Lifeblood (29 page)

“Not many, actually. Most people are in a hurry and they know the building rambles. They see the Closed sign and turn back. Almost everyone knows we used that area at one time as a celebrity ward, long ago, actually, but celebrity gossip hangs on. Employees know the celebrities were moved to the top floor, the old wing was closed and slated for revamp. All that is reported in the employee newsletter. Supervisors were asked to announce at staff meetings that the old ward was unsafe due to earthquake damage. Now we mention from time to time that we’re using it as a charity ward for young Latinos.

“People are busy. They don’t remember exactly what they’ve been told, or when.”

“Smoke and mirrors.”

“Whatever.” Emma shrugged. “It works for the politicians. Why not us? Only four employees have gotten too curious. They no longer work here.”

“Did they have a bottle of some controlled substance planted on them?”

Emma didn’t answer. She swung open the door that bore the Closed sign and moved quickly down the hall.

Soledad was laughing at a television show on a Spanish language station. She jumped, startled, eyeing Emma and Rachel worriedly as they entered her room.

“It’s okay, Soledad,” Emma said in English and followed it with Spanish that sounded calm and sedate compared to the Mexican boys’ rapid-fire sentences.

When Emma paused, Soledad began shaking her head. “No.” Then she began chattering quickly in Spanish.

Rachel asked Emma, “What did you say to her?”

“I said I can’t keep her here much longer, that she is too young for the organ donor program and that in another week or so, when she has gained a little more weight, she can go home.”

“What was she saying no to?” Rachel asked.

“She doesn’t want to go home. Not exactly surprising. She says her father left the family long ago. Her mother died last year. She says the people who handed her over to the coyote were kind to her, but they aren’t her family. She worked for them. She did laundry and took care of their children. The people gave her food and clothes and let her sleep on the floor of a shed with a goat and a donkey.”

“Good God. That passes for kindness?”

“Actually, where Soledad comes from, it does.”

“And it was out of kindness that they sold her?”

“I would guess that they couldn’t afford to feed her anymore,” Emma said. “And they probably thought Soledad was going to live the good life in America, so why shouldn’t they take a little money to ease their own lives in exchange.”

“She speaks a little English. Let me ask if she wants to come with me. Maybe let me say it and you translate.”

“Go ahead.”

“Soledad,” Rachel began, “I own a parking garage, a place for cars. I have an apartment there.” She waited for Emma to translate, then went on. “The living space not very big and there is no yard to play in. I don’t know of any kids your age in the area. I don’t even know where the school is.” Rachel waited again.

Soledad, watching her very carefully, seemed to be studying every nuance of word and expression.

“That said, would you like to come stay with me for a while?”

Soledad was nodding slightly as if she understood the words but wasn’t sure it was a question she was supposed to answer. She moved her eyes from Rachel to Emma and back, then nodded vigorously. “Sí. Yes. For me.” She grinned broadly, showing a splash of white teeth in a face that promised to be very pretty one day.

Rachel put her arms out and Soledad threw herself into them.

Chapter Fifty-six

“Are you out of your ever lovin’ mind?” Goldie said when Rachel told her about Soledad. “You have flat out taken leave of your senses.”

They were sitting on the front steps of the InterUrban headquarters across the street from the garage. The night was chilly. Both wore bulky sweaters.

“Maybe,” Rachel said, thoughtfully. “But somehow it seems like a good idea.”

Goldie threw up her hands. “The road to the hot place is paved with ideas like that. Teenage girls want hundred-dollar aerobics shoes, ninety-dollar jeans, fifty-dollar blouses that are eight sizes too small. They do drugs, they get their body parts punctured. They get pregnant.”

“I thought you liked kids,” Rachel said.

“I come from a big family. Eight of us. I’m the oldest. I love kids. Right up to about age six. After that any adult should have the right to strangle one.”

“They aren’t all that way.”

“No, but you aren’t likely to be getting one of the point-oh-five percent that isn’t.”

“Soledad has nothing and nobody. She needs an anchor.”

“Yeah, well, people who get caught in anchor lines get drowned. As in dead.”

“You trying to talk me out of this?”

“You could call it that,” Goldie said.

“Maybe I need a purpose.”

