by Sera Trevor
“We wouldn’t make demands,” Noah said. “We can just be there if something comes up.”
O’Connor shrugged. “Like I said, we can’t stop you. Just be careful, and don’t try any heroics.”
Oscar was in a brighter mood as they left the station. He slung an arm around Noah’s waist. “You’re brilliant. Why didn’t I think of that?”
“Can you get time off work?”
Oscar’s face fell. “I could probably manage a week.”
“But I’m on leave. I could stay longer, if Zeke and your mom could help Rebecca.”
“I’m sure they will. And I’ve got loads of family in the area. Maybe we can bring my dad along too, to translate and shit.” He kissed him. “This can work! We’ll save her ourselves.”
Noah put a hand on his chest, pushing him back gently. “The agent was right, though. We aren’t law enforcement, and I don’t know what my parents are capable of. We need to be careful.”
Oscar took his hand. “We will be. Now all we need is a plan.”
Noah allowed himself a small, grim smile. “I already have one.”
12
The airport in Mexico City was a metropolis all on its own, a huge, brightly lit indoor city, teeming with crowds of travelers. Noah was glad that he and Oscar had Miguel to navigate. He was already feeling overwhelmed. Noah had thumbed through a travel guide on the flight. Mexico City was the largest city in North America. Twenty million people. Finding Bette among so many people felt impossible.
Alonso, Miguel’s brother, met them at the passenger loading area outside. He and his wife, Marta, had offered to host them while they searched. Noah had only seen him twice. Once at his and Oscar’s wedding reception, and once at a family reunion. Even though it had been years since he had last seen him, he wasn’t hard to recognize. He looked like an older, heavier version of Oscar.
Alonso and Miguel embraced, patting each other on the back and speaking in Spanish. Alonso went for Oscar next, and then Noah. It was like being hugged by a bear. “It’s been too long!” he boomed.
“Cómo estás?” Noah said.
Alonso brightened and responded, but Noah couldn’t make it out. At Noah’s blank expression, he chuckled. “We’ll work on your Spanish. It’s good that you try.” He pointed to their luggage. “Come, let me help with your bags.”
Soon they were on their way. The traffic was terrible, but no worse than LA. Noah didn’t mind sitting in the car; he needed a chance to catch his breath. Mexico City was prettier than LA, although the smell of exhaust was the same.
The biggest difference was how green the city was compared to the semi-arid cities of Southern California and the temperate cities of New England. Lush trees lined every street. Brilliant flowers bloomed along the sidewalks. It was like Nature refused to be banished. The sky was blue, even through the smog. It was spring—the perfect season to visit, before the rains started in earnest. Too bad they weren’t here for a vacation.
“I hate that such a terrible thing has brought you here,” Alonso said. “When you get your baby back, you should come for a real visit.”
When. Noah tried to make himself believe it was a when, not an if. He leaned his forehead against the window. Twenty million people. Christ.
At last, they arrived at Alonso’s home in La Roma, a neighborhood west of the city’s center. Brightly colored street murals covered many of the walls between equally bright buildings. One depicted two men who looked like farmers, each with a cup in their hand. Above them, a rainbow of fruits and vegetables stretched across the sky. The farmers’ cups were raised in a toast to their harvest.
“You should have seen this neighborhood after the earthquake in ‘85,” Alonso said. “Not so nice when we bought here. Now, we have…what do you call them? Hipsters?”
Oscar snorted. “Yeah.”
“And nice restaurants!” Alonso laughed. “A good trade for piles of rubble.”
Marta met them outside the house, a simple two-story abode, painted a beautiful blue. Marta was stick thin but just as warm as her husband. Her English wasn’t as good. She hugged Noah and touched his face. “So sorry for your baby,” she said, her eyes shining with sympathy.
Noah tried to smile back. “Thanks.” He turned to help with the baggage, but the other men already had it in hand.
