By the time Zita had finished cooking, the rest of the girls had appeared. Zita dished up and handed a plate to David. “Traditional Salvadoran breakfast – scrambled eggs, tortillas, pureed beans, fried plaintains and sour cream.”
“Thank you. It smells great.”
They all moved into the dining room. As Zita sat next to David, she asked Alejandra, “How is Julio this morning?”
“Much better.”
“Mamita, can Larissa and I go to the mall today?” Tiana asked. “We wanted to meet a couple of friends.”
“Boy friends or girl friends?” Carmen asked.
“Both,” Larissa answered.
Zita was silent. She wanted to spend some time alone with David today, but she couldn’t see how it would be possible. Carmen would want to stay at home with the babies, which meant she’d have to take the girls to the mall if Carmen said yes.
“You will have to ask Zita if she can take you.”
Both girls turned their pleading eyes on Zita. Hell, how could she say no? She glanced at David. “What have you got planned for today?”
He shrugged. “If we go to the mall we could watch the movie we missed last night.”
She blinked. “You wouldn’t mind?”
“No. I haven’t been to a mall in ages.” He smiled at her.
She couldn’t believe he wasn’t a little bit ticked off about having to share her. None of her previous boyfriends had wanted to know much about her family. “All right.”
“Thanks, David,” the girls chimed.
She squeezed his hands. “Thank you.”
“No problem. It’s going to be fun.”
She hoped so.
Chapter 9
Going to the mall wasn’t the ideal way David wanted to spend the day, but after seeing how much Tiana and Larissa wanted to go, he understood why Zita couldn’t say no. They were normal teenagers wanting to meet up with friends, and it showed how far they’d come from fleeing for their lives. Besides, he was still spending time with Zita.
After breakfast, he drove them all to the mall. The girls had insisted they take his car. He couldn’t blame them. The black mustang was impressive.
After he parked, Larissa and Tiana hurried to their designated meeting spot with promises they would be ready to go by three.
Zita took hold of his hand. “Where to first?”
“I need to buy a fresh shirt.” He’d sweated a lot while holding Xaviera and didn’t want to smell.
“Of course. I should have thought.”
They headed for the nearest menswear shop. As David browsed, he asked Zita, “What’s the latest with Teresa’s case?”
“Her mother and sister have applied for asylum and are waiting for it to be processed. Teresa’s hearing is in a couple of weeks.”
“They’re still in El Salvador, right?” He held up a green shirt, but decided he didn’t like the color. He put it down.
She nodded. “We’re trying to speed along the processing, as it’s dangerous for them.”
“How so?”
“The gang took Teresa’s little sister as punishment for Teresa running away. If they find out Manuela and Johanna have applied for asylum, they’ll punish or kill them both.”
He froze. “Kill them for moving away?”
“For defying the gang.”
Damn. Here he was worried about a new shirt when their lives were on the line. “How quickly can it be processed?” He took the shirt he was holding to the cash register.
“It’s supposed to take no more than forty-five days until the interview, but there’s a backlog. Then it can take up to one hundred and eighty days for a decision to be made.”
Anything could happen in that time. “Surely it won’t take so long in Teresa’s case? It’s obvious she was abused and is in danger.”
Zita shrugged. “I don’t know. Not many of the foster girls apply for asylum. Both Fernando and Mama have flagged it as urgent, so it might help.”
David hoped so. If his father was serious about politics, maybe he could speed up the processing time. He’d have to speak to him about it. “So what about Beatriz and Elena?”
“Beatriz’s hearing is tomorrow, but Elena doesn’t have a date yet.”
“Can anybody go to it?”
Zita looked at him. “No. It’s closed to the public because Beatriz has been abused, but if you’re interested, I can tell you what happens.”
“Yeah, I’d like that.” The more he knew the better.
After David changed his shirt, they headed for the movie theater. There weren’t many people in there at that time of the day. He wrapped his arm around Zita’s shoulder and she leaned into him. She fit so well against him and was so comfortable with giving affection. Having her next to him made him feel important. Pressing a kiss against her hair, he settled in to watch.
“That was amazing,” Zita said, her eyes shining as they exited the theater a couple of hours later.
David kissed her. He loved seeing her happy and relaxed. “It sure was. Do you want to get some lunch?”
“Yeah. Let me just check my phone and make sure the girls haven’t texted me.” She dug through her bag until she found her cell and checked. “A message from Mama.” She was silent as she read it. She sighed. “It’s a grocery list. We’ll have to pick up a few things before we head home.” Her expression was apologetic.
“Fine by me.” It was a new experience to be so needed, but it was kind of nice. His family was so independent that it would never occur to him to ask them for anything.
“You really are easy to please,” Zita said.
“I’m happy as long as I’m spending time with you.” The words were out before he thought about them. It was true, though, and that was scary. They’d only been on a couple of dates. He’d never been so invested in a relationship before.
Zita stared at him, her mouth agape. He should backpedal, he probably sounded mad. Before he could, she launched herself into his arms and kissed him.
