The letters that I threw unopened into a shoebox in my closet.
When my father spoke again, the tone of his voice was serious. “When I first came to the States, I used to stand outside a lumberyard, waiting for carpentry jobs, or any kind of jobs. Abe Gropper came by and said he needed someone to put a new roof on his daughter’s house. That’s how I met Nancy. Trevor was eight months. We … fell in love.”
“I don’t need to hear this.”
But my father was determined to finish the story. He spoke faster now. “We moved in together. Abe wasn’t happy. He hated me. Blamed himself for hiring me to fix the roof. But then, finally, when the divorce with your mother came through and I married Nancy and adopted Trevor, after I changed my name and everything, he gave me a job at Able Abe’s. I got my plumber’s license in three months, went to community college to learn English. He saw how hard I worked, how much I cared for Nancy and Trevor. Then …”
“What’s it like, the detention center where Sara is being held?” I interrupted. I could not take any more of my father’s newfound happiness.
“Detention center is just a fancy name for prison,” my father said, a twinge of anger in his voice. “I only saw the place once. Imagine a one-story brick school with a gym in the back, a big playground and a soccer field all enclosed by a tall fence with spotlights and cameras all around. The place is in the middle of nothing but cactus and tumbleweeds.” My father pointed to the barren landscape outside the window. “There was no need for her to turn herself in. She could have filed her asylum application from Aurora.” My father opened a small compartment between the seats, took out a pair of aviator sunglasses and put them on. “The lawyer should have never let her turn herself in.”
“I don’t think Sara had a choice,” I said. “She went out looking for help to save a man’s life. Sandy, the park ranger, rescued her.” Then, after a moment, “And what would your plan have been for getting both of us across the Border Patrol checkpoint?” I regretted the angry tone in my voice. It was a long ride to Chicago. I needed it to be as peaceful as possible.
“I know,” my father said in a softer tone. “I know you guys had a rough time out there. Sara told me about how you two were attacked. I still don’t understand how the people who were after Sara found out where you were crossing.”
So my father did not know it was my fault. I wondered if he knew about the cell phone inside my backpack.
“And why were they after you anyway?”
He did not know about the cell phone, now I was sure. But I decided to test my assumption anyway. “Revenge,” I said. “Hinojosa wanted to kill Sara for exposing him and all his corruption.”
My father shook his head.
“At least she’s safe now,” I said quietly, mostly to myself.
“Yes, at least you are both safe.”
That was a lie. I wasn’t safe. I was in this country illegally. There could be more checkpoints up ahead. It was also a lie to say that the only motive for the attack was revenge. The cell phone I had with me was the motive. It occurred to me that my father and his happy family in Aurora were not safe as long as that cell phone was with me. I was tempted to tell him the truth: that Sara and I were attacked because of my actions, that danger followed Sara and me into the United States. But I didn’t say anything. I looked at my father, at this man who called himself Bob Gropper, and I was not sure I could trust him. I was no longer absolutely certain that he would put Sara’s and my welfare and safety above everything else. Where were Sara and I in the hierarchy of Bob Gropper’s heart? It seemed to me that we were below Nancy and Trevor and Abe and his position as director of sales and marketing at Able Abe’s. And when you think about it, that’s pretty far down. I felt guilty for lying to my father about the cell phone, but I could not deny what I felt. I realized that the main thing that had been lost when my father decided not to come back to Mexico was trust—the trust I once had in him. Maybe that trust would come back someday, I didn’t know. I was willing to give it a chance and hope that it would. But at that moment, all I could feel was its gaping absence.
My father fiddled with the air-conditioner knob. “It was just hard to see Sara dressed in a blue jumpsuit like a criminal. Anyway, it won’t be for too long. Mr. Morgan is appealing the denial of bond to an immigration judge.”
“And if she is let out with the bond?”
“Sara has decided to stay with Sandy Morgan and her father in Alpine until her asylum hearing. If the hearing is in El Paso, she can bring witnesses from Juárez who will testify to the persecution she went through and will go through if she returns. I checked with Nancy and Abe and they both think that’s the right decision.”
My father checked with Nancy and Abe about Sara’s decision? Why? What’s it to them what Sara does? I was glad I hadn’t said anything about the cell phone. It also made me wonder if the only reason I was going to Chicago was because Nancy and Abe had approved my coming. I tried to open the window, but the switch did not respond. Where were the mountains? There were no mountains anywhere. When Sara and I walked across Big Bend National Park, the Sierra Madre mountains were always visible. Here the world was flat. I leaned my head against the windows and shut my eyes. I hugged the backpack closer to me.
Out there, in the desert, I forgave my father. I had to remember what that was like. It felt right and good and peaceful. Maybe I was already in another reality when that happened, a reality where forgiveness was easy.
In this world, forgiveness is hard, I said to myself.
The gym where children played basketball and volleyball and climbed to the rafters using thick ropes now held ninety bunk beds. The beds were so close together that from my top bunk I could reach over and touch the head of Lucila on the adjoining bunk. It took about two hours after the lights went out for the room to get quiet enough for sleep. First there was conversation, then whispers, and then later the muted sounds of women sobbing. But at 2:00 a.m., all you could hear was the sound of your own thoughts.
Sandy had left a message for me to call, and when I did, she told me that her father came by in the afternoon but was not allowed to see me. Wes Morgan was so outraged that he was driving to El Paso first thing tomorrow morning to file a complaint with the commissioner of ICE in charge of detention facilities. That was the bad news. But the good news was that Emiliano had made it past the Border Patrol checkpoint and was now on his way to Chicago. Gustaf Larsson snuck him across the checkpoint in the back of a horse trailer. I laughed when Sandy told me that, and then I was filled with love and gratitude for my brother. I knew he was doing something that he did not want to do and that he was doing it, in part, for me.
I was sure that Emiliano had Hinojosa’s cell phone with him. I only hoped that he was able to call Yoya while he was with Mr. Larsson and that he made arrangements to give her the phone. In the daytime, it is easier to believe that bringing that cell phone was the right decision. But at 2:00 a.m., fear outweighed my initial act of courage. I had to reach out in the dark and borrow Linda’s courage, the courage that prompted her to steal the phone from Hinojosa and send it to me. I had to remember Linda’s suffering. It was up to me and now up to my brother to make sure that what she went through was not in vain. I had to remember that people were willing to kill for that phone for a reason. There were more girls out there in captivity and the phone could mean their freedom.