Marta had prepared enchiladas for lunch, just like Carmen cooked. The smell brought him back to the Lozada house—a sanctuary. And his parents had destroyed it. They repaid Carmen’s kindness to their children by beating her over the head and stealing her granddaughter. A wave of guilt washed over him, but he steeled himself against it. Oscar was right. No more blaming himself for his parents’ actions.
After they were finished eating, Alonso asked, “So what are your plans?”
“Dad and me are going to the American embassy and the police station,” Oscar said. “And Noah is going undercover.”
“Undercover?” Alonso raised his eyebrows.
Noah wiped his face with his napkin before responding. “Yes. With the Jehovah’s Witnesses.”
Alonso scratched his chin. “Do you really think your parents are going to show their faces so soon after their crime? Surely they know that the police will be looking for them among the Witnesses.”
Noah shook his head. “Maybe not, but there’s another person I can look for. Their suspected accomplice, Maria.”
Alonso looked skeptical. “There are many, many Marias in Mexico. How can you be sure you find the right one? Do you know what she looks like?”
“No, but I can ask about anyone who’s come from New Hampshire recently. There’s probably only one Maria who fits that description,” Noah pointed out. “And there’s only three Kingdom Halls in Mexico City. If she’s here, I’ll find her at one of those. Jehovah’s Witnesses don’t skip meetings. Ever. Honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised to see my parents. But it seems more likely that I’ll find Maria.”
“It’s a good plan,” Oscar said. He took Noah’s hand and squeezed it. “And it was all his.”
Marta was looking confused, so Alonso translated. She turned to Noah and held her hands together. “I pray for you.”
Noah smiled. “Thanks.”
They spent the rest of the day settling in. Oscar was restless, so Alonso and Miguel took him out to walk around. Noah stayed in and practiced his Spanish with Marta. He didn’t do well, but Marta was encouraging.
Dinner passed, and at last it was time to turn in. Noah put on his pajamas, and then unpacked his suit. He ironed the shirt and pants and hung them up, ready for Sunday.
Oscar appeared in the doorway. “You turning in already?”
“Yeah. Big day tomorrow, hopefully.”
Oscar sat on the bed and gazed at Noah’s suit. “I feel a little weird about you doing this by yourself.”
Noah sat beside him. “You wouldn’t make a believable Witness. You have too much self-esteem.”
Oscar snorted. “Fair enough. Just promise me that you won’t do anything stupid.”
“I won’t. As soon as I’ve found them, we’ll call the police.”
“Okay.” Oscar hesitated. “Look, don’t take this the wrong way, but are you sure you’re going to be able to get through this? You have a lot of trauma connected to the Witnesses and you tend to—well, shut down, sometimes.”
Noah stiffened. “You don’t think I can do it?”
“No!” Oscar sputtered. “That’s not it. I’m just worried.”
“The Witnesses stole half my life.” Noah clenched his fists, his voice going low. “I’m not about to let them steal the rest of it. I’m getting our daughter back.”
“Holy shit,” Oscar said. “You totally sounded like Liam Neeson right then.”
Noah laughed. “Really?”
“Yeah. Totally badass.” He rubbed his neck. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound like I was doubting you or anything. I believe in you. It’s just hard to sit back and do nothing. It’s not my usual style.”
&n
bsp; “I know. But I can fight for us, too.”
Oscar pulled him into his arms. “My hero.”
“Don’t call me a hero just yet. I haven’t saved anyone.”
“Are you kidding me?” Oscar said. “You saved your own life when you escaped from them. You saved Rebecca’s life getting her to the hospital. You save your patients’ lives all the time.” His voice quieted. “And you saved my life when we met.”
Noah started to protest, but Oscar cut him off. “I mean it. I don’t know if I’d ever have gotten my shit together if it wasn’t for you.” Oscar kissed him. “And now you’ll save our daughter. Don’t argue. I’m always right.”
Noah let out a shaky laugh. “If you say so.” His voice wavered. “What if I fail?”
Oscar didn’t answer for a long time. “Then we’ll figure something out. But we can’t give up hope. Not now, not ever.”
Noah rested his forehead against Oscar’s. “Okay.”
