Delia's Gift

  We crossed the hallway and stopped. Mrs. Newell’s bedroom door was open, as was Adan Jr.’s. She could be in there with him, I thought. There was only one way to find out. Edward nodded as if he could hear my thoughts and worries, and we started down the hallway with our backs against the wall, sliding, staying as close as we could to any shadows. When we reached Mrs. Newell’s door, we paused, and I slowly peered around the jamb. She slept with a night-light. I could see her in her bed, sleeping on her back. I nodded at Edward. He took his position on the other side of her doorway to watch her as I continued a few feet to Adan Jr.’s bedroom.

  Then, taking a breath like someone going underwater, I entered the nursery.

  My baby was moving but not crying. When I approached the crib and looked down, I saw he had his eyes open. He looked much larger and longer to me. His little arms moved excitedly. Before he could cry out, I reached in and brought him and his blanket out of the crib, cradling him softly in my arms. I knew he was about to cry, so I opened my blouse and quickly brought the nipple of my breast to his lips. While he suckled, I moved quietly out of the room.

  Edward glanced at me, looked back into Mrs. Newell’s bedroom, and nodded. I crossed quickly, and he followed. The three of us seemingly floated down the stairway. I had to move slower so that Adan Jr. could feed and not be upset by our movements. It was as if he knew he had to be silent. We turned at the bottom of the stairway and quickly moved down the hall back to the kitchen and out the pantry. Neither Edward nor I spoke until we were well away from the house. Then he stopped to look at Adan Jr.

  “I’d say he’s with the one he wants to be with,” Edward told me.

  We walked toward the stable as quickly as we could. It was late, and I was tired, but I was so full of excitement and happiness, I thought I could fly if it became necessary. Never once did I even consider the possible consequences for either of us.

  Edward paused when I fell a little behind him. “I can help carry him if you want,” he said.

  “Oh, no. I’m fine,” I said, and he laughed.

  “I doubt that you’ll ever let go of him again.”

  “Me, too,” I said. “He’s perfect.”

  “Well, just take it easy. You have a long way back,” he warned.

  I nodded, and then I smiled and shook my head. “Maybe not, Edward.”

  “Huh? Why not?”

  “Look,” I said.

  He turned.

  About twenty yards ahead of us, saddled and waiting, Amigo pawed the ground and nodded. Edward looked at me, astounded.

  “I don’t get it,” he said.

  “That’s Amigo. He was Adan’s horse. Gerry Sommer obviously saddled him for me.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Sí, Edward, seriously,” I said, and walked to Amigo. Edward held Adan Jr. until I mounted, and then he handed him back to me and took the reins.

  Without saying another word, he started for the canyon. Amigo walked behind him quietly, smoothly. As we passed the trailer, Gerry Sommer stepped out and looked our way.

  “He knows his way back,” he said.

  “Gracias, Gerry.”

  “Vaya con dios,” he called as we entered the deeper shadows and started into the canyon. Adan Jr., rocked by the movement of Amigo, soon fell asleep in my arms. The three of us moved gracefully through the darkness, silhouetted against the blazing stars. Lizards scampered in every direction. Bats circled, but nothing bothered us or interfered. It was as if the desert had always been our home.

  Without my slower gait holding him back, Edward was able to make better time. In a little less than an hour, we reached the end of the canyon where we had parked my car. He took Adan Jr. in his arms so I could dismount and held him a few moments longer while I said good-bye to Amigo. The horse stood there looking at us as if he knew everything we were doing.

  “He has human eyes,” Edward said.

  “Sí. Maybe Adan is looking at us through him.”

  “Maybe. I won’t deny anything anymore,” Edward said.

  I took Adan Jr. back into my arms, and Edward opened the rear door for me. Then he hurried around and got into the driver’s seat. When he started the engine, Amigo turned and began his trek back to the stable.

  “Uncanny,” Edward said, watching him go off.

  “Sí,” I said. I couldn’t stop the tears of joy from streaking down my cheeks.