“What you need is to take off those rose-colored glasses. They have made you blind and warped your mind. Have you talked to Hank about this? He just might have some little bitty notion about it.”

“I tried to. I tried to see him twice. The first time he was still under heavy sedation. The second time, he was in isolation.”

“Isolation for what?”

“Some kind of infection.”

Goldie swung to face Rachel. “Hank is in an isolation unit and you didn’t tell me?”

Two cars went by, their headlights making holes in the dark.

“I guess I don’t want to face whatever that might mean,” Rachel said.

“Tell me it isn’t flesh-eating bacteria or anything like that.”

“They just said infection. I don’t know what to think.”

“Wound like that, smack dab in the middle of all those inner parts. Can’t be good.” Goldie’s gaze shifted to the sky. A few stars were barely visible above the omnipresent glow of city lights. “So you gotta make this earthshaking decision about this kid right away?”

“Not immediately. Like I told you, I thought I could keep her with me for a week or so and then the two of us could decide whether to make it permanent.”

“Like taking a dog back to the pound if it pees on the carpet?”

“Jesus,” Rachel said. “There’s no way to win with you.”

“It’s just that I’ve seen some pretty awful stuff.”

“Like what?”

“Like you don’t even want to know.”

“What about the kids who work for you? You’re crazy about them.”

“That’s different.”

“How?”

“I don’t know, but it is. For one thing, I’m not responsible for them. If they do something bad, it isn’t my fault.”

“You helped raise your brothers and sisters. Weren’t you responsible for them?”

“I sure was.”

“Your brother was a police officer.”

“Yep. Shot dead in uniform.”

“I know. I’m sorry,” Rachel said. “What about the others?”

“I got two brothers sitting in prison, even as we speak.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“I got two sisters who are doing fine. One’s a teacher.”

“Three brothers, two sisters, including you, that’s seven. You said there were eight of you.”

“My sister Flo. She had a kid when she was only fourteen. Hannah. When Hannah was fifteen Flo caught her shootin’ up. My sister tried everything. She even moved to Bakersfield. But that kid never saw sixteen. She got hold of some angel dust and stepped off the roof of a twelve-story building.”

“Christ.” Rachel pulled her sweater around her as a gust of wind come around the corner of the InterUrban headquarters building. “You’re sure doing a good job of trying to talk me out of this.”

Goldie turned up the collar of her sweater. “You’re right. That’s exactly what I’m trying to do. But I don’t expect it’ll work. And you know perfectly well that if you are hell bent to do it, I’ll help you every way I can.”

The next morning Rachel called the hospital and had Emma paged. When the doctor came to the phone, Rachel told her, “I want to spend the afternoon with Soledad away from the hospital.”

Chapter Fifty-seven

Soledad’s eyes were huge and glowing when Rachel arrived to pick her up. The child’s pointed little chin and broad high cheekbones spoke of an elegant sort of beauty in the making. She giggled and shrugged when Rachel asked her where she would like to go.

“I guess you don’t know about many places around here, do you?” Rachel asked.

“No, señorita.”

“Rachel. My name is Rachel.”

“Su nombre? Ra-shel?”

“Yes.” Rachel nodded appreciatively, then pointed at the girl’s pants, which were too short by at least a couple inches above her bony ankles. “First we’ll get you a few more clothes.”

By the time they were on the freeway headed for Santa Monica, Rachel realized that the language barrier was far less a problem than she had anticipated. Soledad knew quite a bit of English but was afraid she would “say it bad.”

“No matter what, sweetie, your English is a lot better than my Spanish. Maybe you can teach me a little Spanish and vice versa.” It took a while to explain the last two words of that sentence.

She turned off the freeway and headed for her favorite thrift shop. Rachel bought most of her own clothes there and had seen kids’ clothes on the racks.

Soledad’s mouth made an astonished O when she realized she could choose some clothes for herself. She headed straight for the girls’ jeans and selected a pair of Calvin Klein.

When she tried them on, Soledad posed, thumbs in pockets, in front of the dressing room mirror, then rolled her hips.

“Hey,” Rachel laughed. “You’re only eleven.”

Soledad grinned. “Almos’ too-elve.”

Rachel suggested she find two more pair of jeans, and this time Soledad had to settle for L.L. Bean. For shoes she picked a pair of Reebok high-tops identical to Rachel’s. They added a denim shirt and four tees. The whole bill was forty-one dollars.