“That’s the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.” She kissed him again. “I like hanging out with you too.”
Relief flooded him and he held her tightly, enjoying the way her body fit against his. “Good to know.”
She wiggled out of his hold. “We should cut down on the public display of affection. People are glaring at us.”
He didn’t care what people thought, which was new for him. “They’re just jealous.” He kissed her again and then took her hand. “What do you want to eat?”
“There’s an Irish pub outside.”
“Sounds good.”
Inside the pub David was immediately transported to Dublin. There were wooden floors, sturdy wooden tables and chairs, and a well-stocked bar with a sign proclaiming the best Guinness in America. They found a table and Zita sighed.
“Are you all right?”
She smiled. “This place always reminds me of Papa. He probably drank at a pub like this before he left Ireland.”
“Is that where he’s from?”
“Yeah. He came to El Salvador in his early twenties and never left. He died when I was three.”
“Is that why when you swear, you say ‘feck’?”
She blushed. “Yes. It started when I was a teenager and desperately wanted a connection to Papa. I thought if I used the occasional Irish phrase, I’d be honoring his memory, keeping some part of him alive.” She shrugged. “Now it’s a habit.”
“I can understand.” It would be hard to lose a parent so young. “Do you have much contact with his family in Ireland?”
“I don’t have any. He was an only child and his parents died before I was born.”
“What about extended family?”
“None that I know of. I was going to look into it this year.” She grimaced. “But I haven’t found the time.”
They placed their orders.
“Maybe you should set some more time-based goals.”
She screwed up her face. “You’re right. I�
�ll set them when I get home.” She typed something into her phone. “So what have you got planned next weekend? Maybe we can do something together — just the two of us.”
“I have the guys coming around for poker on Friday night.” He normally looked forward to it, but now he kind of wished he had the evening free.
“Which guys are these?”
“My college friends. We get together once a month to play poker and tell lies.”
She laughed. “Tell me more. Did you get up to lots of mischief?”
“A bit.” He grinned, taking a sip of his wine. “Garth was my roommate, and we were taking the same classes as Lee and Colin.”
“I wouldn’t have picked accounting majors as being mischief makers.”
“How little you know.” He’d meant it as a joke but her face fell.
“You’re right. I’ve not been to college.”
He covered her hand. “I wasn’t implying you were dumb.”
She shrugged. “I know. I haven’t had the experience. It doesn’t matter.”
But it clearly did. Their food arrived and Zita started eating. David didn’t know what to say to cheer her up.
Zita’s phone buzzed. Checking the message she said, “The girls will be ready by half past two. We should hurry so we can get the groceries before then.”
“All right.” She clearly didn’t want to talk about it, so he changed the subject.
***
The weekend hadn’t been so bad after all. Zita was certain she would have scared David off after the crazy at her place, but he’d barely been fazed by it. Then he’d said he was happy spending time with her, and her heart had melted a little.
“Zita, are you ready?” Carmen called.
“Coming.” She had to focus on what she was supposed to be doing. Today was Beatriz’s final hearing.
Zita checked her appearance, making sure her braid was still tidy and her dark skirt suit was free of dog hair. Stopping by Beatriz’s bedroom, she found the ten year old sitting on the edge of her bed, chewing her lip and playing with the buttons on her shirt.
“How are you feeling, Bea?” Zita asked.
The girl looked up at her, her eyes fearful. “What if they send me home? Pablo will kill me for running away.”
Zita’s heart squeezed. She couldn’t promise the girl a positive outcome, all she said was, “We’re going to do everything we can to convince them to let you stay.” She hugged her. “We should get going.”
Beatriz slipped her hand into Zita’s. She swallowed. God, she hated this bit. She felt everything her sisters felt. The fear of them being sent back to their dangerous homeland would be suffocating if she let it overwhelm her. Instead of letting it show, Zita kept up a constant chatter about Xaviera and Elena. At the front door, she waited while her mother and the girls wished Beatriz luck, and then they got into her car and drove into Houston.
The hearing was being held at the immigration court. Zita and Beatriz met Shelly outside the building, and together they went through the security checks and then into the waiting room for their case to be called. Zita was allowed into the courtroom as Beatriz’s guardian.
“We have all the evidence to present,” Shelly told Beatriz. “You have a strong case.”
She was encouraging, but Zita only heard what she wasn’t saying. There was no guarantee Beatriz would be allowed to stay in the country. Her stomach swirled as she tried not to picture having to put Beatriz on a plane back to her stepfather.
“Beatriz Morales,” a clerk called.
Zita and Shelly stood. Zita took hold of the young girl’s hand. “Come on, Bea.”
Her hand was shaking. She gave a small nod as they followed the clerk into the courtroom and took their seats behind one of the desks. At the other desk sat the lawyer representing the Department of Homeland Security. It was his job to ensure those people who were suspected of being a danger to the United States weren’t permitted to remain in the country. If they had examined the evidence impartially, Beatriz should be allowed to stay. But there was always a first time.
