Earth to Emily (6 page)

“This is my first J-visa case,” Wallace was saying.

Jack leaned against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest. “Mine, too.”

“The CPS attorney—Ralph Hanson, do you know him?”

“Of him. Haven’t met him.”

“Ralph gave me some forms to fill out for the application.” Wallace pulled some documents from a black leather briefcase. He handed them to Jack.

Jack scanned them quickly. “Looks like the two we need. Filling them out should be easy enough. The tough part is that we need a copy of her birth certificate.”

“Yeah, and I’ve been trying to find hers practically since the day we found her. It’s like looking for a needle in a field of haystacks. She doesn’t know where she was born, and we don’t know if Perez is really her last name.”

“Can’t you get a birth certificate at the Mexican consulate offices now?”

“Yeah, but you have to be from an area that isn’t so rural that their records aren’t computerized, and appear in person with an ID. Betsy is six. She has no ID.”

My throat tightened, and I felt my pulse in its hollow. The phone rang again. I snatched it up. “Williams and Associates, Emily Bernal speaking.”

Breathing again.

“May I
help
you?” My tone was curt, I knew, but the prank caller was interrupting me at a seriously bad time.

More breathing, then a throat clearing. Nadine looked up at me from playing with her phone.

“Listen, whoever you are, either speak up, or don’t call again.” I hung up the phone, and winced at the sharp sound it made as it hit the cradle.

Jack and Wallace both turned to me. Jack’s left brow lifted.

“Prank caller,” I said.

Jack’s forehead creased in a frown that didn’t reach his lips. “Okay.” His face relaxed, and he turned back to Wallace. “So until you find it, we’re dead in the water.”

“Find what?” I asked.

“We’re still talking about Betsy’s birth certificate,” Wallace said, then, “If ICE shows up and takes her before we find it and file, they can deport her.” He was referring to Immigration Customs and Enforcement, better known as ICE.

My hand flew to my throat over my drumming heartbeat. “They wouldn’t do that to an innocent little girl, though, would they?”

The phone rang again. I yelled, “Spit!”

Wallace and Jack shared a look. Nadine laughed.

I tried to sound pleasant. “Williams and Associates. This is—”

“Um, Emily, I think you know me and my friend, and we’re in trouble. You offered to help and we think you’re the only one that maybe can. But we can’t talk to you unless we know you’ll keep it between us.”

I recognized Greg Easley, even though we’d only met twice. I didn’t know many boys his age, for starters, and his voice had a raspy quality to it that was unforgettable. My eyes flicked up to Jack, then Wallace, then Nadine. All three watched me, the conversation about Betsy at a standstill.

I smiled at them and used my brightest voice. “Hi, Katie, great to hear your voice. Sorry, I thought you were a prank caller. I’m in a meeting right now with my boss and my friends Wallace and Nadine. Can we talk later, like in fifteen minutes?” My friend Katie and I talked a lot, and my watchers all knew her by name. They relaxed and looked away; Jack and Wallace resumed their conversation about Betsy. I strained to hear them in one ear and Greg in the other.

“That CPS guy is there? You can’t tell him it’s us. Please.”

“I won’t.”

He exhaled loudly, like a horse almost. “You want us to call back in half an hour?”

“Yes. We should be done by then.”

“This number?”

“Yes, please.”

“Okay, yeah, that’s fine.”

“Great. Talk to you then.”

“Yeah, um, thanks. Bye-bye.”

“Bye.”

Six eyes settled on me again, and I prayed they couldn’t read my emotional state from my face, because inside my stomach was doing flip-flops about Greg and Farrah.

I picked up a stack of papers on my desk and tapped their bottom edges against my blotter, straightening them. “So, where were we?”

Jack walked Nadine and Wallace to the door ten minutes later, and the phone rang as it shut. I prayed it wasn’t Greg again and lifted the receiver to my ear.

“Williams and Associates, Emily Bernal speaking. May I help you?” I needed my greeting on a recorder at the rate I was using it today.

“Hello, Emily. This is Mickey. May I speak to Jack?” Jack’s cousin Mickey Begay worked as the ranch manager at Wrong Turn Ranch. His wife, Laura, raced their quarter horses as a jockey. A good one.

“Of course, Mickey.” I pressed hold. “Mickey for you, Jack.”

Jack dropped his lanky frame into the chair in front of my desk. My skin tingled at his nearness. “Can you put it on speaker?”

I pursed my lips in a questioning way, but he didn’t react. I pressed speakerphone and nodded toward him.