Oscar pulled away first. “Let’s get some rest.”
Oscar was out in minutes, as usual. Noah stared at the ceiling as he willed sleep to come to him. He didn’t pray anymore, but he opened his heart to hope. Instead of dwelling on failure and catastrophes, he allowed himself to envision saving Bette. He saw her in his arms again, back at home, with Oscar by his side. Rebecca was there, too, and Carmen and Miguel and the rest.
He shut his eyes. She was out there, somewhere. He would find her. He had to.
Noah left early the next morning in order to make it to the Kingdom Hall in time. It was a good thing that he got a head start, because the bus system was beyond confusing. Fortunately, there were plenty of friendly people who were able to understand his halting Spanish and point him in the right direction.
He arrived ten minutes before the meeting started. The building was prettier than the old, brown Kingdom Hall back in New Hampshire. It was white with a bright blue roof and matching trimming. A placard on the outside read: Salón de Asambleas de los Testigos de Jehová. It sounded prettier in Spanish, too.
He took a deep breath to collect himself before entering the building. The atrium was neat and orderly, with a stand containing the glossy literature related to the day’s meeting and a display case proclaiming the theme scripture: 1 Corinthians 13, El amor nunca falla. He couldn’t translate the Spanish, but he did know Corinthians 13: love never fails.
The auditorium was exactly as he expected: a stage with a podium on one end, with TV monitors fixed on the walls on either side. Plain chairs were arranged in neat rows. The congregants were all dressed in suits and dresses, including the children. It was identical to the meetings he grew up attending, although this time the white people were in the minority. He scanned the room. Was his Maria here? He had no idea what she looked like. He assumed that she was Latina, but there were plenty of white women called Maria, too.
An older brother approached him right away. Noah greeted him in Spanish. The brother replied, but too quickly for Noah to follow. It must have been apparent, because the brother smiled and switched to English. “American?”
Noah wiped his sweaty palms on his pants. “Is it that obvious?”
The man chuckled. “You could say. You are here for the meeting?”
“Yes.”
“Then let me be the first to welcome you. We are most happy to have you attend. Is this your first time with us?”
“No, brother. I was raised in the Truth.”
The man’s eyes lit up. “Ah, so good to hear! Welcome, brother. I am Marco. I’ll be leading the meeting today.” He held out his hand.
Noah took it. “Nathan.” His voice shook at the lie, but only a little. “Nice to meet you.”
“What brings you to Mexico?”
“Vacation.” He cleared his throat. When he spoke again, his voice was stronger. “I’m glad to have found you—I haven’t missed a meeting in twenty years, and I’m not about to start.” His own lie startled him—he hadn’t planned it.
Marco’s smile widened. “Such devotion! Very inspiring.” He gestured ahead of him. “Please, come in. The meeting is about to start. You can sit by my wife.”
Marco’s wife, Lola, was a petite woman with long, salt-and-pepper hair done up in a bun. She wore a modest blue-and-white polka-dot dress and a string of pearls. She did not speak English but greeted him warmly all the same. Everyone around them said hello, all smiling, all eager to meet him. Witnesses were always friendly to strangers.
Marco left for the stage to begin the service. Other than the language difference, the service was exactly the same as every service he’d attended since childhood. They stood for the opening song, a dull and plodding tune. The lyrics were displayed on the screen. He made an attempt to sing along—the melody was not complicated. His new friends noticed and gave him encouraging smiles.
A few rows ahead of him, a little boy in a stiff suit turned around and stared at him, wide-eyed. Noah waved. The boy looked up to his father before offering a shy wave back.
Noah sat as if he were paying attention but mentally checked out. It was a technique he’d perfected as a child and came back to him easily. He tried to go over plans of what he would say and do, but he had trouble concentrating. The droning of the elders, the presence of the people around him, all the trappings of the hall, just like when he was young. It even smelled the same. The air stale and hot, faint body odor not quite masked by deodorant and cheap perfume...
