Delia's Gift

  “So,” he concluded, “I am living up to all I promised despite what you’ve done.”

  “I did nothing, Señor Bovio. I spoke with Fani. She didn’t say exactly what you said she had said.”

  He smirked. “Of course, she would tell you that. Do you think she’s going to confess publicly to such a thing?”

  “Why would she confess then to you?”

  “I am not the public. I am her family, and I am not a threat to her. Besides, there’s no point in arguing about exactly what she said and what she didn’t say. There is other evidence that cannot be denied. Can you imagine what people would think of a young woman who would endanger the life of her baby just to enjoy a few hours of hallucination or whatever you young people call it?”

  “I don’t call it anything, because I don’t do it, señor. There has been a terrible mistake.”

  “You’re not listening to me, Delia. I am actually doing many good things for you, things I don’t have to do, but I cannot forget Adan’s feelings for you, so I continue to help you. Think about it. Here you are, a young girl who had to be rescued from the police for harboring a known fugitive, a young girl who took recreational drugs while she was pregnant. Who will step forward to help you if I don’t?”

  “You cannot do this. You cannot take a mother from her child, a child from his mother,” I said. I tried to be brave, but my lips wouldn’t stop trembling, and the tears wouldn’t stop building in my eyes.

  “It’s done every day by our family courts,” he said calmly and coolly. “You know already that I have great influence with the courts and the judges. Don’t be a fool.”

  I lowered my head. His words were like lead weights piled on my shoulders.

  “Take your time. Think about it all. I’m not throwing you out on the street, although your aunt is screaming for me to do just that.”

  I looked up quickly. “Tía Isabela? You told her this story about me?”

  “She’s the only family you have here. Technically, she has some legal standing.”

  “Family?” I laughed.

  “She feels somewhat responsible, guilty herself.”

  “Guilty? Why?”

  “It’s no coincidence that her son has been heard to be doing drugs, too.”

  I shook my head, still in disbelief.

  “He provided you with them, right? You can help him if you are willing to talk about that, tell her what you know about it, Delia.”

  “No, he did not give me any drugs. He would never do such a thing. He never took any drugs.”

  “You certainly are stubborn,” he said, and suddenly softened his expression. “My mother was like that. My father was nearly bald from pulling out his hair sometimes.” He thought for a moment, remembering, and then caught himself and firmed up his shoulders. “I have things to do, to arrange,” he said. “Read what I brought you, sign what you have to sign, and keep up your recuperation so you can get on with your life as soon as possible.”

  “Can I go to the hospital and see Adan Jr.?”

  “You can see him when he is well enough to be seen.”

  “But Dr. Denardo said—”

  “Mrs. Newell will be in charge of his well-being.”

  “Mrs. Newell? You cannot hope to bring him up with a nurse for a mother, especially Mrs. Newell. You know she had a miscarriage and never wanted children after that, señor. Please, let me look after my son.”

  “He’ll have a proper nanny when he is ready for her. Right now, he needs constant professional medical attention. See? You’re not thinking of Adan. You’re thinking of yourself; otherwise, you would be grateful for Mrs. Newell.”

  “But—”

  “I don’t wish to discuss it any longer, Delia. Read, and do what you should do,” he said.

  I watched him walk out and close the door behind him. My eyes went to the papers he had left behind. I didn’t even want to touch them. I didn’t want to move in their direction in any way, but I was curious and began to read what was in the first envelope, the one from his attorney.

  There was a letter and a document. The letter was from his attorney, making the point that I had no means of supporting Adan Jr. It also made the point that Señor Bovio had a right to custody of his son’s child. The attorney said that it would be easier on everyone, especially me, if I agreed to the assignment of full custody of Adan Jr. to Señor Bovio. There was a vague reference to my troubled background and current misdeeds that would have to be discussed publicly if it went to a formal hearing.

  To me, it seemed as if the paper the letter was written on was so hot it burned my fingertips. I threw it down quickly and started to sob. Then I took deep breaths and went to the second envelope. The numbers actually frightened me, because they were so big. This was el diablo at his best. I was being set up with a two-hundred-thousand-dollar bank account and a half-million-dollar stock-and-bond portfolio. There was a checkbook with my name on each check, and there were a half-dozen credit cards already arranged in my name as well.

  The folder had information and applications for nursing schools all over the country, the closest one being in Los Angeles. Someone had filled out most of the applications for me. I merely had to sign. I piled it all on the desk and pushed it away. Looking at it put me into a deeper depression.

  I ate very little for dinner and went to bed early, but I kept waking up. I didn’t get up until very late the next morning. Teresa told Mrs. Newell about me, and she came around to bawl me out for being lazy.

  “You can’t skip eating and just lie around all day. You will slow down your recuperation.”

  “I don’t care,” I told her.

  “Well, I do. We do. We don’t want another invalid in this house.”

  “Another? Who’s the first?”

  “Don’t be stupid, Delia. A premature baby is a special assignment. I don’t have time to baby you.”

  “I would never want you to do anything that has the word ‘baby’ in it,” I said defiantly.