“Hey, Mickey. What’s up?” he said.

“Hey, Jack. You still coming out tomorrow?”

“Weather permitting.”

“I need to bring you in on something.”

“Shoot.”

“Laura’s had a miscarriage. Another girl.”

My eyes shot to Jack’s. I hadn’t known they were trying to have kids.

Jack’s voice softened. “I’m sorry, man.”

“Yeah, me, too.” Mickey sighed. “She’s taking it even harder this time. You know her doctor told her the reason she’s having so much trouble getting pregnant is her body weight?” Laura kept her weight way, way down as a jockey.

“I remember.”

“There’s also like a seventy percent higher risk of miscarriage for women who are underweight. After the first miscarriage, he said she has to be serious about iron and folate and fresh fruits and vegetables when she
does
get pregnant.”

My mind went back to my own miscarriage and surgery. I closed my eyes, sad for Laura. I knew obesity was a risk factor for miscarriage, but I hadn’t known that being underweight was, too.

“I’m sorry,” Jack said again.

“Yeah, she didn’t even know she was pregnant this time, so she didn’t realize it was time to supplement and change her diet.” Mickey cleared his throat. “She’s decided to retire so she can gain some weight.”

“Wow, that’s big.”

I nodded, agreeing with Jack even if I couldn’t speak and let Mickey know I was on the phone, too.

“Yeah. So I wanted to give you a heads up that she’s having a tough time right now.”

In the background, I heard Laura’s voice. “I’m home.” Then, “Who are you talking to?”

Mickey said, “Jack.”

“Okay.”

“You all right?”

“I’m going to lie down.”

“I’ll be in there in a minute, hon.”

Silence for a few seconds. Mickey whispered, “Okay, I think she’s gone.”

Jack had rested his forehead in one hand, elbow on my desk, but he lifted it now. “Let me know if there’s anything I can do.”

“I will.”

“For you, too.”

“Thanks, Jack.”

They said good-bye and hung up. Jack and I stared at each other. His eyes were soft and warm and golden and kind, and I rested there in them for a moment.

“You okay?” he finally asked.

I nodded, still looking into his beautiful eyes. He reached a hand across my desk, palm up, and I placed mine in his. Electricity shot up my arm as his fingers closed around mine.

A loud, long whine interrupted us. Jack looked down. We both knew who it was.

“Need to go, Snowflake?” The tags jingled madly, and he reached down to pet her. “I’ve got to take her out,” he said to me.

“Do you need me to do it?”

“No. Some cold air will do me good.”

I pulled my hand away from his, grabbing the leash from my desk drawer and handing it to him. He snapped it on and they walked to the door.

“Don’t you need a coat?” I asked.

He turned to me one last time and grinned big, all on the left. “Coats are for sissies.” Man and tiny dog exited, and I caught one last glimpse of them through the sidelight window before they disappeared down the hallway.

The phone rang again immediately. I snatched it up, repeating my standard greeting by rote at twice its normal speed.

Greg’s voice said, “Emily? I called earlier. Can you talk?”

“Hi, Greg. Yes, I can.”

“Are you alone?”

“Yes, but only for a few minutes.”

“Okay.” I heard whispering in the background.

“What is it?”

“Remember how last night we said we didn’t need help?”

“Yes.”

“Well, we’ve changed our minds. We, um, saw something. Last night.”

I reached for my Roasters cup. Cold, half-full. “What was it?” I took a sip. Still delicious.

“We saw someone shoot a man.”

A chill settled over my face. The gunshots. The black trucker’s red blood against white snow. “At Love’s?” I put the cup down.

“Yeah. And now today we saw on TV the person that got shot died.”

“Yes, he did. But I don’t see how that changes things. Not that I don’t think you need help. I do. But what’s the problem?”

“We didn’t just see it. We were really close, and the person saw us, too.”

That did change things. They were witnesses to a murder, to a murder
er
. “Oh my gosh, that is scary. But it was dark. I’m sure you weren’t recognizable. Please try not to worry.” Like my words would stop them from it. Poor kids.
I
would worry in their shoes. But then I had an idea—they could help the police bring the killer to justice. I stood up, wireless receiver to my ear, and walked to the door. “I know it would be upsetting, but do you think you would be able to look at suspect photos or work with a police sketch artist, maybe? To help them ID the person? The paper said they don’t have any leads.” I leaned until I got a look down the hallway in the glass. No Jack and Snowflake. I walked back to my desk and sat.

