Perfectly Ridiculous (10 page)

J.C. speaks to the little boy. “Pablo,
alguien hacerle daño a usted?
Did someone hurt you?”

He shakes his head.

“Pablo,” J.C. says again, and the little boy curls up into J.C.'s neck.

“No casa.”

“You don't want to go home?”

“
No casa
,” the toddler says again.

“J.C., we have to tell Libby.” My stomach is sick at the thought, but there's a way things are done down here, and we just don't know enough.

“Libby knows the man, Daisy. She has to, and as much as this little guy has been around the house in the last few days, you can't tell me she doesn't have an idea what's going on.”

“If she sees the bruise—listen, I'm no Libby fan, but I can't believe she'd turn her back on a child. I'm not willing to believe it.”

“I tried to tell her that the house looked badly cared for, but she told me already I didn't understand how people down here lived and to just do as I was told and mind my own business.” J.C.'s gray-green eyes look right through me. “If we're wrong, the police will work it out. If we're not, we leave Pablo to fend for himself.”

I look at the toddler again and bite my bottom lip. I know J.C. is right, but the consequences . . . “Libby could revoke our paperwork.”

“She could, but don't you think the insurance company would understand if we did the right thing? We've got the power of numbers anyway. It's our word against hers.”

“Yes, if we did the right thing, but what if we're jumping to conclusions? What if he fell like you did yesterday, and we're causing trouble where there isn't any?”

“Pablo,
tu papá te golpearon?
” J.C. asks if Pablo's father hit him.

“
Sí
,” Pablo says and curls up against J.C.'s chest. J.C. has him snuggled in his good arm, and the sight is heartwarming.

“Let me take him before your good arm wears out.” I reach out to the boy, and he comes readily and snuggles into the crook of my neck. “Oh my, he's such a little monkey. I love him.”

J.C. sticks his wallet into his back pocket. “I'm taking him to the medical clinic. I know where it is from yesterday. You'd better stay here in case Libby comes looking for me.”

“J.C., you can't drive.”

“My rental car is right outside,” he says, missing my point.

“Your foot is twice its natural size. You have a broken arm. That can't be safe. You don't want Pablo hurt any more, do you? You'd feel terrible.”

“Have you ever driven in Argentina?” he asks.

“No, but you stay here and I'll drive him. Tell me how to get there. As long as I don't have to go on the main freeway, I'll be fine. I drive in Silicon Valley. It can't be any worse here.”

“No, you won't drive. We don't even know if they'll do anything, and then we'd have to sneak back here.”

“I think we should ask Libby,” I tell him as I pull Pablo closer to me.

“Ask her.” J.C. holds his good arm open. “Be my guest.”

“I'll do it.” I set Pablo on the sofa and march outside, then look behind me to see if he's watching. He is standing in the doorway, so I head to the classroom.

The small room is filled with children ranging in age from mere preschoolers to maybe junior high. I find Libby in the crowd and walk toward her. She holds her hand up to halt me. I draw in a deep breath.

“Did you finish the snacks?” she asks.

“Nearly.”

“Lunch?”

“It's on the stove.”

“J.C.'s all right?”

“Yes. I just wondered, is it legal in Argentina to—”

“Pablo!” I hear a deep, gruff voice outside and my heart starts to pound.

“Oh, that man. He's back again!” Libby hikes her cotton skirt up around her boots and heads outside. I follow her and see what I'd describe in America as a star criminal suspect on
Cops
. He's unshaven, wearing a wife-beater shirt, and his hands are rolled into fists, which makes him look like a gorilla of a man. Libby walks toward him in the same stance.

Libby speaks in Spanish, but it's slow and methodical enough that I can understand her. “I told you, Pablo isn't here. You don't want him signed up, I didn't sign him up. Get off my property.”

“You got my boy!” he accuses in English.

“Go inside and look if you don't believe me, but if you scare any of those children in there, I'll have the police out here immediately and make you get off my land.”