With every passing minute, he felt younger and younger. A buzzing numbness crept through him. Everything sounded far away. His vision became strangely clear yet far away, like looking through the wrong end of a telescope.
A movement ahead of him pulled him out of his trance. The little boy who had waved to him earlier was swinging his legs. He hit the chair in front of him. His father grabbed his shoulder and hauled him out of his seat. The little boy let out one small cry but shut his mouth quickly. The man dragged his son to the exit. The boy didn’t fight. Fighting always made it worse.
Noah’s vision swam. He nearly jumped out of his seat when someone put a hand on his shoulder—Lola.
“Estás bien?”
Noah tried to smile, but he wasn’t sure how successful he was. “Si, bien. It’s just hot—” He scrambled for the right phrase. “Hace calor—”
Noah jumped again as the father slammed the door shut behind them. He stood. “I need some air.”
He excused himself and walked as quickly as he could toward the exit without seeming like he was fleeing. Which he was. He stumbled out the door. The father and his son were off to the side, behind the literature rack. The father had the boy by the shoulders as he hissed threats too low for Noah to hear. There were tears in the boy’s eyes.
“Hola, hermano!” Noah said, his voice loud and overly cheerful.
The father released his son and stood. “Hola,” he said cautiously.
Noah fanned himself. “The room—el cuarto. It’s hot. I mean, Hace calor, si?”
The man looked puzzled but smiled stiffly. He seemed torn. Should he be nice to the potential convert or beat his son?
A jolt of something between panic and fury shook Noah, and he found himself lurching forward. He kept the grin plastered on his face. He probably looked deranged. He felt deranged.
He knelt down to the boy’s level. “Me llamo Noah. I mean, Nathan. Me llamo Nathan.” He softened his smile. “Cómo te llamas?”
The boy looked up at his father before answering. “Eduardo,” he whispered.
The man said something, smiling, but Noah didn’t understand. Noah nodded vaguely before turning back to Eduardo.
He reached up to take one of the program notes from the literature stand. “Look—mira.” Noah folded the paper into an origami bird. He’d folded a lot of birds as a child, to keep himself quiet. When his dad found them, he’d crush them in his fist.
He presented it to him. “Es un—” He didn’t know the word for bird.
“Un pájaro?” the boy said, a little bolder.
“Si. For you.” He held it out again.
The boy took it. “Gracias,” he said shyly.
Noah looked up at the father. “Tu hablas inglés?”
The man shook his head. Noah turned back to Eduardo. He was going to say good-bye, but he paused. “You can’t understand me, but I’m going to tell you something. You’ll try to please your papa—” Noah flashed a smile at the dad first, keeping his expression bright, before addressing Eduardo again. “—but it isn’t going to work. Every day, you’ll feel like you’re failing. But you’re not. He’s failing you.”
Noah brushed a tear away. “One day, you’ll realize that. And your life will get so much better—better than you can even imagine right now. I promise.” He wanted to hug him, but that might be too far, so he gave him a gentle pat instead.
He stood and smiled to the father again, hoping that he didn’t seem too fake. The man held out his hand. Noah shook it briefly, then wiped his palm on his pants. He gave one last look at Eduardo before leaving the hall.
The air outside wasn’t much cooler, but it was less stuffy. He sniffed. His nose was running. His eyes were watering, too. He didn’t have a tissue, so he wiped his nose on the literature and balled it up and stuffed it in his pocket.
Once he composed himself, he returned to the auditorium. Several members of the congregation looked up at him, but quickly looked away. The service was wrapping up. Instead of taking his seat again, he remained standing in the back of the room.
Everyone stood again for another song. Noah didn’t try to sing along this time. The meeting then concluded. Everyone stood and started milling around, many of them casting looks his way. Eduardo saw him and smiled.
Marco and Lola approached, concern evident on their faces.
“Are you okay, Nathan?” Marco asked.
“Yes, I’m fine. I’m just jet-lagged.” Marco looked puzzled. “Tired. From the plane. I’m sorry.”
“No need to say sorry.” He gestured toward the chairs. “Come, sit down. You don’t look well.”