  He handed me the washcloth for my face and cleaned his own of the shoe polish. Then he pulled onto the road, and we made our way slowly back to the small city and onto the freeway for our journey into Mexico.

  Once again, I was going home, crossing over, but this time, Mexico was the promised land and not America. We stopped on the way out of the desert communities at a twenty-four-hour supermarket, where Edward went in to buy what I needed for Adan Jr. We decided that we could cross the border before we stopped to take a much-needed sleep.

  We were both afraid that Edward’s name and description would be with the border authorities, but no one appeared to pay much attention to us, and we had no trouble crossing into Mexico. Edward had the maps we needed, so once we entered the city of Mexicali, we continued for an hour more and then pulled into a roadside motel. It was already dawn. Adan Jr. had slept through most of the trip. I changed his diaper in the motel room and placed him beside me on the bed. Despite my own deep fatigue, I couldn’t close my eyes. The wonder of him was too great. Edward, on the other hand, practically passed out. Finally, I dozed off when Adan Jr. did, and we all slept well into the mid-afternoon.

  The moment Edward turned on his cell phone, it rang to indicate he had a voice message. I watched him listen to it and turn off his phone again.

  “It was your aunt,” he said, instead of saying “my mother.”

  “What?”

  “She said Ray called her first thing, enraged, hysterical, but she also said she told him she doesn’t know anything. She said we should just return from wherever we are hiding. Don’t worry. We’ll be fine. Let’s just move along.”

  Our plan was to drive to Guadalajara, where we felt we could be less likely to be discovered. It was a little more than two more hours of driving. Edward thought we should lie low for a while before going deeper into Mexico. He said Señor Bovio would assume I’d return to my village, so it would be better to find somewhere to go where we would not stand out. He thought eventually we could settle into one of the tourist locations, perhaps Puerto Vallarta.

  Most of the time, I was too occupied with Adan Jr. to think too much about all this. Holding him in my arms, seeing the Mexican landscape, reading the signs, and speaking to the people filled me with a sense of invulnerability. Nothing could interfere. This was meant to be. I was truly home with my child.

  Of course, I worried about Edward. He promised that in time he would return to the United States and revive his career pursuit. He bragged that they could torture him, lock him in a dark hole, whatever, and he would never reveal where I was or that he even had anything to do with me. He believed that after a period of time, Señor Bovio would give up. Mexico, after all, was famous for swallowing up fugitives from America.

  He had cleverly arranged for my funds to be transferred to a Mexican bank. The first chance we had, we withdrew them and put them into another bank. Of course, he had money of his own as well. Finances would never be a problem.

  “You’ll grow up with your son in pretty places,” he told me. “Maybe you’ll even change your name eventually. Someday, I’m sure you’ll meet a new young man who will quickly fall in love with you, and you will have a good life after all. I’ll make secret trips to Mexico, and we’ll see each other as often as possible.”

  On and on he went as we drove, creating this wonderful story of my future. He even predicted that when he became an international lawyer, he would find a way to clear my name and make it possible for me to go anywhere. Nothing could stop us now.

  After we settled into a small hotel in Guadalajara, I went with Adan Jr. to th
e beautiful cathedral and gave thanks and prayed.

  Edward said he was afraid to use his cell phone now. He didn’t want to be traced, so he went to a public phone to call a friend back in the Palm Springs area to see if there was any news about me. When we met afterward at a café, he said there was nothing in the papers and nothing on the television or radio news.

  “Señor Bovio hasn’t made this a big story. Maybe he won’t. It’s not the best publicity for him.”

  It sounded good for us, but I was still very worried.

  The following day, we set out for Puerto Vallarta. The weather was perfect. Edward was enjoying the Mexican music and learning more phrases and expressions in Spanish. He thought that if he lived there a month, he would easily become fluent.

  “It’s in my blood, after all,” he said.

  It was good to see him so happy. Maybe he was right when he said I was doing him a favor by letting him help me. Maybe he needed this almost as much as I did.