The man looks into the room and scans it, practically foaming at the mouth with anger. “If Gloria comes home and finds that boy missing . . .”

“If I see him, I'll send him home, but he's not here. Had someone bring him home yesterday, then he got stung by a scorpion on the way back. In the middle of the day.”

The man yells curses in Spanish as he stomps away from the house. Libby turns and hisses under her breath, “Animal!”

“Does he want to hurt the boy?” I ask Libby.

“I wouldn't put it past him, but the boy runs off all the time. Can't stand to be around him, I suppose. The mother is off working most of the day and he's her only child, so there's no one but that lug to keep an eye on him. He gets to the drink and the child disappears.”

“But do you think he would hurt him?”

“I have no idea, but he's a frustrated man, and that can't be a good sign. He sure wants to blame everyone else when the boy goes missing. But why do you keep asking?”

“I would want to hide the boy, naturally, if he was hurt. Wouldn't you?”

“Daisy, if I tried to take on every parent around here who spanked their child, I'd have no trust at all in the village. This is the way to get them to God.”

“But surely safety—”

“Do you know where Pablo is, Daisy? You seem awfully curious about this subject.”

“I—”

Libby rushes into the house and I run after her, grasping my throat. I must not be meant for the missionary lifestyle because I can't see the bigger picture if someone is hurting that little boy.

 10 

Libby enters the house as though she's on the same rampage as Pablo's stepfather. I enter behind her and see J.C. in bed, looking innocent in every way. He stares up at the two of us. “Daisy, thank goodness you're here. Can you grab my pain pills? I thought you weren't coming back. I should have taken two this morning when you gave me one.”

“Did you call your grandmother yet to change your flight?” Libby asks him.

J.C. nods. “I did. I texted her. I'll be working at the food bank when I get home to fulfill my requirements, so you don't need to worry about me. She's already worked it out with the insurance company. I'm sorry I wasn't more helpful.”

“Very good,” Libby says without the benefit of compassion, and I'm seriously disliking her at the moment. Not that she was ever my greatest aspiration in terms of people.

“You're making him go home? I thought he planned to stay through the week.”

“He's of no use to me like that, set up in the middle of my kitchen, is he? I thought you said the snacks were almost done. Where are they?”

“They're in the fridge on trays. But J.C.'s hurt. He got hurt helping a little boy who needed to find his way home.”

“Pablo could find his way home from downtown Buenos Aires.”

“Why does he keep running away from home? He's just a baby.”

Libby narrows her eyes. “How do you know how old he is?”

“Uh, J.C. told me he carried him home. I assumed he was tiny. Plus he was here yesterday morning.” I try to remember if Pablo had been here any other time, but I can't. Libby doesn't seem to be looking for trouble, though, so I'm safe.

“Don't worry about Pablo, you've got enough worries with getting all those snacks done in time.”

“They're done,” I say proudly. “Just a few raisins to plop on.”

She eyes me suspiciously and then shuts the door, leaving J.C. and me alone.

“Do you think she trusts us now? She shut the door.”

“Wait for it.” He stays immobile in bed, and the door thrusts open again.

“Did you forget something?” I ask Libby.

She shakes her head. “Fifteen minutes. No later on the snacks.”

I nod. She leaves the door open this time and heads back to the classroom.

“She hates me.”

“
No me gusta Señora Libby.
” Pablo crawls out of J.C.'s bed.

“Are you nuts? We're the ones who are going to get accused of child abuse.”

“Just cover for me.”

“You're not driving like that! For one thing, you're on pain meds that could choke a horse. You are not driving anywhere in your condition.”

“You can't come with me. She's itching for an excuse to send you back home without your scholarship paperwork, and I'm not sending this kid home again. Not without some answers first.”

I look at Pablo's forlorn face and my mission becomes clear. “I couldn't live with myself if I didn't get him checked out. But something tells me I'm going to regret this.”

