Delia's Heart (25 page)

It was exhilarating, and I began to wonder if I was made for this life after all. The contrast between it and how I had been living was even greater. I tried to envision what it would be like to be Adan Bovio’s young wife. What would our children be like? Would I become very much like
mi tía
Isabela, concerned about social position, clothes, and jewelry? My life in Mexico would drift farther and farther away, disappear in the distance as the shore disappeared. Everyone I had loved and lost would move closer and closer to the third death.

But I would be building a new family and a new life, and I would carry as much of what I loved and cherished into this new life. That can’t be terrible, I thought. Abuela Anabela used to say, “
En la casa de la rica, ella manda y ella grita
.” In a rich woman’s house, her hollers and orders ring out. That was certainly true for
mi tía
Isabela. Would it be true for me? Was it important to be important, respected, obeyed? She certainly didn’t have love. Could I have both?

I looked back at Adan. Even asleep, he looked as handsome as Adonis. I would certainly be the envy of every woman. Sophia would come close to committing suicide. It was all so complicated. Did I love him at all? Were those words finally coming to my lips, words I would say before this day ended? And if I did, did I love him for who he was or what he was? Was his love for me so strong that it would answer all questions and wipe away any troubles and pain? Should I consider myself lucky and be done with it?

When he gave me that ring on graduation day, would I take it and put it on or shake my head and softly say, “I can’t. Not yet.” In his eyes, postponement meant never. He would take it back, but he might never again offer it to me. I knew what
mi tía
Isabela would say. “Seize it.”

“How are you doing?” I heard him say.

I had been in such deep thought that for a moment I panicked when I saw I had gone off course.

“Sorry. I wasn’t paying good attention,” I confessed.

He rose, stretched, and came back to the controls.

“I’ll say,” he said, laughing. “You must have been sleeping or daydreaming. It’s all right,” he added quickly. “I’ll get us back on course.”

He took over, but the wind stirred up again, and our ride became quite rough. He kept apologizing for it.

“You don’t control the weather, Adan,” I told him.

“Yeah, but I shouldn’t have let us get out this far. It’s going to take longer to get back. Sorry. You’d better sit,” he added when I wobbled from side to side.

While he stood spread-eagle at the wheel, I could sit right behind him and hold on to the armrests. We were rocking that much now. The sky had clouded up quickly, too. I actually felt a little cold.

“Damn,” he muttered. “I didn’t want to take you out on such a rough ride. I should have listened to Bill back there.”

“But it became so nice.”

He looked back at me, and I blushed. I wasn’t referring to our lovemaking, but I could see he thought I was.

“I’m not saying it wasn’t worth it,” he told me, and
then turned back to the wheel. He looked at his gauges and shook his head.

“What?” I asked. The brisk wind and the higher waves were beginning to frighten me.

“We’re not moving as fast as the RPMs indicate we should. Sometimes you pick up something and drag it, like seaweed, even an old fisherman’s net. I’m going to go back and check it out, Delia. I’d like you to take the wheel and just hold it steady like I showed you before, okay?”

I nodded. When I stood up, the rocking threw me back to the seat. He held my arm when I stood again and planted me at the wheel.

“Hold on tightly,” he said. “We’ll be all right. Don’t be afraid.”

“
Sí
,” I said.

He braced himself and carefully went down the short ladder to move toward the rear of the boat. The wind ripped at his blazer and combed up the strands of his hair. I was worried about him, so I kept turning to look back to check on him. At one point, he lost his balance but caught himself quickly on the side of the boat.

“Adan!”

He waved back at me.

“I’m all right,” he called, and leaned over the boat to look at the rudder and propellers.

I was half turned, watching him, and I let go of the wheel with my right hand just as a rather strong, high wave crashed against the side of the boat. I was the one who lost balance this time and felt myself falling to my right. I reached out frantically for the wheel, and when I seized it, I turned it sharply. The boat turned sharply too.

Adan looked as if he was lifting off the floor of the deck the way the gull had lifted earlier off the side of the boat. In an effort to prevent himself from going overboard, he reached for the side of the boat, what I would later learn was called the gunnel, and he struck his head hard and sharply. He fell back to the deck instantly.

“Adan!”