  We had come so far together since the day I had met him. The journey was filled with obstacles and disappointments along the way, but when I looked back at the Delia who had first arrived in America, terrified and lost, and the Delia I saw in the mirror now, I realized how much older I had become, perhaps because of those obstacles and disappointments. The same seemed true for Edward as well.

  Just outside Puerto Vallarta, we stopped at a cantina for some lunch. From the patio, we could see the ocean. I breast-fed Adan Jr. No one seemed to notice or care. Edward thought that was amusing.

  “My mother,” he said, “would probably pass out on the spot. We’d be scraping her off the floor here.”

  I laughed, and he told me some stories about things he had done when he was younger, things that embarrassed her in public. He wanted me to talk more about my mother. He was intrigued with the differences between the sisters. I realized as we ate and talked about ourselves and the family that these past days had drawn us closer than we had ever been. I couldn’t remember ever feeling as optimistic as I did at that cantina table. Adan Jr. seemed just as contented, and when he smiled, Edward laughed and said, “No matter what, that makes it worth it.”

  Afterward, all of us feeling warm and hopeful, we continued into Puerto Vallarta. We saw the tourists coming off the cruise ships and the busy streets and shops. Edward was right, I thought. We would be less distinguishable there. We drove slowly, searching for a good place to stay. Edward had a guidebook that described some of the smaller, slightly out-of-the-way places. There was one called the Playa Iguana that he thought sounded perfect because of its small size. At one point, we had to stop so I could get directions, but we eventually reached the street where it was.

  Both previous nights, I had had nightmares, some so vivid that I woke up in a sweat. I never mentioned them to Edward. When I was little and had a nightmare, Abuela Anabela would tell me, “Los sueños sueños son. Dreams are only dreams. Air. Poof.” She would clap her hands to show me how quickly they could be destroyed. No one comforted me as well as she did.

  But when we drove down the side street and pulled in front of the Playa Iguana, one of my nightmares vividly came to life. It was so incredible a sight that neither Edward nor I could utter a sound.

  There, standing in front of the hotel, was Señor Bovio. Beside him were two policemen.

  And behind us now was a police car.

  It was as if el diablo himself had dropped out of the sky.

  17

  Justice

  As we were soon to discover, our biggest mistake had been to take my car instead of Edward’s. Neither of us knew that the car’s luxury package included a tracking system designed to find it if it was ever stolen. It had taken Señor Bovio a while to get the Mexican authorities involved, but once they were, they tracked us easily on our way to Puerto Vallarta. When we started toward the Playa Iguana, they concluded that we were headed to the hotel. Señor Bovio had been flown in and quickly brought up to date concerning the tracking. Moments before we turned into the street, he and the police had turned into it.

  My heart stopped and started when I saw him, but what made the nightmare come to life even more horrendously was Mrs. Newell stepping out of the hotel to walk with him and the police toward my car. I held Adan Jr. tightly. Edward looked at the options, thinking perhaps that he might be able to pull away and escape, but another police car appeared in front of us.

  “It’s no use,” I said. “Your mother was right. He’s too powerful.”

  Mrs. Newell tugged on the rear door. “Open this door!” she screamed.

  A policeman stood by Edward’s window, glaring in at him. He tapped the window with his baton.

  Edward’s shoulders dropped. He flipped the switch to unlock the car, and Mrs. Newell jerked the door open.

  “Please, señor, don’t let her take my baby!” I cried.

  Señor Bovio nodded at Mrs. Newell, and she leaned in.

  “You’ll only hurt him if you resist,” she warned. “Let him go now.”

  As if he could sense what was happening, Adan Jr. began to cry. I thought my lungs would explode. Sobbing hard myself, I kissed him on the forehead before she took him from my arms and backed out of the car. Simultaneously, the policeman at Edward’s door opened it and reached in to pull him out of the car. Señor Bovio came around the automobile.

  “You can’t even begin to imagine the trouble you have made for yourself and for her,” Señor Bovio told him.

