by Casey Dawes
“You’ll need a four-year degree.” Sarah handed her a rinsed plate to dry.
“Yeah, but I need to get through the classes for an AA degree first. And that’s not going to be easy when I can only take a few classes at a time.”
“Alicia, let us help you. At least get through this semester and then look at your options.”
She stared at her friends. It wasn’t easy to be dependent on anyone, but it was the only way she was going to get through her classes. If she didn’t try, she’d always have regrets.
“Okay. Thank you.” She enveloped her sister in a hug. “I’m so lucky to have you in my life.”
“Me, too.”
“Mama,” Hannah said.
“Time to feed them,” Sarah said.
“Yes.”
Luis looked at her, glanced at Sarah picking up Hannah, and then looked back. “Mama.” He held up his arms.
The tears she’d held back earlier overflowed as she picked up her son and held him close. “Yes, baby, I’m your mama, and we’re going to have the best life we can. I promise.”
• • •
The church basement was lit by a few bare light bulbs, enough to get the job done but not enough to erase all the shadows from the corners. Raúl squirmed in a metal folding chair, struggling to keep the mask of professionalism strong. He wasn’t going to make a fool of himself by revealing his vulnerability. That might be fine for others, but he was only doing this to get Hadiya off his back.
“Welcome to the Wednesday night deportation survivors meeting,” the leader began. “Please state your name and why you are here.”
“I am Alaina.” The woman looked to be in her late thirties, careworn lines spider webbing from the edges of her eyes. “My parents were deported when I was twelve.”
Twelve? What had she done to survive?
“My name is Michael. My older brother and sisters were deported when I was twenty-one.” Michael was a short, portly man in a dress shirt and khakis.
So it went through the group of ten, each admission creating a fissure in Raúl’s icy resolve.
“My name is Raúl,” he said when it was his turn. “My parents and three older brothers were deported when I was fourteen.” Not a tremor in his voice.
“Welcome, Raúl,” the group murmured.
He didn’t hear the next few people introduce themselves. The simplicity of his story, reduced to a single sentence stated aloud, was more profound than he’d imagined it could be. All of the people around him had been affected by the same inhumane laws and treatment.
The group recited the Serenity Prayer, beloved by anonymous groups everywhere. He mouthed the words, unable to believe he could ever accept things he couldn’t change.
“While we aren’t a political group,” the leader said, “we do let you know about activities and legislation that may affect the general community. Probably the biggest threat is an effort by Joe Wilson, a strawberry farmer northeast of Watsonville, to limit services for undocumented workers and their children. There’s a leaflet on the bulletin board for a group that’s fighting that legislation.”
Other announcements were lost on Raúl. Ghosts from his past urged him to lay low, but anger pulsed his carotid artery enough that he felt the twinges of a headache crawl up his neck. He couldn’t ignore this threat. Somehow, he had to work with others to defeat a law that would prevent children from getting the care and education they needed.
The rest of the meeting focused on one woman’s story, told in a halting voice, agony piercing every word. She’d come home from school to an empty house, a half-made meal in the kitchen, and closets and drawers hanging open like the gaping mouths of silent screams. Her mother’s lingering perfume was the only trace left of her parents. She never saw them again.
The scars over Raúl’s wounds throbbed. How was he going to stand coming here?
Somehow, he made it through the rest of the meeting, then grabbed a cup of the inevitable anonymous-group coffee and gulped it down.
Avoiding conversation, he stared at the paper on the bulletin board.
“Peter Ramanos.” A hand interrupted his solitude.
Automatically, Raúl shook it. “Raúl Mendez.”
Peter nodded at the flyer. “We can defeat him, you know.”
“How?”
“By coming out of the shadows. I’m legal. How about you?”
Raúl nodded. “The only one in my family.”
“Anchor babies, the Anglos call us.” His smile was a wraith.
“So we come out of the shadows, then what? We don’t have the power or money it takes to defeat this type of thing.”
“Of course we do. Latinos are the majority in Watsonville,” Peter said.
“That doesn’t mean they’re not sympathetic to Joe Wilson’s point of view. Some of the farmers who’ve been here a while can be just as prejudiced against newcomers.”
“Sí.” Peter sipped his coffee and grimaced. “Foul stuff. I don’t think anyone’s washed that coffee pot since the last millennium. I only drink it ’cause it’s here.” He tapped his finger on the flyer. “Come join us, Raúl. Activity sure beats feeling sorry for yourself.”
Raúl bristled but didn’t let it show. “I don’t know if I have the time.”
“Don’t have the time, or won’t make the time?” Peter’s eyes were sharp.
The urge to defend himself increased, but he kept quiet.
“You know, once, I was the same as you,” Peter said. “I felt like there was nothing I could do about the people in charge. When everyone you love is ripped away from you, you get depressed. Because you’re still a kid, and you can’t go after the people responsible. Hell, it’s hard to know who those people are.
“Now we know. Now we can use that anger.” He tapped the flyer again. “It sure beats driving the people we love from our lives.”
