Andreo's Race (13 page)

“You really are Van—”

“Call me Mom,” she says in a choked little voice. She grips my hands and separates us to gaze at me. Her long lashes blink rapidly. “How did you find me, Andreo?”

“My adoptive parents finally showed me my birth certificate—sort of. Plus I saw the Internet article about Hugo Vargas”—I detect her involuntary wince as I mention his name—“and help from Ardillita and Detective Colque, of course.”

“Detective Colque is a good man,” she says, producing a handkerchief to dab at the corners of her eyes. Her fingernails are long and painted a pink that matches her sweater. “If only Ardillita could find her daughter like I've found you.”

Silence weighs on us for a moment or two. She reseats herself and motions me to sit beside her.

“You have my nose,” she says with a light, nervous laugh. My hands move to my nose and we both laugh. “Tell me about yourself, Andreo. Everything!” She pulls her knitting into her lap and gives me an expectant smile. I watch her needles begin to click again.

I launch into a disconnected speech about how the adventure race brought me to Bolivia. I tell her of my love for sports and describe our house in Canada and the snow-covered mountains and great caves in my
community. I tell her about my school and my friend Raul, and I mention that I have one brother. “Not adopted,” I add a little tensely. I tell her what my mother and father do for a living but don't elaborate.

She nods and sniffs as if trying not to cry. Her needles are going so fast, they're a blur. “I hoped you would go to a good family and have a good life, Andreo. That is all I ever dared hope for you. You do understand I had to give you up, don't you? I had nothing, absolutely nothing. It was the most painful thing I ever did, but I did it for you.”

She raises a hand to wipe at her eyes. My own chest has gone hollow and my eyes are stinging. I notice a wedding ring on her finger. At length, she follows my eyes. “I'm sure you have questions for me, Andreo. I'll answer those that I can, okay?”

I'm trying to form all the questions I've put to her in dreams for years, but my throat isn't cooperating. “You're a secretary,” I finally say.

“Yes.”

I look again at her ring but can't push the question out.

“Yes, I'm married,” she says with a smile. “Very happily.” Her face glows for the first time, and I know she means it. “Not to your father.” She watches my own face fall.

“I've never told anyone who your father was. No one. But you deserve to know. It was Marcelo Quispe, the
trail guide they honor over in Villa Tunari. He was a caving guide here in Torotoro, just briefly, before he went there.” She actually blushes, and it makes her even more beautiful than she is already. “He died just before you were born.”

She hangs her head as if the memory remains heavy.

I nod. “Thank you for telling me.” I try to picture the young man's statue. I recall getting my photo taken next to it. I wonder if it was my birth father's ghost who helped me that rainy night. Or just delusions from exhaustion.

“Except for your nose, you look a lot like him. And you're strong and athletic like him. He was an exceptional guide, anyone will tell you. He was at home in the outdoors in any weather, good with people and a born navigator.”

My chest seizes up; my eyes go watery. With difficulty, I get control of myself. “Do you have other children?”

She shakes her head firmly no. “I've not been blessed that way. Which may be why I've thought of you so often over the years.”

“Do you know who my friend Raul's birth parents are?” I ask. “His birth certificate gives his name as Raul Apaza.”

She stiffens. Her face goes taut. The needles hang in the air. I've obviously crossed some kind of line; I could kick myself for it.

“No, Andreo,” she finally says. “I'm sorry.” Her eyes won't meet mine. She must know something, but I dare not push it.

A soft rap on the door makes us both jump. Detective Colque pushes his head in. “Andreo, you're not keeping track of time. We don't want your adoptive parents searching for you, do we? And patients will be lining up for the clinic anytime now.” He steps back outside.

I check my watch and panic. I look at my mother—my real mother—who has resumed knitting like no one has disturbed us. Lifting my backpack into my lap, I rummage through it to produce my baby cap.

She stares at it, drops her knitting and hugs me tightly again. Her face is buried in my chest. Somehow, that emboldens me. “Mom, where do you live? Why are you in Torotoro? What's your last name? What does your husband do? Can we write to each other? Do you want to see me again?” I can't believe I've gone from having difficulty asking a question to having them spill one over another.

She doesn't move. I want to see her face, I need to see her face, but I'm unwilling to break our embrace.

Detective Colque enters and stands there, glancing worriedly from us to the front door.

She rises slowly, smoothes her hair, pushes her knitting into a bag. She picks up my baby cap, fondles it for a moment, then returns it to me. She takes my hands in hers. The almond eyes gaze a bit distantly at me; I drink in her rose scent and wait.

“You can always contact me through Detective Colque,” she says. “I'm so glad you found a loving home,
Andreo. Embrace it. It's something I never had, once I was pregnant with you.”

I open my mouth to reply, gripping her hands tighter, but the dainty fingers with their pink painted nails slip out easily. She turns and disappears out the back door.

“Andreo,” Detective Colque is saying, “I'll walk you back to the hotel. How did it go, on a scale of one to ten?”

“Ten,” I mutter
. Except that I didn't want it to end
.

“That's good,” he says soothingly. “Believe me, these reunions don't always go as people hope. You'll return to Canada satisfied, then.”

Satisfied. Satisfied
. The word doesn't sit right. But how could anyone who hasn't spent a lifetime wondering about their birth parents ever find the right words to say at a time like this?

David's waiting for me in our hotel room, suspicion written all over his face.

“Where's Raul?” I ask before he can say anything.