Judge Torres began the proceedings by turning on the recording equipment and going through the identification of all those present. The only other person in the room was the interpreter who would translate for Beatriz.
When the evidence was presented to the judge — photos of Beatriz bruised and beaten, and statements they had received from her mother and neighbors in Guatemala — the DHS lawyer made his first objection.
“These are not strong pieces of evidence,” he said. “There is nothing stopping the mother or neighbors from lying in their statements, and there is no proof the injuries were in actual fact caused by the respondent’s stepfather. She could have been in a fight with gang members.”
Zita gritted her teeth. Logically, she knew he was right, but he hadn’t sat with Beatriz as she’d relived the terror, hadn’t yet heard her stories of how she had hidden every time Pablo had come home from work, particularly if he’d been drinking. He hadn’t listened as Beatriz told of trying to fight him off, of being thrown across the room and threatened with death.
Zita didn’t listen as Shelly responded to the accusations. She’d been through this so many times, the only thing that was different was the girl sitting next to her. She squeezed Beatriz’s hand as the interpreter kept Beatriz informed about what was being said.
Finally, it was Bea’s turn to speak. Zita had been coaching her over the past few weeks, making sure she knew what information she needed to tell the judge. The girl shook as she stood and held onto Zita’s hand tightly. She spoke softly at first, hesitant, and as Shelly asked her further questions she grew more confident in her responses. When it came time to talk about the abuse, she stopped.
“You can do this,” Zita told her in Spanish.
The girl nodded and told the judge about living with Pablo. Tears ran down her face as she recounted the abuse, the fear and the desperation, which had led to her leaving the country with Elena.
Zita blinked back her own tears, swallowing hard to get her emotions under control. She needed to be strong.
When Beatriz was done and all the questions and cross-examination was completed, the judge was silent as she reviewed her notes.
Zita hugged Bea, keeping an eye on the judge. She could render her decision immediately, or she could postpone it.
The judge cleared her throat. “In the matter of Beatriz Morales’ application for relief from removal, I hereby grant her relief. Beatriz may stay in the United States.”
Zita didn’t listen to the rest. She hugged Beatriz. “You’re staying,” she said. “You’re staying with us.”
Beatriz burst into tears and Zita held the girl tightly. She ushered them out of the room and thanked Shelly.
“It’s my pleasure. The DHS has a couple of weeks to lodge an appeal, but I don’t think they’ll do that. In the meantime, you know what you need to do from here, don’t you, Zita?”
“Yes.” She’d been through the documentation requirements many times over the past few years.
“I think you know it better than I do,” Shelly laughed. “If you had formal qualifications, you wouldn’t need me at all.”
Zita smiled. She wanted to talk to Shelly about that, but not while Beatriz was here. “I’ll be in touch.”
They said their goodbyes and Zita called her mother.
“How did it go?”
“Application was approved. Beatriz is staying.” She held the cell away from her ear as her mother shrieked in delight. Beatriz giggled. “We’ll be home soon. I’ll pick up something for dinner so we can celebrate.”
“Good idea.”
Zita hung up and put an arm around Beatriz. “Come on, niñita. We’ve got a celebration to organize.”
***
David checked his calendar and breathed a sigh of relief. No meetings for at least three hours. That had to be a record. He hated sitting in those rooms, wasting time talking about things without any decisions being made.
There had to be a better way. But each time he brought it up with his father, he was ignored.
He glanced at his screen. He had to finish a report he’d been trying to complete all last week. It was one of those mind-numbing chores that had to be done and he hated it. If he was honest, there wasn’t much he enjoyed about his job. Zita’s question the other day had really made him stop and think. He’d love a job where he was challenged, where he had the freedom to do what he wanted, where he was in charge. At college, he’d briefly considered creating his own consultancy firm — he liked coming up with ideas and making them happen — but he’d known even then that he’d had no choice.
He shook his head. There was no point dreaming. He put on his headphones, choosing the rock playlist on his phone, turned it up loud, and got to work.
As soon as he opened the spreadsheet, something nudged his shoulder. He turned, taking the headphones off, and was confronted with a scowling father. He smiled. “Bob.”
“You can’t hear a damned thing with those things on. I’ve been standing here talking to you and you haven’t heard a word.”
“My apologies.” David stopped the music. “What can I do for you?” He gestured to a chair, but Bob remained standing.
“I’m running for governor.”
David’s eyebrows rose. “Congratulations.”
“I’ll announce it next month, and you’ll become acting CEO. You need to get one of your team members up to speed to fill in for you.”
That was fast, way too fast for David’s comfort. His stomach started churning. Should he tell his father he didn’t want to take over?
No, he couldn’t. There was no other succession plan, and he couldn’t leave his father in the lurch.
“You’ve been following a couple of migrant cases, haven’t you?” Bob asked.
“Yeah.” He pushed his concern aside and reached for the file where he was recording his thoughts and research on the immigration process.
“Good.” Bob took the file from him and flicked through it. He nodded, and handed it back. “It’s going to be one of my main policies.”
Blaze a Trail (The Flanagan Sisters, #3) Page 11