His voice was firm. “No. We’re not safe. Before, we only had to find a place to stay, find jobs. Now, no matter where we go or what we do, they’ll always be out there.”

I jiggled my mouse and my background picture of Betsy popped up, one I had taken outside the school a month before. She had pigtails high on either side of her head, and she was laughing so hard her face had scrunched. I touched an index finger to the screen on her button nose. A pang of longing shot through me.

I turned my full attention back to Greg. “I understand. But CPS and the police can protect you. Why don’t you let me come get you, and I can take you in to talk to Byron and—”

“No. We can’t. We won’t. It has to stay a secret, or you’ll never hear from us again.”

I felt the wrinkles between my eyebrows furrow. “I don’t get it, Greg.”

“You don’t have to.” His voice grew shrill. “But Farrah is never going back where someone can hurt her, never. I won’t let her. If you won’t help us, fine. Just say so.”

I used my most gentle tone. “That’s not what I’m saying. But there are things I’m scared of, too.” I touched Betsy’s nose on the screen again. “I’m trying to adopt a little girl right now. I can get in big trouble if I help you guys and don’t report it to CPS.” I ran through what little family law I knew from my years as a paralegal and from my CPS training. I was pretty sure harboring a runaway was a criminal offense. “I could even go to jail or be fined a lot of money.”

“Not if no one finds out.”

“But people
do
find out things.”

“We won’t let them.”

Ah, to be invincible and in control, or at least to be young and convinced you are. “What exactly is it you guys are asking me to do?”

“Help us find a way out of Amarillo so we can be safe.”

My gut clenched. Even though I’d told him the consequences, he didn’t know how much they were asking of me. Of course they didn’t. They couldn’t. They were young, and in trouble. “Where are you now?”

“Are you going to help us?”

“I’m going to think about it.” And pray about it.

“We’ll decide whether to tell you where we are
when
you decide.”

The door opened. Jack and Snowflake had returned. Jack’s nose looked red and runny. Well, it was colder than a witch’s you-know-what out there. His eyes looked bright, though, and he had a bounce to his step. Snowflake ran to greet me and I leaned down and petted her.

I pointed at the phone and mouthed, “I’m on a call,” to Jack.

He unclipped Snowflake and mouthed, “I kind of guessed that,” smiled, and walked toward his office.

“Are you still there?” Greg asked, and his voice had lost its strident edge. It sounded scared, desperate. It hurt my heart.

“I am. But I have to go now. I’m sorry.”

“When will you decide?”

“Call me at five. I’ll let you know then what I’m able to do. And you can let me know whether you guys have changed your minds.”

“Okay, but we won’t.” He hung up.

Betsy. I had dodged one bullet with the bogus arrest. I couldn’t let anything jeopardize an adoption. Could I? I sat with the phone in my hands, paralyzed with uncertainty and a growing dread.

At lunchtime, Nadine and I dined on green veggie curry at My Thai courtesy of her employee discount. Our food came, Nadine chatted, yet all I could think about was the predicament Greg’s call had put me in. My mind flitted from Betsy’s smiling face to horrible images of Greg and Farrah in a succession of dire circumstances: running from a barreling eighteen-wheeler with TUCK69 plates, crouched inside a closet while an enormous man pounded on the door, shivering and hungry under a snow-covered overpass. I had barely said “boo” to Nadine the entire meal, and I smiled and nodded when she talked, without really hearing her.

I had to do better.

I shook myself mentally and forced words out of my mouth. “What’re you doing this afternoon?” I scooped up a bite from my dwindling plate of curry.

She swallowed and wiped her mouth with a paper napkin. “I’m putting in a few hours at the Rainbow Room.”

I held the fork poised in front of me. “I don’t know how you do it. I really don’t. Two jobs, single mom, and you volunteer, too? You’re my hero.”

A petite Asian waiter stopped at our table and filled our water glasses. She looked at us with a thumbs up, and we nodded. She reached into her apron and pulled out a faux leather bill holder and set it in the center of our table. She stepped back, cocked her head, then scooted it with one finger an imperceptible distance to the left and moved away behind a sparse plastic fichus tree to another table.

Nadine said, “People have always helped me out. I owe it back.”

“Still.” I shoveled a bite in and chewed. The tastes and textures registered, a little. Sweet coconut milk, spicy curry, an al dente bell pepper.

She lifted her eyebrows and lowered her fork to the mauve plastic placemat. “When I was sixteen, my mother’s bad-news boyfriend Bill moved in. He started visiting me in the middle of the night, and Mama didn’t want to hear it. Things got pretty wild from there. Drugs. Staying out all night. Older guys, just not as old as Bill. Anything to keep away from him and forget. You know?”