“When is the next meeting?”
“Saturday morning. Are you ready for this?”
Raúl nodded. He’d waited too long to fight for his people’s freedom.
Chapter 12
“What have you discovered about yourself?” Carol Eos asked.
“I’m not sure,” Alicia answered as she stared off to the bay from her parking-lot refuge.
“Did you do the assignment?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
She didn’t understand her reluctance to speak. This was what she wanted—to be confident and independent. Elizabeth thought she was. Why couldn’t she believe it herself?
“What did others say?” Carol prodded.
She listed out the characteristics Elizabeth had provided.
“How does that make you feel?”
“Like a fraud.”
“Hmm.”
Silence. Dios, she hated that silence. Then she remembered something Sarah had said when she’d given her Carol’s card. “Can we talk about something else?”
“Sure, it’s your call.”
“I have a friend. Well, I guess he’s more than a friend. Or at least he was more of a friend ...”
“Why don’t you start at the beginning and tell me everything?”
“Okay.” She explained how she and Raúl had become involved, their few dates, and the blow-up at the Fourth of July party.
Then there was more silence. “What made you so upset?”
“Isn’t it obvious? He was trying to run my life. I can handle it myself.”
“Are you sure that’s what he was doing?”
“Of course. I mean, he talked to Hunter and Marcos behind my back. What gave him the right?”
“I remember you telling me one of the things you were grateful for was your family, as odd as it was.”
“So?” Alicia rubbed the back of her neck, a place that carried all the problems in her life.
“One of the reasons you gave was that they supported you. Why is it okay for them to help and not okay for Raúl?”
The question stumped her for a few moments.
/>
“I think ... maybe ... it’s ’cause they’re not involved in my day-to-day life. They have each other. There’s no danger of them running my life.”
Memories of arguments between her parents came back, along with the accompanying ache of disappointment.
“My father always thought my mother was too independent. I realize now he must have been comparing her to Elizabeth.” The pain grew. “Madre Dios, she must have hated that.”
“Yes.”
“Like many Latinos, particularly in his generation, he thought the man should have the final say.”
“And?”
“I guess I’m afraid Raúl will act the same way.” She took a deep breath.
“He may. But that’s the point of dating. To discover what the other person is like and what capacity they have for change. In order to do that, you need to give them a chance.”
“But what if he is like my father? There’s another problem. He has secrets.”
The coach’s laugh was gentle. “Most of us do, my dear. Just like you need to learn to trust him, he needs to learn he can trust you. It’s particularly hard for men who’ve been profoundly hurt to take the risk. You’re going to need to be patient with him. Is that possible?”
“I don’t know.”
This time she was grateful for the coach’s silence as she examined her feelings.
“Secrets scare me.”
“Understandable. Your parents’ behavior may have been the best they could do for who they were, but it hurt a lot of people. It’s left a wound inside you.” The sound of keys clicking on a keyboard came through the phone. “Ah, here it is. Have you heard of EFT—Emotional Freedom Tapping?”
“No.” What the heck was that? And what did it have to do with her problems with Raúl?
“It’s a combination of Chinese medicine and Western talk therapy. There are lots of YouTube demonstrations. When you think of Raúl keeping a secret, what do you feel?”
“I don’t know.”
“Guess.”
“Uh ... I guess afraid.”
“That makes sense. Are you willing to try this?”
It sounded nuts to her, but what did she have to lose? “Okay.”
“Sometime over the next week search for EFT and anxiety. Pick one of the videos and do it twice—on two different days. Then notice how you feel.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
“But what do I do about Raúl?”
“What do you want to do?”
Alicia gritted her teeth. Why couldn’t Carol simply answer her question?
Because Alicia was the one in the relationship. Or non-relationship.
Crap. All this thinking was making her nuts.
Raúl accepted Luis on a level she’d never expected from any man. Was the decade age difference a good thing? It certainly gave him perspective.
But what about the sadness and bit of temper she’d seen? Would that ever change? Or get worse? And could she get past her knee-jerk reaction to anyone keeping a secret?
It was asking a lot of any relationship.
Why did she need a relationship? She could manage on her own—once she got her degree—four long years away, if not longer. Juggling all the things she had to do was exhausting alone.
“I sense you’re thinking too hard,” Carol said. “You don’t have to decide if you’re going to spend the rest of your life with him. You only have to determine if you want to see him again. You could limit it to coffee, so you can continue to get his help for Luis. Then see if you want to take the next step.”
“That makes sense. I think I can do that.”
She was taking a risk, but wasn’t that what life was supposed to be about?
• • •
Alicia searched for Raúl’s car in the coffee shop parking lot, her pulse increasing as she spotted his Jetta. She took a steadying breath and opened the glass door, a tiny bell announcing her entrance.
Raúl sat in a corner, facing the door, two cups already on the table. His eyes bespoke caution and hope, the same emotions ricocheting around her body. As she walked toward him, he rose from his chair.
