The Lemon Orchard (29 page)

“I want to go to Arizona,” Roberto said.

“Jack didn’t tell me enough details to know where,” Julia said. “We have to wait until he calls.” She paused as something else occurred to her. “Roberto, will it be safe for you to go down there, so close to the border?”

“You mean ICE?”

“Yes. What if they pick you up?”

“Julia, it could happen. That’s the truth: it’s bad down there for illegals. But I have to go anyway, to be where Rosa was . . .”

The prospect scared her, but she understood. Roberto started to get out of bed, but she put her hand on his chest and climbed back in. She could only imagine how torturous it was, waiting to hear anything, even a tidbit, about what had happened to Rosa.

The morning air was damp and cool, and his body felt hot under the comforter. They held each other, legs entwined. Her mouth found his, kissed him long and gently. Their hands ran down each other’s sides, and she felt his smooth skin under her hand, callused from digging the fire trench, and felt herself melting into him.

He kissed her neck, shoulders, and lips, holding her and whispering words in Spanish. She felt emotion beyond desire, looking into his velvet brown eyes. He held her hips as she shifted on top of him. She wanted no space between them, needed to feel him inside so she could forget where she ended and he began. Deep inside she felt very still, while sweat ran down her back and their bodies began to shudder.

They slept in each other’s arms for a few minutes, then woke for good. Roberto got up to take a shower, and Julia pulled on an oversized shirt and went downstairs to feed Bonnie and make coffee.

Bonnie stood at the kitchen door, anxious to get out. Julia walked into the yard with her, barefoot and feeling the cool dew on her toes. Bonnie started around the house, toward the seaward side, but Julia stopped her. The sun hadn’t risen high enough yet. The mountains belonged to the coyotes and other wild things until after dawn.

Roberto met them in the courtyard holding two mugs of coffee. He and Julia sat on the fountain’s edge and Bonnie lay contentedly on the front step. The sun rose and struck the lemon trees. Yellow fruit glowed in the bright sun breaking through the sea mist. Hummingbirds darted in and out of the bougainvillea. And remnants of Julia’s dream drifted around her head like fragments of morning fog.

chapter nineteen

Jack

It was Saturday, and his original plan had been to wait until Monday, when the administrator would be working at the clinic. But the Pais Grande Medical Center was small, with barely any staff at all, and he was counting on the fact that somebody there would remember Rosa. He had been there countless times while he was working. Plenty of illegal immigrants, too dehydrated and dispirited to continue, went to the clinic and gave themselves up. But he believed that an unconscious child abandoned on their doorstep would stand out.

The sun was up and already hot. Shadows from giant saguaro cacti fell across the pavement when he turned off the interstate and headed south for Pais Grande. Heat quivered above the ground, making the road look as if it were lifting up, rising toward the cloudless sky.

He’d given Julia Hughes just enough information so that Roberto was probably climbing the walls to hear the latest, so he dialed the number.

“Hello?” Julia’s voice answered.

“Hi,” he said. “I wanted to fill you in.”

“Tell me!”

“I don’t know much yet,” he said. “I did speak to the woman who found Rosa in the desert. She was very helpful.”

“Hold on,” Julia said. Jack heard her calling Roberto.

“Look, don’t get your hopes up yet,” Jack said. “The woman told me Rosa was very sick. They dropped her off at a medical clinic in Pais Grande. I’m on my way there now.”

“But she was alive?” Julia said.

“Yes, at the time they left her at the clinic, but that’s all I know. Maybe I should have waited and called you after I found out.”

“No, no! You did the right thing.” She couldn’t keep the excitement out of her voice. “Just stay in touch, okay?”

“Yep,” Jack said. “I’ll call you right away.”

They hung up, and he kept driving. He slung his arm across the seat beside him, as if Louella was sitting right there and he was resting his right hand on her shoulder.

Entering town he saw the sign:
PAIS GRANDE, POPULATION 3100
. He saw lots of trailers and stucco houses and a cheap strip mall with a taco restaurant, pharmacy, and offices for an immigration lawyer, one gas station, and there at the end of Main Street, the one-story medical center.

Jack parked in the small parking lot and walked to the front door. The sign said
PAIS GRANDE–SONORA MEDICAL CENTER: SERVING RURAL ARIZONA SINCE 1975.
He tried the door and he walked into a blast of air-conditioning. The waiting room was full, as if everyone had waited until Saturday to get sick.

