Delia's Gift

  “Well, now,” Dr. Denardo said. “A little complication. Let’s take a look.”

  He examined me while Mrs. Newell stood behind him smirking and looking exactly like someone who would blame me. Señor Bovio was quiet and unmoving. Dr. Denardo took my blood pressure, too.

  “Something’s starting here,” he said afterward. “But we’ll get right on it. Very good work, Millicent,” he told Mrs. Newell. She glowed. He turned back to me. “I’m going to put you on a little bit of a blood thinner just to get rid of this. We’ll watch you carefully. Just follow Mrs. Newell’s instructions.”

  Tears came to my eyes.

  “Now, now, don’t get yourself upset over it. It’s not that uncommon. Everyone’s body is different, Delia. You’ll be fine. Everything will be just fine.”

  He stepped away to confer quietly with both Mrs. Newell and Señor Bovio. Then he returned to my bedside to reassure me before leaving. Mrs. Newell followed him, but Señor Bovio remained.

  “This is not your fault; it’s mine,” he said. “I should have known better than to let you go off and get into all that turmoil again. I was doing so well protecting you, protecting Adan’s baby.”

  I looked away. I wanted to argue with him about it. Dr. Denardo didn’t specifically blame anything for this. Señor Bovio had heard him say, “Everyone’s body is different.” This would probably have happened no matter what. I wasn’t thinking so much about him blaming himself as I was about Edward and me causing it all to happen simply by meeting each other again, simply by daring to defy mi tía Isabela.

  But resistance and defiance were seeping out of me. I felt like a blob of putty lying here. Everyone but me was shaping me, turning and twisting me to fit into a mold. And what could I do about it?

  I had no money.

  I had no home.

  I really had no friends.

  And I had no family.

  That is, no family except for the baby forming inside me.

  I was sure I felt him move, perhaps to reassure me so I would be strong for the fight that was yet to come.

  And don’t doubt it, Delia Yebarra, I told myself, there will surely be a fight to come.

  8

  The Only Game in Town

  I thought I had been too restricted and confined before, but it was nothing compared to what followed after Dr. Denardo’s visit. In an ironic way, I began to see myself as even more incarcerated than Ignacio, who was in prison. Now I was not to leave the suite to go anywhere in the house without first telling Mrs. Newell. Since the phone in my room still would not call out, and I didn’t have my cell phone anymore, I could speak to no one but those who came to see me or who worked here, just like Ignacio in his prison. I could sneak about and use another phone in the hacienda, but for what? Señor Bovio wouldn’t permit Fani to visit, and, of course, Edward was what Señor Bovio called persona non grata. For now, if he showed his face, it would be like looking at the face of the plague.

  None of the other girls I had known at the private school had remained friendly with me after Tía Isabela had me transferred to the public school. They were fair-weather friends, anyway. I was afraid to make friends at the public school. Mi tía Isabela had forbidden me to do anything socially with anyone. There was no point in making friends, and I was ashamed for anyone to see where and how I lived at the time. I really didn’t have anyone else who would or could visit me. Mrs. Newell had already prohibited Teresa from spending any time in my suite other than the time required to clean it and take care of my clothes, linen, and towels. These were the most difficult weeks.

  Dr. Denardo stopped by more frequently and finally told me he was pleased with my improvements. The swelling had nearly disappeared, and my blood pressure had returned to an acceptable number, although according to Mrs. Newell, it was never where she would like it to be. She didn’t build my confidence any, either, when she told me not to be too optimistic about myself yet.

  “Doctors don’t see patients as well as private-duty nurses, who spend more time and know their patients better,” she said.

  “I don’t understand,” I said. “How can a nurse know a patient better than the patient’s doctor does?”

  “Dr. Denardo is as good as any doctor under whom I have worked,” she said, “but he has so many other patients. You can’t expect him to pay attention to every little thing about you the way I do, the way any good private-duty nurse would, even with this so-called special attention he’s giving you. Believe me, he is not doing anything for you that any other doctor would not do if you went to his or her office. Any special attention you get comes from me and me only.”

  I thought she was telling me all of this simply to make herself look more important, but it was still disturbing. Without having anyone with whom I could discuss these problems and fears, I felt even more alone. I began to sleep later and later in the morning, took frequent naps, and took far less care of my appearance. Some mornings, I didn’t even brush out my hair, and whenever Señor Bovio suggested that he call in the beautician and the manicurist, I told him I didn’t want them. I told him I didn’t have the patience for them. When he looked surprised, I added that I couldn’t sit still that long, and he nodded, thinking it all had to do with my discomforts from the pregnancy.

  Dr. Denardo had warned me about depression. I was in my third trimester. Almost all of his patients start to feel sorry for themselves then, he said.

  “They think they look so bloated and distorted, they are terribly self-conscious, and many withdraw.”

  I couldn’t withdraw any more than I was, being practically locked away, so that warning didn’t faze me. Everything about my situation, right from the beginning, lent itself to my becoming more and more depressed. I had no family to surround me with the joy of expectation. Instead, I had only the woman Fani had aptly named Nurse Diablo and an emotionally crippled older man. Why shouldn’t I walk about with a long face?

