The Book of Unknown Americans(68)

“When, Alma? When did this happen?”

“I told him to stay away from her.”

“When?”

“A few months ago.”

“And you’re just telling me now?”

“I thought I could handle it.”

“Handle it? Alma!”

“I went over to his house. I told him to leave her alone.”

Arturo stared at me with such incredulity it was almost horror. As if I were someone he didn’t recognize. “Did he hurt her?” he asked.

“No. I don’t think so.”

“But you said—”

“I got here in time.”

“But where were you? Why weren’t you with her?”

There was nothing I could say to that. I had no defense.

“You lied to me,” Arturo said.

“I was trying not to worry you.”

He sputtered, a sound that verged on laughter, and tipped his head back, gazing at the faded gray sky. The snow was falling steadily now and flakes the size of postage stamps landed on his face, on his hair.

“I wanted to make it up to you,” I said.

I waited, but he just kept his eyes trained on the faraway sky.

“I was the one holding the ladder.”

Arturo lowered his head and looked at me. “What?”

“That day. I was the one who let her go up there. One second she was on the ladder and she was our perfect daughter, and the next second—”

“She wasn’t perfect,” Arturo said.

“But I knew you didn’t want her up there—you told her not to go up there—and I let her go anyway.”

“So?”

“So she fell, Arturo! And it was my fault.”

“That’s what you think?”

“That’s what you told me! In the hospital. Afterwards.”

Arturo looked confused.

“You said I was supposed to be holding the ladder. You accused me of letting it go.”

“You think I blame you for what happened?”

“We both know it was because of me.”

“Well, I’m the one who told you both to come with me that day.”

“You didn’t know what would happen.”

“Neither did you. That’s what I’m saying!”

“But it’s different.”

“No, it’s not different. You say you let her go up there, but how could you have known she would fall?”

“But I was the one holding the ladder.”

“Did you take your hands off it? Did you move it on purpose?”

I shook my head.

“It wasn’t your fault, Alma.”

“Everything changed because of me,” I said.

He looked at me with sadness, maybe even mercy. “It wasn’t your fault,” he said again. “You have to let it go.”

“But—”

“Whatever I said back then … I was upset, Alma. I wasn’t thinking straight.”

I bit my lip.

“Listen to me,” Arturo said. “It’s you. It’s you who needs to forgive yourself.”

I couldn’t speak. Tears from a wellspring deep and dark streamed down my face.

“Do you hear me?” Arturo asked. “Forgive yourself.”

I nodded and felt a distant sort of release, as if something inside of me was draining away.

“Now,” Arturo said, “we’re going to find her.”


INSIDE THE APARTMENT, Arturo called the police. They said that the school had already notified them and that they had a patrol car out looking. They seemed surprised that no one from the school had been in touch with us. They told him, “Kids this age. You’ll see. She’ll probably walk through your front door before we even get a chance to track her down.”

But she didn’t, and Arturo wasn’t going to wait. He collected change for the bus, put on his cowboy hat, and started toward the front door.

“Where are you going?” I asked.

“I’m going to find that boy.”

“And then what?”

“And then I’m going to make him tell me where the hell our daughter is.”

“It’s snowing outside,” I said stupidly, as if that made a difference.

Arturo zipped his coat. “You stay here,” he said. “In case she comes home.” He opened the door. “I’ll be back soon.”





Mayor


Daylight had started to fade by the time Maribel and I got back in the car. We’d driven a few miles, headed toward home, when the snow picked up for real. It started swirling around in gusts and falling so heavily that I had to turn the windshield wipers to the highest setting, and even then I had trouble seeing the road. I couldn’t make out any of the shops and restaurants along the side of it, either. Whole clumps of snow were blowing off the trees and off roofs. Streetlights looked like giant cotton balls.

Before we even made it to the highway, the car was skidding all over the place, the tires spinning like they weren’t touching the ground. We passed two cars that had pulled off onto the shoulder to wait it out, which seemed like a pretty good idea, so I did it, too.

Maribel didn’t ask any questions, and I realized, after I stopped the car and actually took a second to look at her, that it was because she’d fallen asleep. Without much of anything else to do, I rested my own head against the steering wheel and watched her for a while. She was still wearing my coat and her hair was wavy from the snow. Her hands were resting palm up on her lap.