Dream Things True (33 page)

The guard stuck her head in and told the visitors that they only had five minutes left.

It was now or never.

Evan leaned in and cleared his throat.

“Mr. Garcia, I'd like your permission to ask Alma for her hand in marriage.”

There
. He said it.

Alma's dad involuntarily dropped the phone, leaving it dangling at the end of a heavy silver cord. Evan fidgeted nervously as he fumbled to pick it up.

Mr. Garcia returned the phone to his ear and stammered, tripping over his words.

“I, uh, I…”

“What is it, Mr. Garcia?” Evan asked.

“This is very difficult, Evan. We must talk, and I cannot make the words.”

His head fell into his hands.

“I don't understand,” Evan said.

“I want to make the words in Spanish,” he said, looking up, “in my language.”

This was not going well.

“I'm so sorry, Mr. Garcia,” Evan said. “But can you please try?”

Mr. Garcia sighed and then dropped one hand to his belly.

“Is she…?” He made circular motions with his hand.

“I don't understand, Mr. Garcia,” Evan said. “Is she
what
?”

He just kept gesturing.

Feeling panicked, Evan glanced around the room.

The woman from North Carolina was watching him. She placed her niece on the chair beside her and rose to her feet. She leaned in to whisper, “I think he wants to know if his daughter is pregnant.”

“What?” Evan asked.

By now, he probably shouldn't have been shocked, but he was. Evan was pretty sure his face had turned crimson. The chill in the room was gone, and he felt sweat pooling under his arms.

“Thanks,” he said, shrugging. He turned back and shook his head. “No, Mr. Garcia, she's not, uh, pregnant.””

This was so humiliating.

“Why?” Alma's father asked.

“You mean, why do I want to marry her?”

“Yes,” he said.

“Because I love her,” he said, speaking fast, “and because I can't imagine living without her even for a day. And because I don't want her to lose everything she has worked so hard for—everything
you
have worked so hard for.”

“Can you say again?” Alma's dad asked, his face crumpling in frustration. “Slowly.”

Evan felt a tap on his shoulder. The nice woman was still standing there.

“Let me,” the woman said gently. “I can tell him that.”

“OK,” Evan replied. “Thanks.”

Watching her speak to Alma's dad in fluid Spanish, tears gathering in the corners of her eyes, Evan didn't even care that she had been eavesdropping. It was all just too much. He had the urge to stand up and bolt out of the room. Instead, he balled his wounded hand into a fist and focused on the pain pulsing through it.

After a few moments, she turned to Evan. “Her father wants you to know that he and her mother got married when they were your age, and that he has no problem with how old you are. In that way, he thinks you're ready.”

Evan nodded slowly. Maybe he would say yes.

“But he's very concerned that you may be feeling pressure to do this, and he doesn't want you to feel that way,” the woman continued. “He wants you to know that it's hard—being married,” she said, leaning forward to look directly into Evan's eyes.

Of course Evan knew that. At least, he knew it was hard for his parents. But Evan and Alma were noting like his parents.

“It's hard under the best, uh—what's the word?—under the best
circumstances
” the woman said. “And these, these aren't the best, uh, circumstances.”

“I know,” he said, looking down at the ground. “Believe me, I know.”

The woman reached out to touch Evan gently on the knee. He looked into her eyes, brimming with tears.

“But if Alma will agree to it—that's his daughter's name, right?—then he gives his permission.”

Evan exhaled deeply and took the phone from the kind woman. He pressed it to his ear. “Thank you, Mr. Garcia. I promise, I won't let you down.”

“Yes,” Alma's dad said, nodding slowly. “I know.”

 

 

Alma knew what she had to do. She was absolutely certain now. And because she knew, it pained her to look at Evan. Still, she couldn't tear her attention away from him.

He stepped through the gate and walked toward her, his oxford button-down clinging to his chest and shoulders. She wanted so much to be able to turn away, not to watch as he ran his fingers through his hair, pushing his shaggy bangs out of his eyes. She couldn't resist him.