  She smiled. “Suit yourself. If you insist on becoming a mental case, you’ll be shipped back to that clinic. I won’t be back.”

  “Good,” I said.

  She walked away, but her words lingered in the air.

  She was right, of course. I would just defeat myself by sulking and falling into deeper depressions. I returned to eating well and walking.

  Señor Bovio did not pressure me to sign the papers, however. They lay where I had first placed them. I was sure he felt so confident about it that he had no concern. What choice did I have?

  A week later, I actually seriously considered signing the papers. I was a young woman without any means. How could I battle such a rich and powerful man? The faster I got my hands on my money, the faster I could work at finding some way to get Adan Jr. back. I went to the kitchen and prepared some breakfast. I had a doctor’s appointment in two days. I felt confident that he would approve of my driving, and I would then have Señor Bovio deliver my car.

  Teresa entered and smiled at my robust appetite.

  “I’m glad you’re feeling so much better,” she told me. “I guess I know why you’re so happy.”

  “Oh? Why?”

  She looked at me askance. It made my heart thump harder and faster.

  “What is it, Teresa? What’s happening?”

  “It’s the baby, Miss,” she said. “That’s all I meant.”

  “What about the baby?” I pushed my food away and stood up. “What?” I screamed.

  She brought her hands to the base of her throat. I saw that I had frightened her and quickly calmed myself.

  “What are you saying, Teresa?”

  “I thought you knew. I thought you had seen him. He’s home. He’s been home for two days.”

  11

  Farewell Dinner

  Just as I reached the top of the stairway, Mrs. Newell stepped out of what I knew to have been Adan’s bedroom. She closed the door behind her softly and turned. When she saw me standing there, catching my b
reath, she froze into the demeanor of a security guard, folding her arms under her breasts and sending a steel rod down her own spine. Her face turned to chiseled granite, and she walked purposefully straight at me.

  “What are you doing up here?” she demanded. “Your quarters are downstairs. Mr. Bovio does not want you wandering around up here.”

  “My baby is here!” I exclaimed, shocked at her complete disregard of that fact. “Why didn’t you tell me he had been brought home?”

  “The baby is still in a fragile state. No visitors are permitted.”

  “But I’m not a visitor!” I cried. “I’m his mother!”

  “And I am his personal nurse. Right now,” she said with an icy smile on her lips, “his well-being, his life, literally his every breath, are dependent on me and my expertise. The only reason he is not still in the NICU is that I am here to care for him. I sleep in the room right beside his, so I am with him whenever it is necessary, day or night. No mother could attend to him any better. Now, turn yourself around and go back down those stairs to where you belong.”

  “I want to see my baby.”

  Her neck seemed to metamorphose into marble right before my eyes as she lowered her arms slowly and put her hands on her hips.

  “Didn’t you hear me? I said there are no visitors permitted yet,” she declared.

  “And I said I am not a visitor. I am his mother. You can’t keep me from seeing my own baby,” I told her, disappointed by the weak sound of my own voice. I started around her, and she seized my arm, her fingers like pincers.

  “The door is locked. There is no point in your walking over there, and if you make noise and wake him out of his desperately needed sleep, I’ll call Mr. Bovio, and I’m sure he’ll have you forcefully removed from the premises entirely. Furthermore, when visitors are permitted, no one will enter that room without proper preparation. He’s too vulnerable to disease yet.” She paused, releasing her grip on my arm and folding her arms again under her breasts. “Is there something I’m telling you that you don’t understand?”

  “Yes. I don’t understand why a mother would not be permitted to see her own child.”

  She smiled again. “Believe me, Delia, there are dozens, hundreds, maybe thousands of mothers who are not only prohibited from seeing and being with their own children but who don’t care, selfish women who are happy that someone else is doing what they should be doing.”

  “I’m not one of them.”

  “We’ll see,” she said.

  I looked past her at the door. If it were truly locked, there would be no point in my trying to get into the room.

  “If you really do care about that baby,” she said, her tone not harsh as much as condescending, “you wouldn’t challenge me and what I’m doing, especially after what you have put him through with your misbehavior.”

  “I didn’t do anything!”

  I started to cry. My forearm ached where she had grabbed it. She simply stared, unmoving, her eyes turning into two steely gray balls.

  “This is very mean, very cruel.”

  “Please. Save your breath,” she said. “I’m immune to such dramatics.”

  “You mean you are immune to such real feeling,” I threw back at her, turned, and descended the stairway, my heart feeling as if it had fallen into my stomach.

  Coming from the kitchen, Teresa glanced my way and then quickly disappeared down the hall. I returned to my room to think. I hated myself for being so weak and retreating. At the moment, I was even having trouble keeping my eyes open. Maybe I’m being poisoned somehow, I thought. Maybe they’re killing me slowly with those pills. After all, it was Mrs. Newell who had filled the prescriptions.

  Back in my room, I sobbed for a while until I did fall asleep. When I woke up, it was late in the afternoon. I rose, still groggy, and washed my face in cold water. I gazed at the ceiling, thinking. I was sure that above me, Adan Jr. waited, longing for his mother’s touch. I had to get up there to see him. I just had to.