“Yes. I’m so sorry,” I said, nodding. Not that I had personal experience with any of what she’d gone through—my high school days were Sandra Dee compared to hers—but I knew what she meant, and I couldn’t imagine how hard it must have been for her. I set my fork down, too. She had my full attention now.

“I ran away a few times, and the police threatened to refer me to a CPS group home or put me in a detention center. Then Mama discovered crack cocaine.”

“Nadine, that’s so awful.” My words felt like dust on my tongue. Dry, insubstantial, useless.

“Yeah. It was. So I showed up on the doorstep of one of my teachers from Fannin Middle School—Ms. Davidson; she was retired—and she said I could move in with her if it was our secret. I stayed with her and her longtime girlfriend for months.”

“You’re kidding!” I wanted to squirm in my seat. Well, Ms. Davidson wasn’t trying to adopt a sweet little girl. There was no comparison between our situations.

Nadine smiled, her eyes soft and sad. “I would have stayed forever, but she died suddenly, and Bill had left, so I went home.”

“Oh no!”

“I still miss her every day. But Ms. Davidson wasn’t the only one to take a chance helping me. A few years ago my first son’s dad left me. My mother was in the gutter, literally. Homeless, showing up at my doorstep. Stealing from me. Buying drugs right outside my house. Screaming so loud the neighbors could hear.” She wiped a tear away with a rough backhand motion. “Someone called CPS. And instead of taking my son away, the Rainbow Room ladies helped me. They gave me a car seat and diapers and formula and some clothes, which was great. But they went way beyond that.” Her voice grew thicker. “Referred me to a state-funded rehab facility for Mom. Helped me get on a list for a subsidized daycare place. Encouraged me. Followed up with me. Never judged me.”

My throat tightened and my eyes stung. I’d never imagined Nadine had had it so bad. “Nadine.” I tried to say more, but I couldn’t find the words. I reached out and grabbed her hand and squeezed it tight, then held on.

“So, that’s why I make time to work in the Rainbow Room, and to take flowers to Ms. Davidson’s grave. Because without either of them, I wouldn’t be here today.”

The enormity of what Ms. Davidson had done, of what she had risked to prevent harm to Nadine, came crashing down on me.

I spoke, but my words came out broken and raspy. “I understand.” I cleared my throat.

Why, why, why was I being tested like this, with Greg and Farrah and their problems? Betsy needed me, too. But as soon as I thought it, I was hit with a deep sadness. That wasn’t really true, was it? She was clean, fed, in school, with new siblings, and had a safe place to sleep at night. I’d seen her. She was playful, confident, and happy. A far cry from Greg and Farrah. My resistance wasn’t because Betsy
truly
needed me, not like the teens did. It was because I truly
wanted
Betsy. Ouch. Forced to choose between the teens’ needs and my desires, I felt cornered, like the feral dog that I’d found sleeping in our barn one winter morning long ago, snappy and snarly and untrusting.

I took a deep breath. I was surely more rational than a wild dog. What did Greg and Farrah really need me to do, after all, that was so huge? Come get them, let them stay for the night, then take them somewhere safe and far away? Those weren’t big things, not really, and no one had to know. I would just have to put the fear of God in them about never, ever, ever telling a living soul I was the one who had helped them. And if worse came to worst, I could turn them over to Wallace. I didn’t want to, but I could. Whichever way it went, I would be careful, and I could still adopt Betsy.

“Cat got your tongue?” Nadine asked.

I smiled at her, not really feeling it yet, but closer. “Sorry. Got lost in my thoughts there for a moment. Your story is powerful.”

She nodded. “But all that is in the past. Are you ready to go?” she asked, yanking me the rest of the way out of my head.

“Sure.” I fished a twenty and ten from my wallet and stuck them in with the bill, then slid it to overhang two inches past the edge of the table, but centered precisely.

“Wait, you can’t get that.” Nadine grabbed her purse.

The waiter appeared out of nowhere and took the folder like a trout taking a fly.

“I already did.” I smiled and stood up. “Want to come with me to see the duplex I’m hoping to lease?”

She got to her feet, towering over me in high-heeled boots. “My kids are in school, and I’ve got nowhere to be for a few hours. Why not?”

