California Sunrise (24 page)

• • •

“Good thing the fog stayed out,” Raúl said as he helped Peter move the wooden table to its position at the edge of the parking lot.

The church had given the group permission to use the lawn west of the main building for their potluck. In an hour, Raúl hoped, the place would be overflowing with people ready to defeat Joe Wilson’s bill.

“If we didn’t need the fog for the moisture, I’d be happy if it stayed out to sea all the time,” Peter replied. Once they set down the table, he stretched with his fist in the small of his back.

“Back pain?” Raúl asked.

“Always. You’re a doc. What do you think I should do?”

“I work on little people. They don’t have back pain.”

“Give ’em time.”

Raúl laughed, his spirits higher than they’d been in a long time. He was finally
doing
something. The only problem in his perfect world was the rift with Alicia.

People started arriving a few hours later, first dribbling in, then it seemed like someone had opened a gate, and streams of humans flowed into the area, all bearing casserole dishes. Raúl told people where to put their offerings and showed them where the line began at a table laden with paper plates, napkins, and plastic forks, knives, and spoons. Iced tea and sodas were available in another area.

The sun was warm on his back, adding to his general happiness. He was anxious to hear what Peter was going to tell those assembled and how they’d receive the message.

“How’s it going, bro?” Juan asked as he carried over the chili he’d made that morning.

“Good. No. Better than good. It’s great.” He smiled and took the pot from Juan’s hands. “Better get in line. Food’s going fast.”

“I will.” Juan scanned the crowd.

An edge of nervousness scratched at Raúl’s happiness.

“This probably isn’t the best time to talk about this,” Juan said. “But I think I need to head out in the next few days. I have been here a little too long. The feds may be getting close, and I am not ready to go back to Mexico yet.”

“I’ll miss you.”

“
Sí.
” Juan gave his arm a friendly punch. “But I’ll be back. Can’t leave my little brother chasing
señoritas
on his own.” He looked toward the parking lot. “Speaking of
señoritas
, I think yours has arrived.”

Raúl followed his brother’s gaze. Alicia was picture-perfect in her white blouse and multi-colored skirt. Heels of some sort—did they call them wedges? Whatever they were, they made her hips sway in a way that was beginning to drive him mad.

Why had she come?

“Later,” Juan said and started toward the food line.

“Oh, yeah, see you.” Raúl never took his eyes off her.

“Hi,” she said when she reached him.

“Hi.”

“I decided to hear what your group had to say.” She held up the plastic container she had in her hand. “Brownies. Where do I put them?”

“Let me show you.” He wasn’t sure what to say. The desire he had to be with her was still strong, but he sensed landmines ahead—more arguments about his cause.

“There are a lot of people here,” she said.

“Gives me hope. Maybe we can defeat this thing.”

“Have you figured out why Joe Wilson started this proposition?”

“No.”

Why couldn’t she let it alone?

She put the container on the table and opened it.

He snatched a brownie. “Oh, my God, these are so good,” he mumbled around the dark chocolate in his mouth.

“It’s the only thing I can make.” She laughed.

Their gazes caught. He wanted her in his life, but his experience hadn’t taught him how to be on opposite sides of an issue and still be friends, never mind lovers.

A familiar figure caught his gaze as it stalked down the path to the gathering.

Joe Wilson’s face was broken into planes of anger, and he was headed right toward them.

Raúl released Alicia and put himself between her and the man striding their way. “What can I do for you?” he asked once the man was within hearing range.

“What the
hell
do you people think you’re doing?”

“Having a potluck. Did you bring anything? That’s the price of admission.”

“Hell, no. I came to speak with whoever’s in charge. I know what you’re doing. You’re going to find a way to get all these people to vote against my bill.”

“That’s the plan.”

“That’s illegal.” Joe Wilson waved a finger at Raúl’s face. “Illegals don’t have the right to vote!”

“What makes you think these people are illegal?” His good mood started slipping away.

“I can tell just by looking at them.”

“You’re nothing but a bigoted old man. Please leave. Now.” His fists clenched of their own volition.

The warmth of Alicia’s touch slowed his racing pulse by a few milliseconds. “Are you Joe Wilson?” she asked.