“Thank you,” he said, giving her arm a light squeeze. “I’m afraid I behaved badly at the party. Please forgive me.”
“Sí. It was difficult for both of us.” Where to begin? How could she put boundaries in place when the sweet tension between them was so strong?
“How is Luis?”
“Good days and bad days.”
“Your grandmother?”
“Abuela is well. She tires easily. Sarah’s offered to help, and I’m going to bring him to her one day a week, to give my grandmother a rest. I wish there was a more permanent solution.” Politeness grated at her.
“Why don’t you create one?”
“What do you mean?”
He sat back to sip his coffee, and her shoulders relaxed a quarter of an inch. “I’m not actually sure myself, but it seems to me there are other people who are in your predicament—mothers who have to work for one reason or another and can’t find daycare.”
“Maybe if we had a co-op of some kind—you know, trade times with each other.”
“That could be a good start.”
“How do I find them? I’ve searched for support groups, and I can’t find any in the county. Silicon Valley has some, but nothing over here.”
“Part of the problem is people still don’t want to admit they have a child with any type of mental or personality difficulty. The PC people like to pretend there’s no problem, but I’ve seen over and over again the toll it takes on parents.”
She nodded while her mind raced for a solution. “I guess if there isn’t a support group, I could start one, but I don’t have any idea how to do that.”
“Could someone at the college help you?”
“I bet my sociology teacher would. How do I get the word out?”
“I could help with that. I know a lot of the pediatricians in the area. They’re going to know who needs help.”
“You would do that for me?” The hard knot in her chest loosened a little.
“Of course, Alicia. I care a great deal for you.” He cleared his throat. “I’m not good at relationships, but I’m trying to learn. I ... um ... “ His lips twisted into a half smile. “Well, while we’re on the subject of support groups, I’ve joined one, too.”
“Oh?” She took a sip of the tea he’d gotten her.
“For people who’ve lost family members through deportation.” He interlaced his fingers into a tight mass.
“That must be hard.” She resisted the impulse to touch his hand.
“It’s been difficult all my life. I’m so angry with the government. My government. I am a citizen. How could they take everyone away from me?”
It was an unanswerable question.
“I met a man there—Peter. He suggested I join their activist group to fight for better laws for immigrants. I met with them on Saturday.” He looked up at her. “We’re going to fight the law Joe Wilson is proposing to prevent children from getting services if they aren’t here legally.”
His eyes reflected concern, but his jaw was set.
The immigration debate. Both her parents were born in the country, and as far as she knew, their ancestry was from legals. True, the system needed fixing, but she wasn’t sure ignoring the law was the answer.
“How are you going to fight him?”
“The old-fashioned way—knocking on doors and spreading information. There are programs to provide aid to non-American children all over the world. Why can’t we do it at home?” He laughed. “I’d better change the subject before I start going on and on.”
Probably a good idea. She wasn’t sure how she felt about Joe Wilson’s proposal, but it didn’t seem as wrong to her as it did to Raúl.
Of course, her family hadn’t been deported from the country, either. She smiled, hoping he’d find another neutral topic to discuss. Anything but their relat
ionship.
His fingers touched hers briefly. “So where are we, Alicia?”
“What do you mean?” She really didn’t want to talk about this either.
“You know what I’m talking about. Us. Will you give me a second chance? Can you live with the fact there are some things I can’t tell you, for your own safety as well as mine?”
He was being open with her—rare for a man. But that was the difference, wasn’t it? He was a man—someone who’d gone through horrible times and still managed to make something of himself.
She swallowed. “I’ve got a problem with secrets,” she said, taking the plunge into real conversation. “Because of my parents. Their whole lives were a secret.”
“Sí. I’m not like that.”
“But you do have secrets.”
“Everyone has secrets.” He ran his hand through his hair. “You’re going to need to accept that.”
She took a sip of tea while she tried to think of what to say next. Being truthful with Sarah was easy. This took work.
“I don’t know if I can trust you if you have secrets, Raúl. What happens when the truth comes out? How many people will be hurt?”
He held up his index finger. “One. Me.”
Her face softened with unwept tears as she shook her head. “There was a poem we learned in high school, ‘No Man Is an Island.’ If something happens to you Raúl, I would be very sad. Your patients would miss you.” She took a deep breath. “Luis would lose a friend. I can’t risk my child’s happiness.” She touched his hand. “I’m afraid this is all I can give you.”
He was silent for a moment, the ends of his lips drooping as he stared at her.
“Then this is what I’ll take. For now.”
Chapter 13
“You can’t be here!” Raúl pulled Juan into his office and shut the door. Despite the time that had passed, his brother hadn’t lost the hawk-eyed look he remembered.
“¿Por qué no? You’re my brother. Where else would I go?”
“Because the feds have already been here. They may be watching the office. Then what?” He ran his hand through his hair.
Juan looked around like a caged animal. “Back exit?”
High blood pressure thumped the tiny veins in Raúl’s temples.