As
Abuela
Lupe climbed into the front seat of the car, Evan leaned down and cupped her face in his right hand, the one that wasn't hurt. He pulled her lips to his, and she let herself melt into them, but only for a moment.

“I couldn't do it,” she said. “I'm sorry.”

He wrapped his arms around her waist. “It's OK, Alma. Are you hangin' in there?” he asked.

She nodded slightly. “Did you explain to my dad? I mean, was he upset that I didn't come?”

“No.” Evan touched her hair, pushing it behind her ear. “He seems fine. That place—it's not as bad as it looks. I mean, it's so overwhelming from the outside, but—”

She stood up, and he followed. He was standing so close that she caught the sharp metallic scent of his sweat. She knew, from his scent, that he was anxious.

He kept talking.

“I mean, I just wish you had been able to see your dad, you know? He wasn't … It wasn't…” He paused. “I'm rambling. I should shut up now.”

He took her left hand in his and studied it. Alma placed it on his chest and felt his heart beating fast.

“You're nervous,” she said. “It's over now. You can relax, Evan.”

“Yeah,” he said. “OK.”

“I met a woman while we were waiting,” Alma said. “She invited us to have lunch before we go back. She has a house—like a place for people to stay.”

“That's kinda weird, Alma,” Evan said.

“I know,” Alma replied. “It's like a church group or something. She's nice. You'll see.”

Evan shrugged and got into the car to drive. He was starving, and too exhausted to challenge her. Plus, there was nowhere to eat around here. There wasn't even a gas station in this little town.

Before long, Evan was digging into his third helping of turkey tetrazzini, allowing the animated conversation to wash over him. Honestly, he barely remembered how he got here. Maybe it was some sort of post-traumatic stress response. All he knew was that the food tasted good. By now, he was accustomed to sitting around a table where everyone was speaking a language he didn't understand. He usually felt frustrated, but now he just felt relief—he had an excuse to shrink into himself and focus solely on the creamy spaghetti making its way down his throat.

“Evan,” Alma turned and spoke to him.

“Yeah?”

“Claire has invited us to stay tonight so that I can visit dad tomorrow. She says ICE is never there on Sundays.”

There was no way in hell Evan would leave Alma and her grandmother with a stranger in this creepy town.

“Alma, I have to travel for a tournament tomorrow,” Evan said. “I have to get back tonight. I'm already on the verge of getting kicked off the team.”

Alma sighed. “I know. I don't want you to miss it, but—”

Evan broke in. “I have to be there, Alma. I'm really sorry.”

Seeing Alma's face, Evan struggled to work out another solution in his head. Maybe they could stay in a hotel in Columbus. He counted the hours backward, trying to find a way for Alma to visit and for him to get back in time. The detention center allowed visitors at nine. He needed to be on the team bus by one.

“We have to leave tonight. I can bring you back next weekend.”

“Claire lives in Cumming, and she's going back tomorrow. She offered us a ride.”

Alma smiled at the volunteer, who nodded eagerly.

Evan's heart sank. Claire was very kind, and even though this house was small and the furniture was sort of worn-out, she and the other volunteers were so friendly, the place felt kind of homey. He just hated the thought of leaving Alma in this pathetic town. She seemed so vulnerable here.

“How will you get from Cumming to Gilberton?”

“I can take them, Evan,” Claire said. “It's only a half hour out of my way.”

“And are you sure it's safe? I mean, for Alma to go to the detention center? How will she fill out the paperwork?”

“We can't be
sure
of anything,” Claire replied.

“She explained the risk,” Alma broke in, “and I'm willing to take it to see my dad. I just sort of freaked out today. I'll be fine.”

“And what does your grandmother think?” Evan asked, looking toward
Do
ñ
a
Lupe, who was dousing her noodles with hot sauce.

“She supports whatever decision I make,” Alma said.

