Delia’s Crossing (18 page)

“But you told him to take me to school.”

“Yes, but not to take you home. Never mind. Follow me to my office,” she said. “We have a lot to discuss, you and I.”

She turned away, leaving the door open for me.

I looked back toward the gates and thought,
Just run, Delia, run.

Cross back over.

Go home.

Just as Señora Rosario suggested.

Surprisingly, however, a part of me rose along my spine, as if the sleeping pride of my Latino ancestors had woken and stood now in full parade dress.

With my head high, I entered my aunt’s home and followed the sound of her footsteps down the long marble corridor to what I knew would be a different sort of battlefield.

Edward’s words echoed in my mind: “My mother respects only strength. She pushes until someone pushes back. You understand?”

I understood.

But was that enough?

I
hadn’t yet been in Tía Isabela’s office. It was, I imagined, originally her husband’s office. The walls were paneled in dark wood, and there was a slate floor with a rich-looking ruby oval rug under and around the desk. Covering the wall on one side of the office was a bookcase from floor to ceiling, each shelf filled with volumes of reference books and novels. On the wall behind the desk was a large portrait of Tía Isabela and her husband, dressed formally and standing in front of the fireplace in the living room. It looked like a portrait of royalty. All they needed were crowns and scepters.

In the picture, Tía Isabela looked much younger and resembled my mother much more. I felt sure now that she had had a plastic surgeon work on her face, changing her nose, especially, not that she wasn’t very attractive before that was done.

She stood behind the large dark cherry-wood desk, folded her arms under her breasts, and nodded at the dark brown leather chair in front of the desk.

“Sit,” she said, and I hurried to the chair.

She glanced up at the portrait as if she needed guidance from her husband. It made me wonder how she had managed to conduct business affairs all these years after his death. As far as I knew, she never had formal higher education. She married when she was a waitress in a hotel and hadn’t even finished high school. I was sure she had known nothing about business. My mother said money went through her fingers like sand.

Had her husband taught her all she needed to know, or did she have very good people working for her? Despite the manner in which she had treated me when I arrived, and still treated me, I couldn’t help but be interested in her. It was difficult to imagine her coming from the same small village, learning her basics in the same small school, walking the streets I walked, and being part of the simple fiestas and activities in our small village to get where she was now. From where or what had she gotten her ambition? Was it merely rooted in hatred for all that she was and had, or did someone inspire her?

Once again, she turned a scrutinizing, suspicious face at me, her eyes small. Her look made me terribly self-conscious. I was afraid to move a finger or take too deep a breath. Her gaze was like a hot, glaring light in a police station turned on a suspected criminal.

I think because she was so upset about Edward and so impatient with my understanding of English, she again spoke in
español.

“Why didn’t you tell me what Bradley Whitfield had done to you? Why did you let me believe he had only brought you home? I have to hear about this from a friend whose daughter brought the story home from school? Thanks to Sophia, of course. My big-mouth daughter. How dare you keep this from me? Well?” she snapped before I could utter a sound.

“I was ashamed,” I said.

“Ashamed?” She laughed and pulled the desk chair out abruptly. After she sat, she shook her head. “If he forced himself on you, why should you be the one who is ashamed?”

“I was too innocent to realize what he had intended. I did not…”

“Resist enough?” she asked, that wry smile still on her lips.

“Yes.”

“Maybe you didn’t want to resist,” she said.

I shook my head.

“Maybe you were hoping he would do just what he did. Maybe you led him on and encouraged him, just like you encouraged Señor Baker.”

“Oh, no, Tía Isabela. I did nothing to encourage anyone, especially not Señor Baker.”

“Right, you did nothing,” she said, nodding. “Not only do you look like your mother now, but you sound just like her. No woman is ever that innocent, Delia,” she said. “Not even your mother.”

“I am. I was.”

“Oh, please. I am sure you knew what Bradley Whitfield wanted the moment you got into his car. For a woman, it’s instinctive. You can almost smell their hunger.”