Soledad took Rachel’s hand as they walked back to the car. When they passed Baskin Robbins, Rachel pointed at the ice cream cone and Soledad nodded vigorously. “Sí. Oop. Yes!”

The girl’s simple responses to small pleasures were so contagious that Rachel found herself in a better frame of mind than she’d been in since the first hours in the Angeles. She wished she could tell Hank about the girl. He would love Soledad.

With two double-dip white chocolate cones in hand, they found the Civic and Soledad held both cones while Rachel eased the car into the street.

“You want to go to the beach?” she asked Soledad.

“Beesh?”

“Sea? Water?” Rachel realized Soledad probably hadn’t been more than a few miles from where she was born until she was brought to Los Angeles. And the coyote probably had not taken the scenic route.

“Agua?”

“Sí,” Rachel said. And they both laughed. “Maybe more agua than you have ever seen.”

And apparently it was. “No es lago,” Soledad said after her jaw dropped and her eyes fixed on the horizon beyond Venice Beach. “Is not lake.”

“You got that right. That’s the Pacific Ocean.”

“Ah. Océano.”

“Yes. Say it again.”

Soledad repeated the word.

“Oh-say-a-no,” Rachel said.

“Sí,” Soledad shouted and ran toward the water.

“Be careful,” Rachel called. But the girl ran straight into the water, making huge splashes almost as tall as she was.

Suddenly frightened, Rachel dashed after her. “Wait! It may be too deep.”

As Rachel reached the water’s edge, Soledad giggled and splashed water at her.

Finally, with Soledad sopping wet from head to toe, and Rachel far from dry, they headed back to the car.

It was late enough in the year that the beach was all but abandoned. They passed only a couple holding hands. Both men. Rachel decided to leave that subject for another day. The other person on the beach was a very tall man with what appeared to be a huge live snake curled about his shoulders. This made Soledad’s eyes bulge and she raised a finger to point.

“There’s no end of nutty people in the world,” Rachel said after he had passed. She circled her finger around her temple. “You’ll have to get used to that if you stay in Los Angeles.”

They drove east next to westbound rush-hour traffic that had completely bogged down.

“Why alto?” Soledad asked. “Why they stop?”

Rachel shook her head. “Just more craziness.”

“Loco,” Soledad said. Rachel repeated it and they laughed most of the way back to Los Angeles.

When they pulled into the garage, Irene was standing in the doorway of the glass booth talking to two men. Both men turned, stared, and waved. Gabe and Gordon.

She parked, and with arms filled with their purchases, she and Soledad walked back to the cubicle. “Hi, you guys.” Rachel was still flushed from laughing. They had to wait while a string of cars whizzed by, their drivers anxious to get home for the weekend.

“Well, look at you, dear girl, if you aren’t a sight for the sore of heart,” Irene said.

“Thank you. And I’d like you to meet my…little cousin, Soledad.”

“Allo.” The girl bobbed her head looking half embarrassed, half gleeful, then raised her chin and declared, “We chop.”

“Chop?” Gordon gave a perplexed glance at Rachel.

“Shop,” Gabe said. “She means shop.”

“Yes,” Rachel said. “We did a bit of shopping.”

“The pair of you look a bit damp, as well,” Irene said.

“We went by Venice Beach on the way home.”

Irene smiled at Soledad. “Ah, and I’ll bet you liked that, young lady. It must be a grand thing to visit your cousin.”

Soledad nodded uncertainly.

“She doesn’t speak a lot of English,” Rachel said. “But we’re working on it.”

“Have you been to LA before?” Gabe asked Soledad, then asked the same question in Spanish.

“No,” Soledad said solemnly.

Gabe looked at Rachel. “Actually, I was looking for you to see if you’d like to go to the Day of the Dead celebration tomorrow. Your cousin might like to come, too.”

“Day of the Dead?” Rachel had heard of it but knew little about it except that it was some kind of event for Mexicans to honor their dead.

“Las Dias del Muertos.” Irene said the words to Soledad so smoothly that Rachel wondered if the old woman was fluent in Spanish.

Soledad’s face split in a grin. “Sí.” She looked at Rachel. “Yes?”