I straightened myself, and, clinging to anything and everything I could, I hurried down the ladder. I made my way back to him. He hadn’t stirred since hitting his head. I fell to the deck beside him and shook him. Without anyone steering it, the boat wobbled and bounced dramatically.

“Adan! Adan!”

His eyes were shut, his face in a grimace of pain, but he did not regain consciousness. When I saw a trickle of blood begin to flow from his scalp, I went into an even greater panic. I knew I had to get back to steering the boat. The ocean was tossing us about as if we were in a toy. Practically crawling on all fours now, I scurried back to the ladder and up to the bridge. When I seized the wheel, I spread my legs apart as I had seen him do and steadied the boat. I had no idea which way to turn to reach shore, but I turned all the way to my right. I looked for a way to keep the wheel from turning while I returned to Adan, but I couldn’t find one.

Tears were streaming down my face now, tears of panic, not tears of sadness. I moaned and prayed. Suddenly, I saw another boat in the distance and turned to head in its direction. I knew the people on it were too far away to hear my cries, and the wind would carry
them off, anyway. Fortunately, they were heading in our direction, so the time it took to draw closer was reduced. It seemed to take forever to me, however.

Adan had still not moved. I could see the trickle of blood was now a clear red line down the side of his temple and over his cheek. How could all this have happened so quickly? I complained aloud, as if some god of the sea would hear me and fix everything. It wasn’t fair.

When I could clearly see the people on the other boat, I waved and screamed. Someone pointed at me, and they all looked my way.

“Adan is seriously hurt!” I shouted, as if I believed everyone in the world knew who he was. I pointed to him, but there was no way they could see him yet.

I listened to the tall man in a dark blue shirt and pants and followed his directions to slow our boat. He told me to hold it steady, and soon they were close enough to lower their dinghy. The man got into it and started for our boat. The moment he was able to board, I felt myself spin around. The excitement and panic were too much. He seized my arm, but I sank to the floor.

When I woke, I saw there was now another man, shorter and stocky, and a woman beside him on our boat. They had managed to get Adan onto the cushion on the deck. The woman came to me immediately. She had long red hair and freckles peppered over her cheeks, even at the sides of her chin.

“What happened?” she asked when I sat up.

“He hit his head on the side,” was all I managed to say before my throat choked up.

“You take it easy,” she said. “We’ll get you both back. Felix, my husband,” she said, nodding at the man
standing at our steering wheel, “will handle your boat. My son is on ours. C’mon,” she said. “I’ll help you lie down on the cushion beside your…husband?”

I shook my head. “No, he’s only a friend.”

“All right, honey. Lean on me,” she said. Somehow, she guided me back to Adan, and I was able to sprawl out beside him. His eyes were still shut, but they had bandaged his head enough to stop the bleeding. I reached for his hand, and then I lay back and closed my eyes.

Soon, I thought, I’ll wake from this nightmare.
Please
,
mi dios
, I prayed,
make it only a nightmare
.

Maybe I fell asleep again. I can’t remember now, but when I opened my eyes again, we were closing on the dock. They had put a blanket over Adan. He didn’t look as if he was cold, but I thought the way he was right now, he wouldn’t know if he was or not. They had radioed ahead, so when we reached the dock, I could see the paramedics waiting. There was an ambulance parked nearby.

“It’ll be all right,” the woman told me. “We’re almost there, dear.”

She squeezed my hand. I looked at Adan and prayed she was right.

Once we docked, the paramedics quickly boarded. They asked me what had happened, and I described Adan’s accident quickly while they prepared to take him off the boat. I was crying so hard that I wasn’t sure they understood my explanation. I know I was blaming it all on myself. If I hadn’t lost my balance…if I hadn’t pulled the steering wheel too hard…

“Did you hurt yourself in any way?” the paramedic asked me.

I showed him my hands. They were burning because of how I had skinned my palms in my desperation to get up the ladder to the bridge.

“We’ll take care of that. Don’t worry. Take it easy,” the paramedics told me. “Just stay calm.”

“
Gracias
,” I said.

I watched as they strapped Adan into a gurney, securing his head and neck, and lifted him gently. On the dock, they had another gurney with wheels. I was wobbly when I stood. The woman with red hair held my arm and helped me get off the boat.