“No, Tía Isabela. I am not lying to you. I suspected nothing. He was Sophia’s boyfriend, so I didn’t imagine…”

“Right. How often have you been with boys like that in Mexico? How often have you not resisted enough?”

“Never, Tía Isabela.”

“So, you claim you’re as pure as the driven snow, is that it?” she asked.

“I do not understand.”

“You and your mother, the holy angels.” She sat back, her smile still sharp, cold. “Everyone knows you Latinos have hotter blood than the rest of us.”

“Us? Are you not Latino, too?”

“Never mind me,” she snapped. “I’m not the one who has brought shame on this house.” She leaned forward. “And I assure you, I don’t want this sort of performance going on in my home.”

“Performance?”

“This innocent act. You do it so well, just like your mother, and now you drove Edward to go off like some knight fighting for your honor, only he injured himself very badly. There is a very, very good chance he’ll never regain his full vision.”

I felt the tears coming, my throat tightening. “I did not ask him to do that.”

“Oh, stop it. We all know how young girls ask boys to do things for them and to them. They don’t have to actually say anything. Your face, your eyes, your wounded look is enough to tear up their hearts. Edward has always been particularly vulnerable to that sort of thing. I think that’s why he hasn’t had a girlfriend for any significant period of time. He loses his heart too easily and flits about. I’ve tried to give him some advice, guide him, warn him, but he’s like…”

“Like you were when you were younger,” I dared suggest.

She stared a moment, and then she smiled again, but this looked like a smile of appreciation more than sarcasm.

“Yes, exactly. That’s why I knew he could get himself into trouble if he wasn’t careful.” She stared again, this time silently. I could see she was deciding what to say next, whether or not to tell me something. It made me uneasy. I squirmed in the chair. Her silences were like needles.

“What did you think of Jesse?”

“Jesse? Edward’s friend?”

“You know another Jesse?”

“No, Tía Isabela. I thought he was very nice, kind. He was very worried about Edward.”

“Very. How did they behave together?”

“Behave?” I couldn’t stop my face from reddening with the memory of how Jesse had kissed Edward.

I saw she was considering me harder.

“Maybe you have been too cloistered in that hovel they called a home. Tell me, were you taught to look away if you saw two people doing something unclean, forbidden, sinful? Well?”

“Yes,” I said.

She looked away and stared out the window. Then she glanced up at the portrait again, looking as if she were hearing her husband’s voice.

“I should send you right back,” she finally said. She said it like a thought aloud.

“I will understand,” I said, a little too quickly.

She turned back to me with a look of surprise. “You would, wouldn’t you? You’d understand, and you would accept your pathetic fate. You’d even go to church and give thanks.”

“Yes,” I said. “I would.”

She slapped the desk and leaned forward. “Damn you. Don’t you see how that would be a defeat, a retreat? Have you no spunk at all? Isn’t any of my blood flowing through your simple brain? Where is your ambition, your hope for yourself? Don’t you see the opportunity for yourself here? You can’t be that stupid.”

“I am not stupid.”

“No. Your teacher thinks you’re rather bright, actually. I’ve already been told.” She sat back again. “Well, I’m not sending you back,” she said after a moment. “First, Edward would be very upset, and I don’t want to do anything to hurt his potential recuperation. If you have any feelings, you would think of that, too.”

“I do. I want to stay to help him.”

“Help him,” she muttered. She looked out the window again, thought for a few moments, and then turned back to me. “All right, I’m going to let you stay, and I’m going to do more to help you fit in here. I’m going to get you a better wardrobe and not just those hand-me-downs from Sophia. I’m going to arrange for your safe delivery to your school and return. No more buses and accepting rides from boys. You won’t have to do any more household duties.

“The whole community knows now that you’re my niece, so there’s no point in pretending anything else, but that means you have even more responsibility to protect my good name and my reputation. If you behave, help, I’ll see to it that you’re well provided for, especially if you are capable of attending college. In short, I’ll make you into a
norteamericana.
And I will continue to send something to your grandmother periodically to keep her from starving or dying in the muddy street.”