  I think Señor Bovio realized all of this, too. He couldn’t have been more attentive. He continued to have Mr. Blumgarten show up to present me with new clothing, even though I pointed out that I wasn’t going anywhere and it didn’t look as if I would in the near future. I had enough to wear. The garments building up on the rack began to look silly to me. I practically chased the poor man out of my bedroom, piling the clothes on the bed to show him how ridiculous it had all become.

  “You know it, too!” I screamed. “You just want to make more money.”

  He fled, and Señor Bovio promised not to bring him back.

  He did bring me piles of new magazines, DVD movies, books, and even crossword-puzzle books in an attempt to make me happier about being so confined. And then, one night, he came in with one of the DVD movies in which his wife had acted.

  “I have something very special to show you,” he began. “Normally, it’s painful for me to watch these now, but with you, I thought watching it might be different. This,” he announced with some flair, “is one of my wife’s films.”

  I had no idea why it would matter if I saw it with him, but I let him insert the DVD into the machine and sat with him as the movie began. Seeing Adan’s mother in the film made me think more about him. I could see the resemblances in their gestures and facial expressions. Señora Bovio was a very good actress, too, and even more attractive than she was in the pictures of her I had seen. She had a beautiful voice and was quite sexy.

  I was absorbed in the film, but from time to time, I looked at Señor Bovio and saw that he was staring at me with a soft smile on his lips.

  “She was very beautiful,” I told him, thinking that perhaps he was waiting for me to comment.

  “Sí. She and I often sat here and watched her films together. Sometimes, Adan would be here as well, especially when he was just a little boy, but only if it was a film we thought it was all right for him to see,” he quickly added. “And when she was off somewhere making another film, he and I would come in here to watch one of her previous movies. Although we have the ent
ertainment center downstairs, we’d rather see the films in here. It helped us to feel she was close by. Just as I feel she is now,” he concluded, and smiled. “You understand, I’m sure.”

  I nodded.

  He looked around and closed his eyes. “I can feel her with us,” he whispered. “With you. With our baby.”

  I said nothing, but his intensity made me a little nervous. He looked as if he actually did hear his wife’s voice. Although I enjoyed the film, a good love story, I was happy when it ended. He sat there for a long moment, as if he expected to see it start again. Then he laughed.

  “When Adan was little, he thought there were two different women. One was his real mother, the woman who was here with him, and the other was someone who looked like her and sounded like her. Rosalinda would laugh and talk about herself as if she really was someone else who was in the movie. When Adan was older, we teased him about it, but he stopped my wife in her tracks one night when he told her she would always be someone else to him when she was in a movie. He told her he would never like that woman. ‘Why not?’ she asked. ‘Because that woman keeps her from being with me,’ he replied. I think he was only twelve. For a while after that, I thought she might just give up acting. But of course, she didn’t.”

  “She was very good,” I said.

  “Yes, this was one of her better films. I’ll bring another around to watch with you soon. I hope you don’t mind,” he said. “I feel much more comfortable watching her films here and, as I said, especially with you.”

  “I don’t mind, Señor Bovio.”

  He laughed at another thought. “For sure, Rosalinda would have tried to hide the fact that she had become a grandmother. She often told me it was very important, especially for an actress, to appear younger than she really was. ‘When they start asking me to play some teenage girl’s mother, I’ll quit,’ she vowed. She said there was a very negative attitude about older women in Hollywood. It bothered Adan, because she rarely encouraged him to join her on a press junket or any publicity event. After her death and even after her funeral, Adan didn’t accept it. He told me he felt she was just away on another film. It took a long time for it finally to settle in. You know, we all have our own ways to stop the third death.”

  “Sí,” I said. His words and memories brought me close to tears, tears for him and for Adan and tears of shame of myself for being so difficult now.

  “I am sorry, señor. I know your pain goes deeply through your soul. You’ve lost the two people you loved the most in the world.”

  “Gracias,” he said, and then quickly smiled. “Let’s think of nothing but the baby.”

  “Sí.”

  “Sleep well,” he told me.

  Nearly another week passed, but he didn’t offer to watch another film, and I didn’t ask for one. Perhaps it had been too painful for him after all, watching with me or not. He had obviously loved his wife very much and never stopped missing her, despite the stories about her affairs.

  However, even though I tried to be happier for his sake, the boredom and tediousness of my days grew worse. I began to complain more and more about my confinement, until finally, after Dr. Denardo’s next visit, I was permitted to take walks outside again.

  “Mrs. Newell has done a very good job with you, Delia,” he said. “We’re back on track. Rest one more day, and then start your program of regular exercise. Millicent will begin training you in the breathing exercises, too. You’ve been a perfect patient,” he said, patting my hand. “It’s no secret that the first child for a woman is usually the most difficult.” He smiled. “I have patients who swear they’ll never have another afterward. Many don’t.”

  I saw Mrs. Newell gazing at me over his shoulder. The expression on her face when he said that made me wonder. Was she included in the reference to such women? Was that why she never made another attempt at having a child? She knew all there was to know about pregnancy and birth, apparently. Was she so disappointed in herself, so angry at her own body, that she had forbidden herself to make another attempt?