“How are you doing?” one of the paramedics asked me.

I just shook my head. I felt nauseous now and very dizzy. I took deep breaths to keep myself from passing out.

“C’mon,” he said, taking my arm. “We’ll bring you along and get you checked out.”

He led me to the ambulance. I watched them load Adan in, and then they helped me in and had me sit while one of the paramedics began to take a reading of Adan’s vitals. Moments later, the ambulance started away.

Before I closed my eyes and sat back, I glanced through the rear window and saw that a small crowd had gathered on the dock, and the red-haired woman and her husband were telling everyone what had happened.

Mi dios
, I thought, I hadn’t even thanked them.

W
hen we reached the emergency room at the hospital, they took me to a room next to the one Adan was in, so I was able to hear them working frantically on him. Before anyone came in to examine me, I heard them wheel Adan off to radiology. The nurse at the desk came in to see me and ask questions about our identities and the accident. Finally, the emergency-room doctor came in to see me to treat the palms of my hands.

“Did you injure yourself in any other way?” he asked.

I shook my head. I think I was on the borderline of being hysterical, and he could see that in my face.

“Just relax,” he said, getting me to lie back. “Everything’s going to be all right.”

“Can you give us a phone number of someone to call for you?” the nurse asked me.

Can you call the beyond?
I wanted to ask.
Can you reach my parents or my grandmother?

There was no point in delaying it, I thought, and gave her
mi tía
Isabela’s home number.

“Will Adan be all right?” I asked quickly.

“We’ll know everything soon. Just try to rest. We’d rather not give you any medications right now, Delia. Will you be all right?”

I nodded.

“We’ll look in on you frequently. Just close your eyes and rest,” she said.

I did, and I was blessed with sleep and grateful for it, even though it was obviously a result of mental and physical exhaustion.

When I woke, I clearly heard Señor Bovio’s voice in the hallway. I trembled at the thought of seeing him. Moments later, he looked in on me. The nurse came in before him and checked my blood pressure. He stood staring at me until she nodded and left the room.

His face was grim, dark, his lips trembling. Then he held out his arms and looked as if he would break into tears.

“How did this happen to my son?” he asked.

I began to explain, taking deep breaths between sentences. My chest ached with my own sadness and agony. I know I was practically blubbering, rattling off insignificant details, mixing English and Spanish, but he picked up on my mention of the RPMs as Adan had described them.

“So he went to check the propellers?”

“
Sí
. And the boat was rocking so much and so hard, I was worried for him.”

He nodded. “And then?”

“Then I lost my balance,” I said, and he looked up quickly.

“What happened?”

“I was falling over, so I grabbed the wheel, and it turned, and that’s when Adan went flying into the side of the boat.”

“Into the gunnel? When you lost control?”

“
Sí
. I hurried down to him, but he was unconscious, and the boat was tossing so hard—”

“You let go of the wheel?”

“Just for a little while to see how he was.”

“No, I mean before, when you lost your balance.”

“
Sí, señor
.”

He stared at me.

“How is he now?” I asked.

“They are looking at the results of his CT and his MRI,” he said abruptly. “Your aunt is on the way,” he added, turned, and left me.

It was almost another hour before Tía Isabela arrived with Sophia. Amazingly, she looked bored, even angry, about being dragged along. She was behaving as if I had arranged all of this in order to be the center of attention and take the spotlight off her. From the look on Tía Isabela’s face, I knew that things were very serious. I almost burst into tears. She looked at the bandages on my hands and then asked me to tell her exactly what had happened, too. Sophia stood off to the side, staring down at the floor, her arms folded across her breasts.

“I just don’t understand how things always turn out bad for you, Delia,” Tía Isabela said. That was to be the softest, most considerate thing she would say to me about all this. “I’m going up to the OR waiting room. They took Adan in for an emergency operation.”

“On his brain,” Sophia added. “Ugh.”

“Maybe you should stay down here with Delia, Sophia,” Tía Isabela told her.

“I’ll go into the lobby and read whatever magazines they have or watch television. I don’t know why you made me come,” she said.

Tía Isabela shook her head and left.

“I heard my mother talking with Mr. Bovio,” Sophia said as she turned to leave the room. She paused at the door. “I could tell he blames you. He didn’t want his son to be with you in the first place.”

