No Witness But the Moon(43)

“Does Byron know?”

“I haven’t told him yet.”

Adele stopped pacing and braced her hands on her kitchen sink. She kept her back to Marcela and looked out her kitchen window, past Sophia’s pinch pots and clay turtles that lined the sill. The refrigerator was covered in Sophia’s drawings of unicorns and rainbows. Adele couldn’t imagine a time when she wasn’t a mother, when Sophia wasn’t the center of her universe. If she were in Marcela’s shoes, she would do whatever she had to to make sure her daughter was safe. How could she ask Marcela to do less?

“Let me call Detective Vega—”

“No!”

“He did a terrible thing, Marcela. I understand that you are furious with him. But he would try to help you now. I know he would. He would put you in touch with the right people at the very least.”

Marcela leaned forward. Her eyes were dark and sober. “If you were me, after what happened, would you trust such a man with your daughter’s life?”

I don’t even know what happened, Adele wanted to say. That was the worst part. The not knowing. No, scratch that. The worst part was that Vega did know—and he wouldn’t tell her. Was he holding back in some rigid adherence to duty? Or because he’d done something too terrible to admit, even to her?

He couldn’t have.

He wouldn’t have.

But we’re all capable of the couldn’ts, Adele knew. They’re often only a second of indiscretion away from our coulds.

The shower knobs squeaked off upstairs. The water stopped rushing through the pipes. “Mom!” Sophia called out.

“Be right there, Sophia!” Adele reached for Marcela’s hand. “I understand your concerns—”

Marcela yanked her hand away. “No, you don’t, se?ora. With all due respect, you cannot. Your daughter is safe upstairs. She hasn’t spent the last ten years with a picture of you taped to her wall so she remembers what you look like. She didn’t just survive a trip that no child should ever have to make only to die here because her family can’t repay a loan. Do you know what she has endured already? She cries every night. I’m afraid to ask her about it. What can I say to make it better? All I can do is make her safe now. That’s what I’m trying to do, se?ora: make her safe. If she was your daughter, wouldn’t you do the same?”

“Yes, I would.”

“Then you’ll help me get the money?”

“Mom!” called Sophia again.

“Let me think about what to do.”





Chapter 15


“So you’re sure you’ll be okay by yourself?” asked Joy as she finger-combed her long dark hair and checked her eyeliner in the reflection on the stove.

“I’m okay, chispita. Really. It’s a Saturday night. You’re a young girl. Go out with your friends. And then go back to your mother’s place.” Vega began hefting Joy’s suitcase down the stairs before she could voice any protest.

“I can’t believe you’re throwing me out.”

“I’m not throwing you out. I love when you visit. But it’s not practical for you to be so far from school and friends.” And not safe either, Vega decided. He’d been so consumed with grief last night and earlier today that he couldn’t process his actions. But driving back from the Bronx this afternoon after his frightening encounter, he’d begun to take stock of his situation and the toll it could exact on the people he loved. Anyone associated with him was at risk—emotionally and, God forbid, physically.

“I’ll make it up to you this summer,” said Vega. “You can stay all summer if you want.” He wondered if he were being overly optimistic to presume that by summer things would be better. He tried to imagine warmth and green but everything outside and inside of him felt cold and dead.

Joy hesitated by the front door. “So I spoke to Danielle today.”

“Who?”

“Danielle Camino? My friend at Fordham? She said I could take the train down and visit the campus tomorrow.”

Vega dropped her suitcase at his feet. “You want to go back to the Bronx? Tomorrow? Are you crazy?”

“I had fun today—”

“Look, Joy—”

“Dr. Torres said after I finished up at Fordham tomorrow, he’d give me a tour of his school and talk to me about what it takes to become a teacher—”

“No!”

“What do you mean, ‘no’? Because you’re still fixated on me becoming a doctor?”

“It’s not that. It’s just that—I don’t like you wandering around the Bronx.”

“I’ll be fine. You worry too much.”

He picked up her suitcase and carried it out to the trunk of her Volvo. She kissed him on the cheek. He wagged a finger at her.

“Keep a close eye on your surroundings. Don’t travel alone. And whatever you do, don’t tell anyone you’re related to me.”

“Roger that, Double-O-Seven,” she teased.

“C’mon, Joy, I’m serious.”

“Chill, Dad. I’ll be careful—and in the meantime, you need to make an appointment to talk to a therapist.”

“Mmm.”

Joy frowned. “That sounds suspiciously like a ‘no.’ ” Then she got into her car and Vega heard the pop and crunch of gravel beneath her tires as she backed out of his driveway. He watched her red taillights fade and then disappear.