Nadine drove her Harley, following me south on Soncy Road toward a new neighborhood on the outskirts of town. After a mile or two of stoplights, I veered left onto Hollywood, through former prairie on both sides of the road. Other than a few real estate signs, there were no marked improvements to the land I’d known since childhood, until we came to a cluster of houses on the left. Even once we’d turned into that neighborhood, I couldn’t see much change to the land’s former condition, other than houses plopped down onto square plots of snow-speckled brown grass. The houses themselves were nondescript: brick flanked on each side by mirror-image driveways and entrances. The vehicles out front were mostly midrange hybrids and electrics, a far cry from what you’d find in old Amarillo. I pulled in behind a Ford Focus and got out. Nadine rumbled to a stop behind me and parked at an angle to the curb.

A pregnant woman stood in the doorway on the right side of the house in a flannel empire-waist maxi dress and a heavy gray shawl.

“Hello,” she called out and waved.

I raised a hand in greeting, waiting for Nadine to dismount and join me. We walked up the sidewalk together.

“I’m Emily,” I said, holding out a hand, which the woman took. “This is Nadine.”

“Nadine, Emily, I’m Sara Edwards, one of the homeowners. Nice to meet you.”

“You, too.” Nadine shook Sara’s hand.

Sara tucked her chin-length brown curls behind one ear. “Shall we go inside?”

“Absolutely,” I replied.

The three of us walked to the far side of a tiny entryway with earth-toned ceramic tile floors. The tile ended at each edge of the entrance and gave way to neutral tan carpet. We stood on the edge of the large space that held the living room, dining area, and kitchen, with windows all across it to a barren backyard.

As I admired the maple kitchen cabinets in a natural finish, the light granite countertops, and the stainless steel appliances, I thought I saw something out of the corner of my eye. A little girl flew high in a swing, kicking her feet, being pushed by a teenage boy. Another girl about his age sat in another swing, twisting side to side with her toes on the ground. They looked familiar but were too far away to recognize for sure out of my peripheral vision. I glanced away from the kitchen and looked for them, and they were no longer in the yard—if they were ever there. I sidestepped and put my hand out, suddenly feeling dizzy.

Movement in the kitchen caught my peripheral attention again. Three dark heads in stairstep height, six hands busy washing and drying dishes. I switched my gaze quickly from the backyard to the kitchen. No kids.

What was wrong with me? A psychotic break? Normal people didn’t see imaginary kids in strangers’ houses. I put my fingers to my cheek to refocus myself and studied the interior décor.

The walls in the kitchen and the other two rooms were a tasteful-if-nondescript almond with crisp white trim. My Dallas condo had been white, black, and silver to suit Rich’s taste, so this would be a refreshing change for me. I lowered my hand and swiveled to look in either direction off the foyer. Hallways jutted toward doorways beyond.

The faint laughter of children bounced toward me down one hall. I wanted to clap my hands over my ears; that, or see if Sara had any Valium.

Sara’s voice pulled me back into the real world. “My husband and I are moving into a bigger house.” She put her hand on her enormous belly. “Number four. We need more space. But he’s always wanted to own rental properties, so here we go, right?” She beamed, revealing perfect white teeth.

“Congratulations,” I said, as I tried to peer down the hallway without drawing attention to myself. Maybe there really were people down there. Sara’s kids, perhaps? But why did I think it had sounded like Betsy’s laugh?

“Thank you,” Sara said.

Nadine shot me a “gag me” look with her index finger jabbing into her mouth behind Sara’s head, but I barely noticed, my mind on the tricks my imagination was playing on me. Seeing people that weren’t there? Hearing sounds that weren’t real? Maybe it wasn’t a psychotic break; maybe the curry was spoiled, and this was food poisoning.

Sara put her hand on my arm. “Is it just the two of you that would plan on living here? Not that we have anything against lesbians, of course.”

Nadine set down the framed picture she had lifted from a low table in the entryway. “Good to know.” She took a deep breath, raising her shoulders an inch.

I hurried to prevent Nadine from going any further. “Us either. But, it’s only me. Nadine’s providing me with moral support today.”

“Ah. Well, it’s a lot of house for one person.”

The sound of Betsy’s voice broke through for a moment, and I fought not startling and widening my eyes in reaction. “Can I have the bedroom with the purple butterflies?” her little voice asked. “Farrah can share with me until she moves away.”

Just like that I was certain, as certain as I ever could be. I would get this house and adopt Betsy and help Greg and Farrah and have it all, dang it, because I could pull this off and everybody would be the better for it.

“No,” I said to Sara. “It’s the perfect amount of space. I’ll take it.”

Nadine raised her eyebrows, and I flashed her a weak smile.