Have You Seen Luis Velez?(34)

Sofia walked him to the door. Variations of good wishes and luck followed him as he walked down the hall.

“You’re a lovely boy,” Sofia said to him.

Raymond looked down at his shoes and said nothing.

“Here,” she said, and pushed a folded scrap of paper into his hand. “I wrote down our phone number. I know you might forget, and it’s okay if you do. There’s no obligation. But if you can think to do it, please give a call and let us know how it works out.”

Raymond nodded, still feeling as though his mouth might or might not be in full working order.

“Thanks,” he said. “Thanks for everything.”

“I think you’re wrong,” Sofia said as he walked out her door. “I think that lady’s story will have a happy ending. Because no matter what happens with Luis, she has you. And that’s not nothing. That’s no small prize.”



Raymond got off the subway on the Upper East Side and tried Luis M. Velez again, one of his “no answer” stops from earlier that morning. Because it was on his way.

There was no answer at Luis M. Velez’s door this time, either.

He put a second hash mark by that name and address on his list.



His mother was waiting for him in the kitchen when he got home, hands on her hips, her face set into a hard mask of belligerence.

“And where the hell have you been?” she asked.

It surprised him. He hadn’t expected any trouble.

“Just out,” he said. “I told the babysitter I was going.”

“She didn’t say you’d be gone until after dinner. We didn’t save you anything. You know the rules. You want to eat, you show up.”

“It doesn’t matter,” he said, one hand on his full belly. “I’m stuffed.”

His sister Rhonda stuck her head into the room, betraying the fact that she’d been eavesdropping.

“Raymond has a girlfriend!” she crowed in a singsong voice.

His mother looked first at her, then at Raymond. “Go to your room, Rhonda,” she said. Then, to Raymond, “Do you have a girlfriend?”

“No.”

“Friend at least?”

“Yeah,” he said. “I told you. I’ve made some new friends.”

“Yeah. I guess you did tell me that. But you’ve been gone so much.”

She crossed the room in his direction, looking at something in the vicinity of his neck. “Hey. What’s this?”

She grabbed the heavy chain around his neck and pulled hard. It must have been visible above the neck of his T-shirt. A second later she was holding the Saint Jude medal in her hand.

“If you don’t mind,” he said, pulling it back again. “That’s mine.”

He stuffed it back under his shirt.

“Did you go and get religion on me, baby?”

“No!” he said. As if being accused of a transgression.

“I’m not saying it’s bad if you did.”

“I know. But I didn’t. Somebody just gave it to me, that’s all. She’s got religion. But that doesn’t mean I do.”

“Ah,” she said, a smile breaking. “A young lady. That explains a lot.” Then she took his chin firmly in her hand, hurting him with her long fingernails. He chose not to let on. “But next time call!”

“How am I supposed to call when you won’t get me a cell phone?” Then he could see by her face that he’d made a mistake. “Sorry,” he said. “I will. I should have. I’m sorry.”

“Ed’s not made of money,” she said, her voice tight.

Really? I had no idea. He’s never brought it up.

As if.

“I know. But Dad would get me one.”

“And you know why I don’t want him to.”

“Yeah. I know. Ed gets upset when Dad gets me nice things. He feels like Dad’s lording it over him how much more money he’s got.”

That seemed to send their conversation into a dead-end street. No one knew quite where to go from there. The only option seemed to be backtracking. Retreat.

“You sure you’re not hungry? You could have a snack at least.”

“I’ve never been surer of anything in my life,” he said. He realized as he heard it come out of his mouth that he had learned the phrase from Mrs. G. Or something very much like it, at least. “But thanks. I’m sorry I didn’t call.”

She sighed and walked out of the room, leaving him alone.

The truth was that he hadn’t bothered to call because he didn’t think anyone would notice or care.

It was a comfort to be wrong on that score.





Chapter Eight




* * *





What Happened

It was the time of day when Raymond should have been in his last-period study hall. Instead he had slipped out of school early and gone to the doors of the two Luis Velez addresses he had tried before, but still had not managed to cross off his list. The hash-marked addresses. The “no answers.”

He dreaded the addresses down the list, because they would take him to places like Flushing and Newark and Bridgeport and Bay Shore on Long Island. He was postponing these longer trips until he had no closer options.