J.C. smiles. “That's my girl.” He bends down to Pablo's level and tells him to hide in the cabinet until we're ready to go. “Finish the snacks so they're ready,” he says to me.

“Does Pablo know where he's going?”

“Just to the doctor. That's all he knows. Most kids don't want to leave home even if they're being abused.”

“Why does he keep running away then?”

“I think it's instinctual but maybe counterintuitive, being that he's so young.”

“Dang. You are a psychologist's son. So where am I on your psychology scan? Healthy? Not so much?”

“It's a curse hearing so much about the human brain and all that can go wrong with it. You never look at people the same. Get the snacks over to the classroom and let's get out of here before Libby realizes we're missing.”

I pause at the table because my heart is pounding. “I could lose everything over this. My parents would be livid.” My stomach is churning at the thought, yet still I know I'm going to do it, if only because there might be no one else for the boy. Clearly Libby doesn't see what's happening at his house as a problem. And maybe it's not, but . . .

“I told you to stay here. I can handle it,” J.C. says. “I have the perfect excuse. I'm going to get my permanent cast on. Just tell everyone here that the swelling went down and you're out of it altogether.”

“They don't put them on that quickly.” I pause, realizing I have no idea what I'm talking about. I'm only stalling for an answer from above. “Do they?” As I see the determined look on J.C.'s face, I know I can't let him go without me. He is one big Band-Aid, and his brain is muddled from the pain meds. I can't exactly let him drive in that condition, and I can't let Pablo go back to that angry man without checking things first. I'm what you'd call “between a rock and a hard place.”

J.C. opens the cabinet, sweeps up Pablo in his arm, and comes toward me. He kisses me on the cheek. “I'll be back. Just cover for me.”

My stomach is in knots. I look outside the door. Libby is nowhere in sight and neither is Pablo's stepfather. “I can't let you drive. Just wait in the house while I deliver the snacks and ask Claire to cover for me just in case we're not back by lunch.”

“What are you two up to?”

“Ahh!” I squeal, nearly jumping out of my skin at the sight of Claire. “What are you doing sneaking up on us?”

“I thought you two might be necking,” Claire jokes. She's dressed like beautiful Queen Esther and has black kohl eyeliner and bloodred lips—and it's a look that works for her. She's got such innocent eyes, you'd never guess the trouble she's capable of. I don't know why she's my friend, quite frankly. I'd look like the bride of Frankenstein dressed like that.

“Claire, you have to do me a favor. Can you serve the snacks and lunch? The potatoes are in the oven and need to be turned off in half an hour.”

“Where are you going?”

“I'd rather not tell you. The less you know, the better.”

“Oh, this sounds good. Do tell.”

“Claire! Will you do the snacks or not?”

“Done. It's done. I know nut-ting.” She crunches a celery stick.

“Don't eat any more of those. They're counted out.”

“All right. Who's the kid?”

I stare guiltily at Pablo. “You never saw him.”

“What kid?” she asks. “I never saw a kid.”

“Let's go.” I push J.C. toward the door. He checks to make sure the coast is clear and limps quickly to his rental car. He unlocks the compact yellow box car and I take my place behind the wheel. “I don't have an international driver's license.”

“You don't need one as long as you have yours from home. Besides, we're kidnapping a child from his guardian. A driver's license is the last thing you should be worried about.”

At that, I fire up the engine and slowly back out of the dirt drive until we're on the dirt road. “Which way?”

“Right. We're going straight into town. Just follow the road.”

“Doesn't he need a car seat?”

“Daisy, just drive.”

“Maybe they don't do anything about child abuse in this country. Won't his stepfather say he just deserved it for running off? That he was trying to teach him a lesson?” I speak out every fear I have, and the roll of J.C.'s eyes is enough to tell me he doesn't need my kind of assistance.

“I want to know that nothing's broken on this kid, Daisy, and if you're afraid, turn around and I'll go myself.”

“I'm not afraid. I am afraid,” I keep repeating.