Her words were as painful as a dagger driven into my heart. She left, and I fell back against the pillow and stared up at the ceiling. He doesn’t have to blame me, I thought. I blame myself, my clumsy, stupid self.

As I lay there, I could think of few things worse than being trapped in this limbo of tension. I was afraid to move a muscle or call to a nurse to ask a question. I couldn’t even cry. My well of tears was long dry. Sophia came back once to complain about how long it was all taking. I turned away from her rather than respond, and she left quickly, mumbling to herself. Minutes moved like snails on a bed of dry earth.

Finally, Tía Isabela returned. It had been nearly four hours. She stood there just inside the doorway and looked at me when I sat up.

“Get yourself together,” she said. “We’re leaving.”

“How is Adan?”

“Adan died twenty minutes ago,” she said. “I’ve been holding Señor Bovio, keeping him from tearing himself to pieces.”

“Why?” I said, now replenished with tears stream
ing down my face. I thought my own heart had stopped. “Why did he die?”

She shook her head.

Sophia came up beside her, now looking shocked herself, looking more like a helpless little girl than ever.

“I listened to the doctor explaining it to Señor Bovio,” she said in a tired and defeated tone of voice. “There is no room in the brain for extra blood. The skull does not expand, so the blood presses on brain tissue, which is delicate, and with large amounts of bleeding, the pressure can make critical areas of the brain stop working. He had what they called a contracoup injury. His brain had microscopic tears. They went in to see if they could stop the bleeding, but…it was too late. Let’s go,” she concluded. “I’ll wait in the lobby.”

Sophia looked at me with less accusation than pity. Apparently, finally, there was some part of her that had reached the bottom of the pit, the end of the envy and belligerence. I was too pathetic to be worthy of any more of her anger. In her eyes, and truthfully, in my own as well, I was gone, diminished to the point of bare existence, as empty as a shadow, dark and enslaved to follow my skeleton about like a chained prisoner who lived only to die.

It was reflected in the way I moved—stunned, my legs following some reflexive orders because my brain had shut down. The nurses and the ER doctor looked my way with funeral faces, their eyes shrouded with sympathy. Did everyone blame me? Was I wearing some mark of Cain on my forehead? Señor Garman was waiting for us with the limousine doors open. To me, he now looked like an undertaker, and the limousine looked like a hearse. I was already buried in
my own body, not quite awake but not quite asleep, trapped like a hopeless vampire eagerly waiting for a wooden stake to put me out of my misery.

Sophia snapped out of her moments of shock, moments when, for a little while at least, she had connected with someone else and had empathized, felt sorrow and pain, and was somewhat sympathetic. But as if that realization hit her, she slapped on her earphones and listened to her own rock music, trying to drown out the shreds of humanity that had bubbled to the surface. Tía Isabela was silent, staring out the window at the hospital. When we pulled away, however, she sighed and said, “That poor man.”

I shrank into myself, embraced myself, and hovered as close to the corner of the seat as I could. Tía Isabela did not look at me or talk to me until we were nearly home. Then she spoke in a voice that sounded like the voice of some judge sitting above the clouds and looking down at me.

“I want you out of that room now,” she began. “Take your things, and move into the old help’s quarters, to the room you had when you first arrived, the room I should have kept you in and not been persuaded otherwise by my gullible son. Perhaps none of this would have happened. Do your chores, and finish your school year. Then go back to Mexico, or do whatever you want, only leave.

“You make me believe in the
ojo malvado
, the evil eye,” she said, and I turned sharply toward her. “Yes, those stupid, old, backward ideas I have ridiculed all my life seem to have validity when it comes to you. I don’t want you bringing any more bad luck to my home, to my family, to my world.”

I had no fight left in me and no words to contradict her. I had come to believe these things about myself. I turned away again, and when we arrived, I got out, went up to my room, and gathered my things together as she had commanded. Even though it was late, Sophia charged up ahead of me to get on her phone and report everything as if she were some foreign correspondent with breaking world news. In a matter of hours, if not minutes, everyone who knew of Adan and of me would know what had happened. And she would feel important.