“May I help you?” a woman asked, sitting at a central desk. She was middle-aged with brown skin and friendly eyes, graying black hair pulled back in a long ponytail. The plaque on her desk said
Veronica Gonzalez, RN
. He glanced up and down the two short hallways radiating to her left and right, saw that they were lined with exam rooms. Patients waited in chairs and on gurneys.

“How are you doing?” he asked.

“Just fine,” she said. “Haven’t seen you here lately.”

“I retired,” he said.

“No way!” she said. “You’re an institution.”

He laughed. “I’ve been gone two years. Guess I’m not that much of an institution.”

“Well, we miss you. What can I do for you?”

“I’m looking for someone,” he said.

She stared at him, impassive. They had always been on opposite sides—though her legal obligation was to report migrants, he knew her sympathy lay with them. He had been the enemy.

“I know you’ve worked here a long time, Ronnie,” he said.

“Twelve years,” she said.

“Well, this goes back a few years—five. A migrant group passing by left a six-year-old girl at your door. She was very sick, unconscious. Does that ring a bell?”

“There are so many cases, Jack,” she said.

“The girl was Mexican; if she came to, she’d have been crying for her father.”

“Still doesn’t tell me much.”

“She would have had bare feet—we found her sneakers in the desert, covered in blood. So she’d have had injuries, cuts. You probably called her Jane Doe—the woman who left her didn’t stick around long enough to give any information.”

“I assure you that if the child was undocumented, we followed procedure and contacted ICE.”

“Look, I’m sure you did. I’m retired now, I’m not interested in getting you or anyone in trouble, least of all the girl.”

Ronnie’s lips were tight—she didn’t trust him. She probably thought once a border agent, always a border agent. He took a deep breath to break the tension.

He spotted a wall covered with children’s drawings and paintings. A surprising number of them had the desert as their subject: families holding hands walking down a path, scary red eyes in the darkness, saguaro and prickly-pear cacti, dead bodies.

“Wow, kids did those?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said. “We get many children sick making the crossing. They are dehydrated, sunburned, covered with bug bites. Some have seen their parents die. All need treatment for trauma—and of course there’s no funding for such care. Regardless, once we fill out the proper paperwork, we transfer the children to a hospital that can better help them.”

“I know the procedure, but which hospital would you have used for her?”

“Depends,” Ronnie said.

“On what?”

“The severity of the case; more commonly, which hospital has a bed available. Things like that. May I ask why you’re involved?”

“It’s an old case of mine,” he said. “I know you think we’re a bunch of heartless bastards, and sometimes we are. But I want to make this one right.”

“How would you make it right?”

“Learning the truth of what happened to her, telling her father. He’s lived with not knowing for five years. Will you check your records for May 2007?”

Ronnie nodded. A line had formed behind Jack, and she seemed impatient. Her fingers clicked on the keyboard, and she came up with a file.

“Jane Doe, May 2007,” she said. “Six-year-old female, dehydrated, multiple injuries—including infected cuts on both feet. She drifted in and out, but never became fully conscious—she called for her father, but couldn’t tell us his name, or even hers.”

“You mean she’s alive?”

“She survived long enough for us to transfer her to Tucson.” Ronnie’s brow furrowed as she scrolled through the file.

Jack studied her face, seeing the worry there. This was a nurse who cared.

“Here it is,” Ronnie said, handwriting the information on a notepad. “Jane Doe, case number 4134. We sent her to San Jacinto Hospital.”

“Thank you,” he said.

“I hope it helps,” she said.

On the way out of Pais Grande, he picked up two
carne asada
tacos from the place in the strip mall and ate them as he drove. The sauce was homemade and extra spicy, and he liked the way it made his mouth burn. He drove fast, up the rural road to Route 8, and turned the music up nice and loud.

San Jacinto was a good hospital, but it seemed a strange choice to him. He couldn’t remember ever taking someone to San Jacinto.

Tucson rose from the desert, silver and tall. His chest tightened, and he felt the blood rush to his head. He got off the highway an exit too soon and had to waste fifteen minutes finding the hospital. The city reminded him of work and of losing Louella. He hadn’t been back in a long time, and if it weren’t for Rosa Rodriguez, he wouldn’t be returning now.

