be able to scale it? Find the closeness he’d yearned for since his family had been deported?
He forced himself to ask the question. “Does that mean you’re not coming back?”
His father sighed. “The cost, it is too high. There is too much risk. We are settled. We have been home for a very long time. I am sorry, my son, we are not coming back.”
The piercing pain wailed silently, choking off what little air he had.
Sorrow crackled in the air around him.
“You could come see us,” his father said. “You are an American citizen. Your mother would like that.”
Memories of the day he returned home from school to find his small house deserted, closets and drawers half open, the only communication a scribbled note from his mother, had left him with a fear that ran through his veins as easily as the blood the vessels carried. What if he went to Mexico and vanished like his family had?
“I’ll see.”
“You are afraid,” his father said.
“Sí. The government is so divided, it’s difficult to say what they will do next. What if they decide that I cannot come back because my parents were illegal?”
“For a doctor, you do not know much. It is in the Constitution. Fourteenth Amendment. They have to let their citizens back into the country.”
“Yeah.” But the NSA stomped on the centuries-old document every day.
Raúl chuckled, but the ache in his soul was undiminished. His father was a hard-working man. America would have been better off with him in it.
As the pause lengthened, Raúl stuffed his emotions back into their box, locking it with the strongest rational chains possible.
“So what else are you not doing because you are afraid?” his father asked.
Living my life. He chose the least personal subject. “There’s a guy here. He’s trying to get a new law passed to prevent doctors from treating illegals in Santa Cruz County.”
“You must stop him, Raúl. You must fight.”
“I’ll think about it.”
“No thinking. You must be doing. Live life unafraid, because that is where God’s blessing lies.”
“Sí, Papá.” It never paid to argue with his father when his mind was made up.
“I think you are not totally committed,” his father said, a tinge of disappointment in his voice.
He never had been able to lie well to his father.
“I must go now. It is time for me to go back to work. Please call again. Come to see us. Your mother misses you.”
“I miss you, too, Papá.”
An emotional fragment slipped through the keyhole in his mind, and he put his head in his hands and sobbed as the image of the empty house replayed itself over and over.
Chapter 9
In spite of the cool morning fog, Alicia’s palms were damp on the steering wheel. She hadn’t heard from Raúl since their brunch on Sunday, except for a brief confirmation of their regular Wednesday meeting. Had the kiss changed everything?
She touched her lips. Of course it had.
Sarah had encouraged her to invite him to the inn’s Fourth of July celebration, but she wasn’t sure it was time yet. Would he take her invitation as a step too soon?
But he had kissed her.
He wasn’t in the coffee shop when she got there, but she beat him there most of the time. She idly studied the latest CDs as the barista made her tea.