The man gave a sharp nod.

“I’m glad to meet you.” She held out her hand. “I’m Alicia Fuentes.”

Joe stared at her hand, obviously caught between prejudice and good manners. Finally, he gave her a brief shake.

“Welcome to our potluck,” she said, taking a step closer to the man. “Even though you didn’t bring anything, there’s more than enough food.” She waved her hand at the laden tables. “Please stay. I, for one, would like to hear what you have to say about this proposition.”

What was she doing?

“I ... I’m not staying.”

“Please change your mind. Sometimes when you break bread with people, you get to know them better.”

She was making things worse. The last thing Raúl wanted to do was eat with his enemy.

But his uncle had advised him to understand those against him so he could fight more effectively. “Yes, there is more than enough,” he said.

“Aren’t you the same guy who told me never to contact you again? The pediatrician?”

“
Sí
. I was rude. Forgive me.”

Joe Wilson stared at him and then at Alicia. He glanced quickly toward the people in the food line. Some had become aware of the drama at the edge of the crowd and were watching curiously. Peter started to walk toward them.

“I’m not staying. And I’m not giving up.” Joe Wilson licked his lips and pushed his cap back on his head.

“Mr. Wilson?” Alicia’s voice was honeyed but not obsequious.

“Yes?” The edges of the man’s face softened a little.

“I have a little boy—fourteen months.”

“Aren’t you a little young to start having babies?” The edge was back.

“It wasn’t on purpose, but he’s here. He ... has some issues. I am legal, so your new law wouldn’t affect me, but I can’t imagine what it would be like to need medical care for my child and not be able to get it. Can you?”

Any budding sympathy left the man’s face. “Actually, I can. It’s exactly the reason I want to see this bill pass. You people took my son from me. If it hadn’t been for an illegal taking up space in the emergency room, Tommy would have lived. He was only eight.
Eight
.” Pain whipped at his voice, like baying hounds at a fox’s tail.

“I’m so sorry.” Alicia put her hand on his arm.

He flinched, and she pulled back.

“Can I help you with something, Mr. Wilson?” Peter had reached them.

“You and your kind can leave my country, that’s what you can do.” Wilson stalked toward the parking lot, fists clenched.

“Do you think that’s true? What he said about his son?” Alicia asked.

“What do you mean?” Peter asked.

Raúl relayed what Wilson had said. “I’ll check into it,” he added. “I can’t believe a doctor would deliberately hold off treatment for someone who needed it.”

“But what if it’s true?” Alicia asked. “How could that have happened?”

”And you are?” Peter cocked his head.

“Alicia Fuentes.” She held out her hand. “Raúl and I are … friends.”

The word almost broke his heart.

As he watched Joe Wilson leave the potluck, Raúl noticed two vehicles entering the parking lot. They stopped at the edge of the pavement, and three overly pressed men got out.

He looked around for Juan but didn’t see him. He started to edge around the crowd, hoping to spot his brother before DHS did.

The men strode toward the group, occasionally glancing at papers they held in their hands.

Raúl spotted Juan about the same time the lead official did.

Too many people stood between him and his brother. Small children grabbed at Raúl with sticky fingers, and acquaintances wanted to talk.

“Sorry. I’m busy,” he muttered over and over while he made his slow-motion progress to warn Juan. While he wasn’t a big man, his broad shoulders made it difficult to slip easily between groups, especially if he didn’t want to leave any bruised bodies in his wake.

His heart pounded as he neared the other side, cursing himself for choosing to plow his way through instead of circumventing the crowd altogether.

What would he do if the feds arrested Juan? What could he do? Would the lawyer he’d hired to enable his parents’ return be able to help?

His breath was short as he finally broke through.

Too late.

Cuffs were already around Juan’s wrists.

A lump in Raúl’s throat gagged him as he suppressed the urge to scream profanities. Everyone’s attention needed to be on Peter, not on the drama at the edge of the lawn.

“What are you doing?” he asked the man clutching Juan’s arm.

“Who are you?”

“Dr. Raúl Mendez, American citizen.” Just to make things clear.