“I have a sixth sense about these things, Daisy. I can't explain it, but this kid needs our help, and I wouldn't feel right if I left the country without checking on his welfare.”

“I know it.” I stare into J.C.'s beautiful eyes. There's a warmth there that seems to ooze from every perfect pore. But I always put too much faith in cute guys. Never enough in myself. It's a character flaw, I think. God's the only one worthy of true devotion. “I wouldn't be here if I didn't believe your sixth sense. There's a reason that child keeps running from home, and his stepfather not letting him come to Vacation Bible School doesn't speak highly of the man.”

He smiles tenderly and Pablo looks at me. “
Bonita
.”

“Thank you, Pablo.
Muy guapo
.” I rub his chin.

“Ah, you understand enough Spanish when it suits you,” J.C. says. “Some charmer tells you that you're beautiful and you understand that.”

“
Sí
, you're very handsome too.” I rub J.C.'s chin in the same fashion. “Is someone feeling left out?”

“
Mi chica
,” J.C. says to Pablo. “
Mi chica.
”

Pablo laughs and pats his chest. “
Mi chica
.”

“Turn here!” J.C. says at the last minute, and I squeal a turn into the medical clinic's parking lot. He starts to laugh. “You're a terrible driver.”

“Yeah, well, you're a terrible navigator. Heard of a warning?”

He continues to laugh, which lights up his whole face. “Come on, we don't have much time if you're going to get back. Hopefully they'll have a nurse who can sit with him so we don't get caught.” J.C. lifts himself out of the passenger seat and then grabs Pablo in his good arm.

“Do you want me to take him? I have a hip I can rest him on at least.”

“Good point.”

“
Quantos años?
” I ask Pablo as I lift him.

Pablo holds up four fingers. He doesn't even look two, and I start to worry that J.C.'s premonition is more than correct, it's spot-on. This boy doesn't look older than a fresh-walking toddler, and yet he's still in a diaper (today he has on a dirty polo shirt as well as my Pepperdine sweatshirt).

J.C. gives me a knowing glance and we hustle into the clinic, which is little more than a packed room with hard chairs and a series of white doors, one with a banker's window. I sit down with Pablo, and J.C. grabs a form and a clipboard. He whispers to the woman in white behind the counter, and I catch her glance at Pablo and nod her head. The only word I hear J.C. say is “hurry,” and the only word I hear from her is “
policía
.”

I tighten my arms around the little boy and start to sing quietly in his ear. He snuggles closer to me, and it grips my heart each time he does it. The way he cuddles up to a perfect stranger like he's so starved for affection—it makes my heart squeeze with emotion. Part of me wants to grab him up and run like the wind with him and give him all the love he deserves, but then I remember I don't know anything, really. We only have our suspicions, which could be completely off, and pretending to be the heroes, we could actually be the villains in this little guy's life. The police might not believe our story, and with the translation problems and differing laws, who knows what could happen to us?

Looking at J.C., so sure in the way he fills out the form and spoke to the triage gal, gives me absolute confidence in him, and I hope it's well founded. I have been known to trust the wrong sorts of people—especially when they're boy-band good-looking, so I hope I don't finish my travel journey in the pokey for international kidnapping.

J.C. sits next to us and takes Pablo from my arms. Pablo is nearly asleep. “It's going to be awhile. There's a long procedure, and the police will have to be called.”

“The police? They're going to call Libby. Or worse, my parents.” I start to imagine the scenario. My years in an Argentine prison with scary women who threaten to cut me.

He shakes his head. “No, they're not going to call Libby. Listen to me, you're going to take the car back to the mission. Tell Libby that my arm was killing me and you had to run me back to the clinic because I was going to drive myself, I was so in agony. Tell her the medications weren't working at all, and I needed something. I'll take care of this, and I'll either find a ride back or I'll call the mission when I'm done here. Classes should be finished by then, so you can come and get me after dinner.”