  Señor Bovio’s envelopes and papers lay on the table. I decided I would have to be clever now. I took the paper that would assign him custody of Adan Jr. and started down the hallway.

  The house was quiet. The descending afternoon sun cast long shadows in the living room and down the hallways. Maybe I was imagining it, but I thought I could hear the faint cry of a baby. I gazed up the stairway and then headed for Señor Bovio’s office. He was sitting behind his desk, talking on his phone, with his chair turned so that his back was to the door. I waited until he finished his conversation, and then I knocked on the opened door, and he turned to me quickly.

  “Ah, Delia. How are you?”

  “I’m very upset, Señor Bovio. I was never told that Adan Jr. was brought home.”

  “Sí. I pushed Dr. Denardo a bit on that, and he relented only because of Mrs. Newell’s presence. For now, it is better that she be the only one to be with him, to care for him. It is still a little critical, although Dr. Denardo assures me he will be fine. Neither you nor Adan need any additional excitement at the moment.”

  “I’m not that kind of excitement for him, señor. I’m his mother. Surely, you know that a baby has a need for his mother’s touch, especially at this time. It will only help him get stronger faster. Besides, señor, I can give him the milk he needs. Breast-fed babies are healthier. Surely—”

  “He is being breast-fed,” he said.

  “What? How?”

  “I have hired someone whom Mrs. Newell recommended. We can be sure he is getting good mother’s milk.”

  “But not his own mother’s milk!” I cried.

  He didn’t reply. Then he nodded at me. “Have you signed the paper? Is that why you brought me the envelope?”

  “I brought it to ask you to have your attorney add something before I sign it.”

  “What?”

  “It doesn’t provide for me to have any visiting privileges after I leave the hacienda.”

  “You don’t need that.”

  “I’d like it nevertheless, señor. Then I would be more inclined to sign it,” I added. I tried to sound as firm as I could.

  He thought for a long moment and then reached out. “Give it to me, and I’ll see to it,” he said.

  “Gracias, señor.”

  I handed it to him.

  “Have you chosen a nursing school?”

  “I am thinking about one of the schools in Los Angeles.”

  He didn’t look happy about that, but he nodded.

  “Give me the application as soon as possible, and we’ll see to what you need.”

  “Gracias, señor. I have one more favor to ask of you.”

  “What is it?”

  “Please, please, ask Mrs. Newell to permit me to see Adan Jr. It’s torture for me to know that he’s just upstairs and I am unable to see him.”

  “When she feels he’s ready for that, she will tell me. Don’t annoy her or do anything that would cause her to resign,” he warned. “She was on the verge of doing that just before you had your episode and nearly lost our baby. I won’t stand for anything like it.”

  “But—”

  “I have some other news for you. Better news,” he added. “I have made some headway with the future of this boy, Ignacio Davila.”

  “You have?”

  “Sí. His situation is finally before someone who has the power to help, but it must be done very carefully, subtly, so as not to stir up a hornet’s nest. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

  “Sí, señor.”

  I understood all too well what he was saying: I must do exactly what he wanted, or else.

  “But surely, my seeing my baby—”

  “I’m very busy, Delia. Please, have patience. I’ll have this document for you tomorrow to sign. Then I will release the funds, and you can start to move on with your life more intelligently.” He reached for his phone. “Do we have an understanding?”

  I nodded. It was my plan now to play along. My chance would come later,
I thought, and maybe he was telling the truth about Ignacio this time. A little more hopeful, I left his office and decided to take a walk outside. I headed directly for the stables. Now that I had given birth, no one cared about my being around the horses. I saw Amigo and Señora Bovio’s horse in the corral, but Gerry Sommer didn’t appear until I was almost there. He stepped out of the barn and hurried in my direction.

  “Delia, how are you? I couldn’t get much information about you out of anyone here.”

  “I’m not surprised. I’m much better. I have my last doctor’s visit day after tomorrow,” I said.

  “That’s great. What are you going to do then?”

  “I’m not sure yet. I would like to go to nursing school. Adan Jr.’s been brought home from the hospital,” I told him, and looked back at the house. “I want to wait to see how he is before I decide anything.”

  “Home from the hospital? That’s nice. I didn’t know. Like I said,” he added, “no one tells me anything.”

  “Me, neither, I’m afraid. How’s Amigo?”

  “You know,” he said, looking at the horse, “sometimes I think that horse is part human. He was not the same after you collapsed out here. Look at him.” He nodded toward the corral laughing. “He’s anxious for you to get over there.”

  When I approached the corral, Amigo stepped close enough for me to reach out and touch him.

  “He knows who’s good people,” Gerry Sommer said, coming up beside me.

  “Where do you ride him when you do?”

  “Oh, there’s a trail back there. It goes off the Bovio estate and through the wash, a gully for runoff whenever there’s a big rainstorm.”

  “And then where does it go?”

  “Well, if you kept going, you’d end up in what’s known as the Indian Canyons of Palm Springs.”