Roberto

Julia’s car was loaded up for the trip, Bonnie in the back seat. It made sense for her to drive—they would be many hours on the road, lots of speed traps, and Roberto didn’t have a license.

From the minute they heard that Rosa had last been seen in Pais Grande, Arizona, Roberto had to get there as soon as possible. He had arranged for Serapio to run the orchard for a few days. Lion was going to check on the house every day.

First, before they headed south, he wanted to see his father. Once they got close, Roberto directed her to North Boyle Avenue.

Julia found a space on the street, and she parked the car.

“Should Bonnie and I wait here?” she asked.

“No,” he said. “Of course not. I want to introduce you.”

“Bonnie too?”

“Sí.” Roberto smiled, but inside he felt nervous. He glanced at the house, saw his father and Esperanza crowded at the window, looking out from behind the curtain.

As they all got out of the car, Roberto put his arm around Julia’s waist and unlatched the gate on the chain link fence and walked her up the front steps. Pink roses and bright blue morning glories were blooming, and the tomato plants were heavy with red fruit—he saw Julia smile as she checked them out. His father opened the door before he had the chance to knock.

“Hola, Papá,” Roberto said. “This is Julia Hughes.”

“I’m so glad to meet you,” Julia said, shaking his hand.

“Glad to meet you, too,” his father said. He was very shy about his English, but after many years here he understood everything and spoke very well. “This is my wife, Esperanza.”

The two women hugged. Roberto felt happy to see Esperanza’s genuine delight at meeting Julia. She beamed, gesturing for Julia to come in, checking out Julia’s hair, clothes, shoes—all very modest, nothing like what Esperanza would assume the Malibu lady would wear.

“What about Bonnie?” Julia asked. “Would you rather we left her in the yard?”

“No, of course not,” his father said. “Bring her in.”

Esperanza hurried to the kitchen. They heard water running, and she returned with a bowl for Bonnie, who instantly began to lap it up.

The whole house was so small, the living room just large enough to hold two short couches facing each other, a table in the middle, and the TV. Roberto tried to see it through Julia’s eyes. He was sure she’d never entered a house like this before. But she seemed happy, settling down on the couch, accepting the glass of Dr Pepper that Esperanza set on a lace doily on the table before her, her gaze taking in all the photos on the wall and Esperanza’s shrine to the Virgin of Guadalupe in the corner.

“I’m so happy to be here and meet you both,” she said.

“Gracias,” Esperanza said. She sat beside Roberto’s father on the opposite couch, and Roberto sat beside Julia. They all faced one another. Roberto’s father’s eyes burned into his, and he cleared his throat, knowing he had to start talking.

“Papá,” he said.

He saw his father steeling himself for news. Roberto was holding Julia’s hand. Maybe his father thought they had come to say they were getting married. Roberto glanced at Julia, her calm blue eyes and elegant profile.

“Oh, there she is!” Julia said, turning to look at the framed photo of Rosa. “What a beautiful picture.”

“It was taken at her school,” Roberto said.

“Papá,” Roberto said, “we have news about her.”

“News—how?” he asked.

“Julia,” Roberto said. “She’s done research,
investigación,
and she found a trail that leads to Rosa.”

“Rosa! She is alive?” his father asked, jumping to his feet.

“Papa, slow down.”

“We don’t know yet, Señor Rodriguez,” Julia said. “The border agent who picked up Roberto found out that five years ago Rosa was seen at a hospital in Pais Grande, Arizona. She was sick, but alive.”

“Dios mío,” he said, pacing.

“I came to tell you that we are going there now,” Roberto said.

“Going where?”

“To Pais Grande.”

“No! Are you crazy?”

“What else would I do?” Roberto asked. “My daughter was there, I will go look for her.”

“It’s near the border, no?”

“Sí,” Roberto said.

“So you want to go back to Mexico? Because that’s what will happen. ICE will catch you. Or your ‘friend’ the border agent will arrest you. Pais Grande is where many get caught.”

Roberto and his father stared at each other. They both knew that what he was saying was true. Roberto swallowed, not wanting to look at Julia. This was the real reason he’d wanted to see his father today—because if he did get caught, and sent back, he might not see him for a long time.