Have You Seen Luis Velez?(56)

Ed immediately rose from the table and took his coffee into another room. Whether he was angry at Raymond or had agreed to leave them alone to talk, Raymond couldn’t tell.

“Why aren’t you at work?” he asked his mother, a note of anxiety creeping into his belly. He heard it come through in his voice.

“I made an arrangement to go in late so we could talk. Sit.”

Raymond sat. He always wished she would say “sit down,” so it sounded less like a command you would give your golden retriever. Still, it did not feel like the time to bring it up.

“What can I do,” she began, “to make you feel like I respect the differences between us?”

Raymond felt stunned. He was aware of his own rapid blinking.

Meanwhile she was still talking.

“And I don’t just mean the outer differences like height and skin color and last names. Yes, you seem to care about a whole different set of things from the rest of us. Obviously. And when you try to tell me what you care about, I don’t understand. I get that. So what can I do to make you feel like I see you, and that what you are is okay with me? Because I really want to do that if I can.”

“Whoa.” For a moment, Raymond had no idea what else to say. And then, just like that, he did. “There’s something I want to do. It’s coming up in a couple of weeks, and it’s really important.” He filled her in quickly on the trial. Four or five sentences, maybe. The least he thought he could get away with saying. “Like you just almost can’t imagine how important it is to me. But I’d have to take some time off school, and I’d need a note from you.”

“No,” she said. Fast and immediate. “No, you know I’m not into any of you kids missing any school. That’s out of the question.”

Raymond dropped his face into his hands. And left it there for a time. A rush of anger came up, but he let it go again. Let it pass through him. It wouldn’t help him now. It would only cement her resistance.

He dropped his hands again, and looked at her face. To gauge where she stood with all of this. It was the usual Mom face. She wasn’t treating him any differently yet.

“So what you’re saying,” he began, “is that you want to see me differently and respect what you see and get along with me in a whole new way . . .”

“Right.”

“You just don’t want to make any changes at all.”

He watched her face as she took in those words. Watched her “Mom resistance” crumble, one brick at a time. He knew he had said the right thing for a change.

“You’ll keep up with your schoolwork?”

“I promise.”

“Oh, I hate this.”

“I know you do. I know it’s really hard for you. That’s why it would mean so much to me if you did.”

She sighed deeply, and Raymond knew she would write him the note. They’d go around a few more times about it. But in the end she couldn’t very well refuse him now.





Chapter Twelve




* * *





Weight and Labor

Raymond crouched on his knees in his room, digging through the pockets of his backpack. Going over his provisions for court. Making sure he had each item in a series of snacks he’d bought out of his allowance for both himself and Mrs. G. Going over his school assignments, some of which had been written down for him on paper, some of which he’d gathered onto a flash drive in digital format. He figured he could plug that into his notebook computer if he had time to get some work done between court sessions.

He was looking through the side zip pocket for the flash drive when his hand stumbled onto an unfamiliar scrap of paper, which he pulled out into the light. It was crumpled and creased from having been stuffed in there, unnoticed for half a year.

He held it into the glow from his desk lamp.

It said, in neat block printing, “LUIS AND SOFIA VELEZ AND FAMILY,” followed by a phone number.

Raymond froze a moment, there on his knees, remembering them. The chocolate cake, and the way they had noticed how he’d seemed dispirited and tired. The way they had wanted to help, even though they didn’t know him. The way the teenage girl’s hand brushed against his hair as she placed the religious medal around his neck. The way the Spanish-speaking abuela had more or less suggested it would be a good idea for the girl to give the medal up for Raymond.

His hand came up and touched the medallion through his clean white dress shirt. He wondered briefly if his and Mrs. G’s cause was still hopeless. All he wanted was for Mrs. G to find some solace in the trial. And maybe some closure for himself. She had already made it clear that she anticipated finding no such thing.

He stuffed the paper deep into the front pocket of his good slacks and trotted downstairs to Mrs. G’s apartment.

“It’s me,” he called, after doing his special Raymond knock. Which was silly, because he had just done his special Raymond knock. Who else could it have been?

Then he let himself in with the key.

She was sitting on the couch, wearing a dark-blue dress and heavy black shoes, a patterned knitted shawl around her shoulders. She was clutching her purse tightly against herself. She did not look up or speak to him. She appeared to be lost in thought. She also looked deeply frightened, but Raymond chose not to say so.