  Another policeman ordered me out of the car as well. We were both handcuffed and put into the rear of a police car. I sat watching Señor Bovio and Mrs. Newell carrying Adan Jr. as they headed down the street to another automobile. Adan Jr. was still crying, but she didn’t do anything to comfort him. I could do nothing. I could do nothing for myself, and it might even go harder for Edward, I thought, recalling that he had been prohibited from reentering Mexico.

  “Don’t you dare feel sorry for me,” Edward told me before I could utter a word.

  We were driven away, but to my surprise, we were not taken to a jail in Puerto Vallarta. Instead, we were driven to the airport, where we were turned over to a U.S. marshal. He had different sets of handcuffs to place on us.

  “You two are lucky,” he said. “You’re not going to be held here and tried here.”

  But before either of us could breathe easier, he added, “You’re being returned to the U.S., where you will be held and tried for kidnapping.”

  “It’s her baby,” Edward told him. “How can she be tried for kidnapping her own baby?”

  He shrugged. “Hey,” he said, “I’m just the delivery-man. Tell it to the judge and jury.”

  We were led to a plane and boarded, and soon after, we were on our way to the States. It had all happened so quickly I thought I was stuck in a dream, but that hope died as quickly as it had come.

  Hours later, we were handed over to two FBI agents at the Los Angeles airport and then taken to federal court, where we were to be arraigned. Neither of us expected that Tía Isabela would do anything to help us, but we were surprised again when we arrived at the court and found Mr. Simon waiting. Tía Isabela had called him and asked him to be there.

  “I might make enough off you two and not need any more clients,” he joked.

  Neither of us was in the mood for any humor. Maybe it wasn’t so much a joke as a comment by someone quite astounded by all of these events himself, no matter how experienced he was and what he had already seen in his legal life. He explained how Tía Isabela had called him as soon as she was informed that we had been located and arrested. She immediately offered to put up the bail for us.

  “First, I have to get the judge to agree to grant you bail before you are formally arraigned and charged. Your mother is on her way here to be present at this hearing,” Mr. Simon said. “She gave me some helpful information, which I have given to the district attorney so he wouldn’t oppose the granting of bail.”

  “My mother? What information?” Edward asked.
br />   “Information relating to the custody agreement Delia signed. As you know, I’m familiar with that document. I gave you my best opinion on it before all of this occurred, but she’s added some information that might have significant weight.”

  “What information, Mr. Simon?” Edward asked again.

  “Information that might lead to the conclusion that Delia was coerced into signing,” he said. “I don’t want to say too much and get anyone’s hopes too high. Let’s take it a step at a time.”

  We didn’t see Tía Isabela until we entered the courtroom. Of course, she looked as if she could set the place on fire with her blazing eyes. Before she could say a word to him as we were led to the front of the courtroom, Edward muttered, “Don’t start, Mother.”

  She pulled her shoulders up and, with a face cut in stone, focused on the judge. Mr. Simon walked over to the district attorney and spoke quietly. We were taken to a table and told to sit and wait. The judge, a man who looked well into his seventies, was talking softly with the court clerk. Everyone around us seemed to be involved with private conversations. Edward shrugged and looked at me. I had never been in a courtroom, so I didn’t know what was happening. I was too numb to feel anything or say anything.

  After a while, we saw the district attorney and Mr. Simon approach the judge. Their conversation took quite a long time. Finally, everyone returned to his seat. The judge rapped his gavel.

  “Since the events of this proceeding are dependent upon a motion being made in family court,” he said, “I will postpone the arraignment of Edward Dallas and Delia Yebarra until a determination is made by the family court. However, since evidence supporting the possibility of a flight risk is strong, I am assigning bail of one hundred fifty thousand dollars each. I understand that you will provide this bail, Mrs. Dallas?”

  “Yes, Your Honor,” Tía Isabela said.

  I looked at Edward, but he didn’t flinch. In fact, he looked annoyed at his mother for coming to our aid.