Before I could even think to say thank you, she added something more.

“But I want you to do something for me.”

“What, Tía Isabela? What can I possibly do for you?”

“Not for me so much as for Edward, I suppose,” she said.

“Edward?”

“I want you to tell me if his friendship with this Jesse is more than just a friendship. I’m worried about him.”

I was stunned for a moment. “You mean you want me to spy on Edward?”

“And you can spy on Sophia, too. Let me know if she does anything wrong. We might as well make full use of your goody-goody innocence.”

I didn’t know what to say. I was surprised about Edward and Jesse, but to betray them, betray Edward, and then to be a tattletale on Sophia, too? Didn’t she hate me enough already?

“I would not like to be…”

“Don’t pretend any discomfort about it, Delia. I saw the expression on your face when I asked you about Edward and Jesse before. You either saw something or sensed it, too. Well?”

“They are friends. They…”

“I have spoken my piece,” she said, standing. “You know what I want, and you know I am going to reward you. Just be like you really are, like everyone else, like both your mother and me, selfish, and you’ll be just fine. I’ve got other things to do,” she added, and started out of the office. At the door, she paused. “This weekend, we’ll go shopping for your clothes.”

“This weekend?”

“Yes, this weekend. Must I repeat everything?”

“I was…invited to a fiesta, a birthday party my friend Ignacio’s family is having for his sister. I would like to attend Saturday night,” I said

“Why?” she asked, stepping back toward me. “Why do you want to continue to have anything to do with riffraff? Don’t you want to mix with people from higher-class homes, wealth?”

“They are my people,” I said. “They are not riffraff.”

She stared.

I had the sense that I could be more demanding now that she had been so revealing and had demanded such a thing from me.

“I want to go,” I said firmly.

“So, go,” she said, waving her hand. “Wallow in the poor, immigrant swamps. Maybe I can’t do anything for you, after all. Maybe you are your mother’s daughter.”

She left, her words ringing in my ears.

“There’s nothing I want more, Tía Isabela,” I said softly in her wake, “than to be my mother’s daughter.”

Of course, she didn’t hear me. She never would, I thought.

What a surprise this private talk with her had been for me. It left my head spinning, because what she had said was filled with both threats and promises. She looked down on me, and yet she reluctantly expressed admiration for my intelligence. Was I part of what she hated, or was I somehow her personal project, someone she wanted to save? Should I hate her or admire her?

Practically in a daze, I made my way through the house and up to my room. I started to change my clothes to go down to help with dinner preparations, when I remembered Tía Isabela had declared that I would have no more chores. Never before in my life had I gone a day without helping in the house in some way. This, too, left me confused. Now I would be one of those waited upon and looked after? I sat on my bed, actually lost for a few moments. What should I be doing?

My door was abruptly opened, and Sophia came in. She closed it behind her and stood there for a moment staring at me.

“How was my brother?” she asked, speaking each word slowly and loudly, as if I were deaf. “I’m told you speak better English, or at least enough to understand most things,” she added when I didn’t respond quickly enough.

“A little better,” I said.

“What? He was a little better, or you speak English a little better?”

“He is hurt,” I said.

“I know he’s hurt, stupid. Jeez.”

She walked over to the vanity table and fidgeted with my hair brush.

“I want to know about Bradley,” she said, turning. “Did you let him know you liked him? Is that what happened?”

I shook my head. “I don’t like him,” I said.

“He’s a creep,” she told me. She drew closer, until she was right in front of me. “Did he pin you down or what?”

“Pin?”

“Jeez. Did he jump on you, push you to the floor, what? I want to know the details.”

I shook my head. “I don’t understand. Jump?”

“Oh, my God. You don’t know enough English yet. How am I supposed to talk with you, huh?” She thought a moment and then said, “Okay, you know what
pretend
means?”