Claire stepped away from the table and went into the kitchen. She returned with a container of homemade chocolate-chip cookies. As she offered them around, Alma stood and cleared the plates from the table.

“You should go soon,” she told Evan. “You need a good night's sleep tonight.”

Glancing at the clock on his phone, Evan nodded. “Yeah, OK.”

Evan felt so wrong about this, but he knew he wouldn't be able to convince Alma to leave with him.

“I'll walk you out,” Alma said.

 

 

Evan leaned against his car door in the dusty gravel driveway and pulled Alma into him. The deep ache welled back up in her chest as she struggled to focus.

“I'll miss you,” he said.

She needed to say it. How was she going to do this?

“I'll miss you, too,” she began tentatively. “But it's probably a good thing. I mean, we need to start getting used to this, you know?”

Evan glanced around. “Getting used to what, exactly? Cuz I don't think I can get used to
this
.”

She knew he was trying to make a joke. He was talking about the neighborhood. It was a ghost town, with abandoned trailers and dilapidated houses. Irrational anxiety welled up in her—was this what it would be like to live in Mexico? She had never been in a place this poor. In Mexico, she knew, they called towns like this
triste
—sad. She understood that now. This little town made her so deeply sad.

“We need to get used to being apart, Evan,” she said. “I'm going home.”

Her mind lingered on the last word.

“Home?” Evan asked, as if reading her thoughts. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, I think you know I'm going home soon, back to Mexico.”

He dropped his hands from her waist. She heard them land on the car door with a dull thud.

“Since when is Mexico your home?”

Alma stepped back so that she no longer felt his body against hers.

“It's always been home, Evan. You know that.”

“Like
hell
I do!,” Evan said, standing up straight. “This is your home, Alma. You belong here.”

Alma couldn't help releasing a harsh laugh. She gestured toward the hulking detention center a half mile down the road. “Yes. I guess I
do
belong here, technically. But they have a different prison for women. Remember?”

“You know what I mean, Alma.”

His back fell against the car door again and he lifted his hand. She knew he would run it slowly through his hair, as he always did when he was worried or confused. She turned her gaze, not letting herself see it.

“You should go, Evan. We can talk about this later, OK?”

She tried to walk away.

“Alma,” he said.

She didn't know how to keep from turning back toward him. It was so natural and unavoidable, like the pull of gravity.

“I don't belong here,” Alma heard herself say. “I understand that now more than ever. I want to go home with my family.”

“We can fix this, Alma.” He was pleading now. “I want to help you.”

Don't confuse mercy for love, Alma.

The words surged through her mind, and she hated them.

“God, Evan,” she replied. “You have
got
to stop lying to yourself. We'll never go up against
that
.” She nodded involuntarily in the direction of the detention center, with all of its barbed wire and windowless walls. She couldn't see it from here, but she felt its stifling presence.

Evan reached into his car.

“Just give me a second, OK?” he said.

He rummaged around in the glove box. When he stood to face her, he was holding a small black box covered in velvet.

“What are you doing, Evan?” she asked. Her heart was pounding. He couldn't possibly be doing what she imagined.

“Ms. Chen,” he said. “She told me how to fix it. She said we can get married, you know?” He was talking fast, tripping over his words. “It has to be soon—like
now
. She said it would work—or at least, she was pretty sure it would.”

“What?” she asked.

He was walking toward her, with the little black box still tightly shut, teetering on the edge of his trembling hand.

“We can get married, Alma.” He spoke anxiously.

“You're kidding, right? And what? I'll go live in your dorm with you?” she asked.

“No, we'll stay. I mean, I don't know—”

Alma remembered the conversation with Mrs. King so many months before. She should have known better. She should have stayed away.

“You've lost your mind.” Alma shook her head in disbelief.

“Wait, let's just back up, OK? I'm screwing this all up.” Evan stumbled over his words. “Can we just start over?”

He opened the box to reveal a gold ring with a shimmering diamond perched at its center. Alma was speechless. She stepped away involuntarily.