He waves a note in my face. “Also out for a run. Seems to be the thing to do this morning, even though we should be saving our energy for caving. And yet, curiously, you two were not running together?”

I shrug as casually as I can. “I woke up before him. Anyway, it's good to get the blood flowing before we head to the caves.”

“Well, I hope you're going to shower before I have to crawl around tight spaces with you.” He pinches his nose shut for effect.

“You bet.” After grabbing my towel and some clothes, I head down the hall. In the shower, I lather up and luxuriate in the steamy hot water, trying to come down from the high of finally meeting my birth mother and learning the identity of my birth father.

Only as I step out of the shower do I realize I've left my backpack in my room. Wearing nothing but a towel, I sprint down the hall, dodging a couple of female hotel guests who cover their mouths and giggle.

The door swings open to reveal David rifling through my pack, the birth documents and baby cap set aside on his bed. Raul enters the room just as I perform a flying leap to grab the papers.

David offers no resistance, just stands and directs an evil smile at Raul and me.

“You have no right!” I shout.

“Oh, but I do,” he replies in an ominous tone as he points at me. “Because you've been lying and sneaking around and compromising our team effort for this other thing—this, this chase after your birth parents, is that it? Is that who knitted this stupid little hat?” He perches it on his hair, then pulls hard on it to try and stretch it over his head. I attempt a tackle, but he raises his knee with just the right timing to slam it into my groin.

I land on the floor writhing in my wet towel. “You bastard,” I cry.

Raul has retreated silently to his own bed to watch.

“Bastard is a better term for
you
, Andreo,” David replies, drawing himself up like he's a judge holding some kind of court. “Father unknown. Mother a teen slut who got rid of you the first chance she could. You get lucky and land in a nice home, and what do you do to show your appreciation? You grow up all resentful. You treat
me like I'm some kind of lesser being all our lives. And then you accept an all-expenses-paid trip to the land of your birth, pretending you want to race as part of that family. When you're really planning to investigate your roots and probably take off at the first opportunity. Have I got that right?”

“Don't tempt me,” I say hoarsely, still doubled up with pain. I want nothing more than to sink my fist into his face.

“Not only do you have a whore for a mother, but she goes to a black-market criminal to sell her baby for the highest price. Hugo Vargas signed your Order of Adoption, I see. He's the one the police arrested, correct?”

“You don't know anything!” I shout.

“Or maybe I do,” he says, tugging on a tassel of my baby cap, then flicking it back and forth in front of his face. “Well, brother dearest, why don't you just run away and have a perfect life here in Bolivia? It's where you belong. Mom, Dad and I can get along just fine without you. We're
real
family. A bloodline, get it?”

I start to leap up, my fist primed, but Raul moves faster. He sits on my chest, holding me down on the bare floorboards, his hands locking both my wrists until I stop struggling.

“You're a first-class jerk, David,” I call out from where I'm trapped. “Selfish as Mother and Dad, only ever thinking about yourselves and racing. Pretending I'm not adopted. Forbidding a conversation about it. Sweeping it
all under the rug because Mother can't handle the fact I have another mother, a real mother.” I let my voice rise to falsetto for the full sarcastic effect.

“For your information,” I continue, “I
have
met my birth mother, just this morning, and she
is
perfect. She never got a penny for me. And my real father isn't unknown. He was a highly respected guide around here. He died before I was born. I look like him. And it wasn't my mother's choice to give me away,” I lie as a finishing flourish.

Raul is frowning, and still crushing my chest where he's sitting astride me. But there's no stopping me now. “Raul and I can wander around Bolivia without anyone thinking we're foreign. You know how that feels? After being stared at and questioned and made fun of our entire lives? No, you have no idea. Because you've spent your whole cushy life being Mother and Dad's favorite and fitting right in. Being a wimpy spoiled brat who can't even hold his own in this race.”

David moves to tower over Raul and me. His face is a sea of emotions: anger, hatred, hurt. I can't believe the poisonous stream of words that just poured out of me. I almost wish Raul had covered my mouth instead of sitting on my chest. At least Mother and Dad aren't part of this.

“Thanks for sitting on him, Raul,” David says in a fake-polite voice. “Sorry you've been forced to be part of this
family dynamic
. And sorry you pulled the short
straw on your own adoptive parents. But listen, if the two of you peel off from the race—if you defect from our team like I'm guessing you've been plotting to do—it doesn't spoil anything. We'll finish ‘unranked.' How does that sound?”

His throat makes a noise like he's gathering spit to spray at me.

“David! Not another word from you!”

Mother's voice from the doorway makes all three of us swivel our heads. Her face is sheet white. Dad's is hurricane-force stormy, but he's hanging back to let her have her say.
How much have they heard?
My hollow chest tells me they've heard everything. What were we thinking, with these paper-thin walls? And why didn't they step in to stop us sooner? Yes, a part of me is glad they've heard it. But mostly I want to sink through the floor, or turn back time to before the moment I headed to the shower.

David, face tense, backs up a few steps.

“Mother, I—I'm sorry …” I begin as I sit up.

She seats herself slowly on David's bed, takes a moment to collect herself and then reaches out and squeezes my hand with determined force. “There's something I should explain, Andreo—should have told you long ago. After we adopted you, I was terrified someone would come to take you back. Or that you'd have memories of your real—
er
, your birth mother. It's because you cried all the time.… ”

“Screamed bloody murder, more like. Especially when your mother held you,” Dad says, arms crossed but face losing its anger as he moves closer to Mother.