  Afterward, I chided myself for having any interest in her at all, but for the moment, as in the expression Adan had taught me, she was “the only game in town.” Getting anything personal from her was probably harder than getting government classified secrets, however.

  I tossed away my interest and thought only about the next day. I couldn’t believe how excited such a simple privilege was making me. I tossed and turned practically all night in anticipation, and I was very impatient in the morning, waiting for my breakfast. I knew Mrs. Newell wouldn’t permit me to go walking if I didn’t first eat her meager portions and nutritional concoctions.

  Finally, I was ready to go out. I spent more time than I thought I would deciding what to wear and even took the time to brush my hair and apply a little lipstick. Then I put on a pair of earrings, decided they were too ostentatious, and chose another pair and another before settling on a pair. My face was a little bloated, but I didn’t dwell on it. Nevertheless, anyone observing me would think I was going to some grand event. I imagined Fani teasing me, telling me I was hoping the handsome young pool man had returned.

  With renewed energy surging through my body, I put on my newest pair of maternity shoes and stepped out of my suite feeling as if someone had unlocked a cell door. The moment I did, Mrs. Newell pounced, giving me the feeling that she had been waiting just outside her own suite, anticipating.

  “Wait,” she called to me, and walked slowly to me.

  “What is it?”

  “I don’t want you going far,” she said. “And I want you to return in fifteen minutes.”

  “Fifteen minutes? Why?”

  “You’ve just recuperated from a scare. I don’t want a relapse under my watch. If we are to believe what you told us, you are in the seventh month now. This is the third trimester. You’ve been experiencing more changes in your own body, and I have explained to you how and why the baby has been moving, turning, positioning himself. In fact, from what I have observed and from my years and years of experience and numerous patients, I believe you might be farther along than even the doctor thinks.”

  “What does that mean?”

  She blinked a smile. “It means that maybe you weren’t as accurate as you think with your periods, or…”

  “Or what?”

  She took so long to reply that she made my heart race. It wasn’t like her to hesitate. She usually said whatever she wanted whenever she wanted.

  “Are you certain that the baby you are carrying is indeed Adan Bovio’s baby?”

  For a moment, the heat that came into my face felt as if it would burst into flames. I couldn’t speak. She stood there with that sly, suspicious smile twisting her lips.

  “What kind of a thing is that to ask? Of course, I am sure, Mrs. Newell. I had sexual relations only with Adan.”

  “I ask only the questions that are important. If you are not honest about it, we’ll find out anyway. The baby will be more mature, more developed, even though apparently born earlier, and as you might know, there are scientific ways to determine who is really the father or, perhaps in this case, who is not. It would be better all around if you would confide in me. I am a professional nurse and don’t judge you by what is moral and what is immoral. I have my own opinions, of course, but how you live your life is your own affair.”

  “I’m glad to hear you say that,” I told her. “Because sometimes you give me a different impression.”

  “Whatever. Do you have anything you wish to add to your story at this point? For the sake of the baby, if for anyone, that is.”

  “I have told you what you need to know and what is true. The period of time I have given is as accurate as it can be.”

  “Fine. Still, these are critical weeks and months. You never know what to expect. It’s not an exact science. Nothing is, actually.” She shrugged. “Babies, in my experience, drive the pregnancy, anyway. This baby might be moving faster to get out,” she said, making it sound
now as if my baby were the one who was feeling imprisoned.

  “Get out?”

  “All I’m saying is that this is not the time to be taking any chances at all. I’m sorry Dr. Denardo was so permissive.”

  “Permissive? All I want to do is take a walk! I’m not going dancing.”

  “Take your walk, but do it following my instructions,” she snapped, slapping her hands together.

  I actually flinched. Suddenly, her eyes grew smaller.

  “Don’t you have a watch to wear?” she asked, seeing my naked wrist.

  “I do, but…”

  “Take this one for now,” she said, practically ripping hers off and handing it to me. I stared at it, and then she jerked it at me. “Take it.”

  I put it on.

  “Can I go now?” I asked, but didn’t wait for a reply. I walked toward the stairway.

  “Fifteen minutes!” she shouted after me. “Don’t make me come looking for you.”

  I turned. “I’m not an infant, Mrs. Newell.”

  She smiled. “No, you’re not an infant, but socially mature and sensible women don’t get themselves into these situations, Delia. The faster you understand all of this, the better off you will be.” She turned off her smile as she would a flashlight. “I’m telling you that for your own good. I hope, you will remember.”

  “Gracias, Mrs. Newell. Recordar es vivir.”

  “What?”

  “To remember is to live,” I said.

  She smirked and walked away.

  “One thing I know. I’ll never forget you,” I muttered under my breath as I descended the grand stairway.

  I looked at her watch to see the time. Where could I go in fifteen minutes? By the time I rounded the corner of the hacienda, I would have to turn back. What kind of a walk would that be? I might as well just stick my head out of a window and take ten deep breaths. Where did she come up with fifteen minutes, anyway? Why not twenty, twenty-five? It was just mean of her. It couldn’t be based on anything scientific, as she loved to say. It made me angry and defiant.