Tía Isabela told Señora Rosario and Inez what had occurred and what she wanted done with me. They were waiting to help move my things when I came down. They looked sorry for me, but I could see they were also afraid to say anything that might be critical of
mi tía
Isabela. I imagined how angry and terrifying she had looked to them when she described the events and what were her new orders. I moved silently, truly believing I had become that shadow of myself. I didn’t mind the cold, dark, dusty room and the uncomfortable bed. I didn’t mind the insects and the poor lighting. Señora Rosario left me cleaning liquids, a mop, and washcloths. The palms of my hands still burned with pain, but I worked anyway, welcomed the pain, welcomed anything that resembled punishment I thought I deserved. When I was finally too exhausted even to cry, I went to bed. At the moment, I felt even too unworthy to say a prayer. I battled back sleep, because I was afraid of the nightmares that would surely come thundering through my mind, but eventually, I could not stay awake.

I didn’t dream. Maybe I was too tired even for that,
but when the morning light streamed into the little room and nudged my eyes, I was happy to see I had slept. I rose, washed and dressed, and, moving like a robot, went to the main house to begin my morning chores and help with the breakfast. Both Tía Isabela and Sophia slept late. Señora Rosario risked some expressions of sympathy and comfort, and Inez even cried a little for me. I smiled and thanked them and went about my work.

I wasn’t sure Tía Isabela would want me to serve the late breakfast, but I accompanied Inez as usual, and
mi tía
said nothing. Sophia came bouncing down the stairway, declaring she was starving, and immediately demanded more of this and more of that. Then, while I was still in the dining room, she turned to Tía Isabela and said, “Everyone thinks this is going to be one of the biggest funerals here ever.”

“I imagine it will be,” Tía Isabela said. She sipped her coffee and stared at the empty chair her husband had once filled.

Sophia, not satisfied with that, turned her attention to me. “Guess who wishes she had never met you and never made you her friend. Just guess,” she pursued.

I didn’t respond, but I glanced at Tía Isabela. She looked pleased at how Sophia was trying to torment me.

“Fani,” she volunteered. “Fani Cordova, who was once your savior. So I wouldn’t bother calling her for help. Ever.”

I cleared the dirty dishes and went into the kitchen. I tried to block out their words, but I could feel myself cringing and finally doubled up at the sink. Señora Rosario saw me and quickly came to my side.

“Go. Take a rest, Delia. Go,” she told me. I started to shake my head, but she literally pushed me toward the rear door. “Rest,” she ordered, and I left.

Inez and Señora Rosario covered for me, and I spent the rest of the day in my room. Inez brought me something to eat, but I barely touched it. I returned to help with dinner, but Tía Isabela had gone to Señor Bovio’s home, and Sophia had gone with some of her friends to gossip, especially now that she was seen as someone with privileged information about it all. I ate a little and returned to my dark, lonely room to pray.

I returned to school the next day. Many had heard about Adan, but not that many knew I had anything to do with him. For most, he was like some celebrity. It held their interest for only a little while. The newspapers I saw showed Señor Bovio in postures of mourning. There was great sympathy for him, but from what I heard and read, few thought it would have any positive effect on his campaign. In fact, they talked about his simply clinging on to save face, but they described his effort as empty and futile.

What amazed me, but for which I was grateful, was the fact that my name had somehow been kept out of the news stories. It was almost as if he had been alone on the boat. There were no follow-up stories, either. However, there was no doubt that the students at the private school and the families knew all of the details, including my involvement.

In fact, Tía Isabela called me into her office to tell me she had decided that under the circumstances, I should not attend Adan’s funeral.

“It would be too painful for his father,” she said. “And it would only attract more unnecessary mean gos
sip, something neither he nor I need at the moment.”

I didn’t have much choice about it. Sophia and her friends went. Edward came back from college with Jesse, and they attended as well. I kept anticipating them coming to see me, but Tía Isabela must have issued some new threat. They went directly to the church and cemetery and then returned to college.

Sophia was so excited about everything that she had to come to my room in the old help’s quarters to tell me about the funeral. I was sitting on my bed trying to read one of my English assignments when she appeared in the doorway.

“It stinks in here,” she complained. I just looked at her. “The church was so packed that people were standing outside. There were lots of politicians, too. Mr. Bovio was practically being held up and carried by two of his close friends. He looked like he was the one who died.