“Well, this man is not, Dr. Mendez. What’s more, he’s involved with the cartels. We don’t need his kind in our country.”

“He’s
fighting
the cartels, not with them.”

The man shrugged and began to walk toward the lot, Juan in tow. The others fell behind. “Not my call. I just execute the warrant, don’t write it up. That’s what they have lawyers and judges for.” He stopped. “Mendez. A relation?”

Juan gave a small shake of his head.

“Not really,” Raúl said.

Before the rooster crows, you will disown me three times.
He’d now done to his brother what the apostle Peter had done to Jesus.

He felt sick as he watched his brother being stuffed into the car. He wanted to pummel someone, longed for a demanding jerk to give him an excuse. If he’d known where Wilson lived, he would’ve burned the place down. Even if it wouldn’t solve anything.

But he couldn’t draw focus to himself. They might arrest him, too—for aiding a fugitive.

Someone had to stay in the sunlight to fight for justice.

“Was that Juan they took away?” Alicia had caught up to him.

“
Sí.
”

“I’m so sorry.” She put her hand on his arm.

“That’s why this cause is so important.” His voice broke with anguish. “So no one has to be deported ever again.”

She was silent but still touched him.

He pulled away from her. “If you can’t see that, I can’t see a future for us at all.”

“I …”

He shook his head. “Leave me alone. I have things to do.”

His chest felt like it was going to split in two, but he still walked away from the one person he’d hoped to love.

• • •

Alicia’s mother and grandmother had gone to Saturday evening Mass, leaving her free to attend church at her normal service—the same time as Raúl. They’d taken to sitting next to each other, in silent communion with each other, God, and all the saints.

Would he show? Maybe with the peace of the Lord surrounding them, they could find their way back to each other.

No one had told her a relationship could be so hard.

The space beside her stayed empty as she knelt to give thanks and pray for help with the worries on her mind—Luis, her grandmother, Juan, and a second chance to help Raúl understand her point of view.

She stood when the procession began. A rustling beside her gave her hope, but it turned out to be an elderly couple she’d seen before.

Through the entire Mass, the questions turned over and over in her mind. Where was Raúl? Had anything happened? Was he sick?

At the end of the service the elderly couple took their time, spiking the thump of her heart in her chest. Using a phone in holy space was rude, but she was tempted. As soon as she cleared the priestly line, she changed her footsteps from the shuffling gait she’d been using to avoid stepping on the old woman’s heels to a stride that ate up pavement.

“Where’s my son?” Eduardo’s voice was angry when he grabbed her arm.

“Ow! Damn it! Let me go!”

“Ooh, swearing in the churchyard,” Graciela said with her customary smirk. “God’ll get you.”

“Let me go or I’ll scream.” Alicia leveled her tone, then filled her lungs with air.

Eduardo released her but didn’t move away. “I’ve seen a lawyer. He’s taken my DNA.”

Fear clutched her heart, but she steadied herself. Her car was in a distant part of the lot. Should she head toward it or back to the groups of parishioners hanging near the open doors? She released a little of the air she was holding and took a step backward. “So?”

He took a step forward. “The lawyer’s going to court. He’ll force you to test my son. Then I’ll take him from you.”

“They don’t give children to
bandas
. You don’t have a job. You’re single.” She pointed her finger at Graciela. “And you’ll never take Luis.”

“We’re getting married,
puta
. Eduardo has a job in a garage—he’s a mechanic. We’ll be better parents than you could ever be. I’ll tell the judge how you spread your legs for everyone—like rich doctors harboring illegal brothers. You won’t stand a chance.”

The tension of her fight with Raúl, Juan’s arrest, and her grandmother’s illness broke free, and she launched herself at Graciela. “
Cerda
!” Her fingers tangled in Graciela’s hair, and she yanked.

Graciela howled and slapped Alicia’s face.

Strong hands gripped Alicia’s arms and pulled her back, still clutching some of her rival’s hair.

“You’ll never take my son! You’d destroy him! Rut and make your own baby. You won’t get mine!” Every gutter word she’d learned in her brief time with the gangs started to spew from her mouth. She twisted away from Eduardo, his hands leaving more finger marks on top of the bruises already there.