The Same Sky(52)

“Who’s up for trout?” I said.

Jane was motionless, her eyes closed. “I’ll be fine,” she said.

I was quiet. I ate dinner and watched the movie. I knew there was nothing I could do but be next to her. Dennis checked in about an hour later, whispering that he was headed out to have a drink at the Elks lodge. I walked him to the front door. “Are you doing okay?” I asked, putting my hand on his arm.

Dennis squinted at the stars. I could tell it took force of will for him to keep from moving his arm away. “Yup,” he said.

My dad’s truck pulled up the road. “You’re going drinking with my dad?” I asked.

“Yup,” said Dennis, taking a can of Skoal from his jacket pocket.

My dad put the truck in park but left the car idling. “Dennis?” he called.

“Yup,” said Dennis, heading down the stairs.

“Hi, Dad!” I called. He nodded, waited for Dennis to climb in, and drove off.

I sat on the front steps for a while. I went inside and found Jane’s hidden stash of cigarettes just where she’d always kept it, in a basket atop the refrigerator. I went back outside and lit a cigarette. I took one inhale, feeling the false contentment nicotine always sent through my blood. Coughing, I put out the rest of the cigarette.

“Aunt Alice, you shouldn’t smoke,” said Rick. I turned and saw him in the doorway, wearing a T-shirt and plaid pajama pants.

“Busted,” I said.

“Really,” said Rick. “It’s so bad for you.”

“You’re right,” I said.

“So you know what happened to the baby?” said Rick.

I blinked, unsure of how to respond. “What do you mean?” I said.

“There was something wrong with the baby,” said Rick. “Sometimes that just happens.”

I nodded. “Yeah,” I said.

“Nobody knows why,” said Rick.

I held his gaze, nodding. In his face, I saw a dim terror, the dawning understanding of how much he had to lose.





41




Carla


THE PRIEST, AN old man in robes, took my crumpled phone card and let me use the church telephone. I dialed my mother’s number carefully. Her phone rang once, and then again. On the third ring, she answered, “?Bueno? Hello?”

“Mami?” I said.

“Gracias a Dios!” she shouted, so loud that the priest looked up and smiled. “Carla, you are alive!”

“Yes!” I shouted, bursting into tears.

“Where are you?” she asked. “I’ve called everyone! They told me you had gone!”

“Nuevo Laredo,” I said.

“Oh, baby,” she said, “oh, my baby, you’ve almost made it.” The happiness in her voice made me cry louder. “How on earth—”

“I need to get across the river,” I said. “I need help. Two thousand dollars.”

She paused. I knew how much money this was to my mother, and I bit my tongue. Did she know what it was like in Nuevo Laredo? “I’m scared,” I said, hoping she would understand about the campsite and the robbers and the children selling their bodies in the street. I did not say, I am scared I will die. But my mother had been here herself.

“You have found a coyote?” she said.

“Yes,” I said. “I am told he is trustworthy. But he won’t help me without money.”

“Of course,” she said. There was the smallest pause. “I will send it today,” said my mother.

“Today?” I said, stunned. I quickly gave her the information necessary to send the money.

“You will be here tomorrow,” said my mother, her voice disbelieving. “You will be here with me tomorrow!” she repeated.

“Thank you,” I said. “Mami, my phone card is running out,” I said, panic rising in my chest.

“Precious one, be safe,” said my mother. In a smaller voice, she asked, “And Junior?”

Tears rushed into my throat. I gagged on the words, but I spoke. “No, Mami.”

There was no sound. My expensive seconds on the phone card ticked away as she tried to put unanswerable questions into words. I could hear my heart thudding in my ears. “Junior …?” she said again.

“I’m sorry,” I said.

Her silence expanded to form a terrible darkness over me. But finally my mother’s voice broke through. “Goodbye until tomorrow,” she said.

“Goodbye until tomorrow,” I whispered. I handed the phone to the priest.


The church was small and in bad repair. Above the pot of stew, Jesus Christ looked down on us from a large cross. The stew tasted so wonderful I had to hold it in my mouth before swallowing. I was very hungry. Around me were dozens of others, all starving, hollow-eyed. We were the lucky ones.

The priest had errands downtown, so he took me to the Western Union himself. He warned me that sometimes relatives promise to send money but do not. This was why he had to limit the meals he could give. “Some people end up staying in Nuevo Laredo for a long time,” he said. He smiled mournfully. “We do what we can do,” he said.

“Thank you,” I said.

He put his hand on my shoulder. “Perhaps you will get there,” he said. “Perhaps your American dream will come true, and it will be all you wished for.” He looked at me, hope in his eyes. “It’s possible, isn’t it?” he said. He seemed to be asking himself this question.