Have You Seen Luis Velez?(57)

“Would it be okay if I used your phone to make a very fast call?” he asked instead.

She didn’t answer in words. Just flipped her head in the direction of the old-fashioned landline telephone.

“If it turns out to be a toll call, I promise I’ll pay you back for it.”

She turned her face in his direction and sighed deeply.

“Oh, what does it matter, Raymond?”

That just hung in the air for a moment, as if Raymond could continue to listen to the words long after they had been spoken. The longer he listened, the more it sounded as though she were asking “What does anything matter?”

He didn’t know what to say or do about it, though. So he just pulled the scrap of paper out of his pocket and walked to the phone. Dialed the number. Well, punched the buttons for the number. It wasn’t literally a rotary dial. It wasn’t that old.

It rang and rang, then clicked over to voicemail.

Luis’s deep, booming voice invited him to leave a message.

“Hi,” he said. “It’s Raymond. Maybe you don’t remember me, but I was at your apartment last fall. Looking for a Luis Velez who turned out not to be you. I said I’d call when I found him, but I forgot. I’m sorry. But it was nice of you to want to know how it turned out. Well, everything about you was nice. So I wanted to let you know what I found out, even though it’s not a happy ending. Turns out Luis had . . . passed away. But anyway, I found his family, which is a good thing. And at least this way we know. So . . . you know. Just to tell you that. And to thank you again for being so nice.”

Raymond took a deep breath and replaced the receiver.

“We should go,” he said to Mrs. G.

“All right,” she said.

But she showed no signs of moving.

“Did you eat any breakfast?”

“I couldn’t stomach anything, no.”

“Would you eat a granola bar on the way if I gave you one?”

“For you, at least I would try.”

She shifted her weight forward in preparation for getting up, and Raymond hurried to her and held his arm out, placing one of her hands on it. He bore her weight as she rose to her feet.

It seemed to Raymond that every time he did so there was less of her weight to bear.



“Hey!” he said to her. “There’s Isabel!”

His voice sounded barely audible over the din of so many other voices.

They were in a hallway of the courthouse. It was three minutes until 9:00 a.m. The hallway was lined with doors to individual courtrooms. Apparently each courtroom had a trial scheduled, and each trial began in three minutes.

Men and women in business suits hurried along, some carrying briefcases, others wheeling cases of records that looked like a series of suitcases on wheels, only more heavy and complex. Uniformed officers and bailiffs herded groups of jurors. Everyone seemed to be talking about everything, and all at once.

Raymond had his right arm around Mrs. G’s shoulders for safety, his left hand gripping her elbow.

He raised a hand and caught Isabel’s eye. Then he looked back down at Mrs. G, and just in time.

A man wheeling cases behind him was passing far too close to her legs, and he veered suddenly to avoid a woman who almost slammed into him. The cart was headed fast for Mrs. G’s feet.

Raymond held her more tightly with his right arm and pulled her sharply out of the path of danger, steadying her on her feet as soon as she was safe.

“Oh dear,” she said, clearly not knowing quite what was happening.

“Hey, watch what you’re doing!” Raymond shouted at the man. “You almost hit her with that.”

The man looked over his shoulder at Raymond but said nothing. His face registered nothing. He seemed to be in a world all his own, and he apparently had no intention of leaving it for Raymond or Mrs. G. He looked forward again and walked on.

Raymond took a deep breath and tried to settle himself. He looked up to find Isabel standing in front of them.

“I know which room it is,” she said. “Follow me.”

“I thought your parents were coming,” Raymond said, not yet moving. “You know. In case you go into labor.”

“They have the flu. I can’t be around them while they’re sick.”

“So if you go into labor . . .”

“Then I guess my only hope is you,” she said.

They walked through the sea of humanity together. Raymond could tell that Isabel felt a sense of hurry. She was nervous and preoccupied, and it was clearly hard for her to slow down to Mrs. G’s speed. Every few steps she had to stop to let them catch up. Raymond could feel the anxiety rolling off her in waves, and he was catching it like the flu that Isabel had so recently evaded. But there was nothing he could do. Mrs. G could only walk as fast as she could walk. It was neither realistic nor fair to ask more of her.

Meanwhile the same thought was spinning around in Raymond’s head again and again.

Please don’t go into labor. Please don’t go into labor. Please don’t go into labor.

A young woman in uniform—Raymond wasn’t sure if she was a police officer or some kind of officer of the court—stood in front of Isabel, blocking her way. She was staring at Isabel’s huge belly with her face lit up as though she had seen some kind of religious miracle. Isabel had no choice but to stop. The woman reached her hands out and placed them on Isabel’s belly.