Delia's Crossing (Delia 1)

“Nice meeting you,” Bradley called after me.

“You’re such a jerk, Bradley,” Sophia said.

Edward followed me upstairs and went into his own room. I changed and went to work under the new arrangements: chores to do every day, eat with my so-called family, and then off to study English until I was too tired to keep my eyes open. True to his word, Edward did drive me to the bus station every morning. Most of the time, Sophia’s boyfriend, Bradley, picked her up in the morning, but some mornings, he didn’t or couldn’t. On those mornings, Sophia had to go to school with Edward, who couldn’t use his sports car then. She hated it and made me sit in the back, while she talked incessantly on her cell phone, to ignore me more than anything, I thought. Edward was always criticizing her, and she was always saying nasty, even dirty, things to him.

I soon realized that although someone who heard them might think they were just being a brother and a sister, Edward and Sophia really didn’t like or trust each other. Their arguments weren’t simply brother-sister tiffs. Sophia complained to her mother about Edward more than Edward complained to her about Sophia. Moving between them was like crossing the border of two countries poised to go to war but each afraid to begin. I could see they kept secrets from each other and were in no way as close as a brother and sister should be.

However, it didn’t surprise me that they had secrets. This was a house full of secrets and distrust. The servants didn’t like the people they were working for and were very suspicious and anxious, never expecting compliments and always expecting criticism. It was like moving about while lightning streaked through the air around you, whether you were inside or outside the house. You were always afraid of being burned or singed or stung by either a dirty look or a nasty word. Fortunately for me, my aunt was very absorbed in her social activities and her romances.

I soon realized that whoever my aunt’s male companion was one week or even one day would never be seen again the next. She put people on and off the way she changed clothes. Nothing made her happy long. Sophia appeared to be a clone of her mother, very spoiled, very self-centered, and very disrespectful of any she considered beneath her. I was definitely included in that group.

During the week, I had taken some of the other clothing she had Señora Rosario dump on my bed, and I had cut and sewn and pinned all the garments until they fit better. I could see she was disappointed and even annoyed that I had tailored them so well. Edward told me most of it no longer fit her because she had gained so much weight. When I cleaned her suite, I saw where she had hidden candy. She must have forgotten about some of it, because it was old and attracted ants.

I was soon learning English fast enough to get the gist of most of their conversations at dinner, although I was far from competent enough to participate comfortably. Most of the arguments Sophia had with her mother were over her weight or letters the school sent about her, complaining about her behavior in class. Edward enjoyed teasing Sophia about it, too, and later in the week, he picked up on the comment her boyfriend, Bradley, had made about the clothes I wore. He mentioned it at dinner.

“Bradley wasn’t kidding. Your clothes never looked that good on you, Sophia. It was very nice of you to give them to her.”

Her eyes flared. She cocked her pupils on him like two pistols and seemed ready to dump one curse after another on his head but held back. Instead, she turned a furious glance at me and cut me with her smile. Surely, she was plotting some vengeance. Why she disliked me so much, I did not know, but I avoided even her shadow, asked her nothing, and avoided looking at her at the dinner table. Now I understood what Señora Rosario had meant about staying out of Sophia’s way.

r /> Edward, on the other hand, seemed to enjoy using me like salt on a wound.

Rather than stop her children from arguing and being nasty to each other, my aunt seemed pleased. She yelled at them only when they raised their voices and annoyed her. When I asked Señora Rosario about it, she smirked and said, “Señora Dallas believes it’s better to be a lion than a rabbit.”

“Por qúe?”

“Why?” She shrugged. “She thinks we’re at war, and in war, it is better to be a lion.”

“Who’s at war?”

“Todos nosotros,” she replied.

“All of us? But why?”

“When you find out, let me know,” she said, and walked away.

Life was so much simpler in Mexico, I thought. It gave me a lot to consider. Despite my workload and my schooling, I had plenty of time to think about all of it, especially on my walks.

Twice during the week, Edward, because of other commitments, was unable to pick me up at the bus station or on my way back. Actually, I didn’t mind the walk so much. It was still not terribly hot in Palm Springs, and I did enjoy looking at the homes and observing people. There was an elderly man who always waved hello to me as he pruned the bushes and flowers in his front yard. Not everyone here was so wealthy that he or she had servants.

I wrote four letters to my grandmother that first week, not telling her one terrible thing. I was afraid she might see through my exaggerations but made everything sound as wonderful as I could, anyway. Señora Rosario made sure my letters were mailed out. I had yet to receive one back but looked forward to it every day.

Ignacio often asked about her and any news from Mexico. I could see he was homesick, too, despite all of the opportunities and better money to be made here. He lost more and more of his shyness as time passed, and we spent more time talking on the bus and sometimes at lunch at school. I don’t know if it was because of me or because he had simply decided he had to speak English better, but I could see he was trying harder and working harder at improving. We began to practice more on the bus as well.

English was not easy to learn, but whenever I got a little discouraged, I thought of my aunt when she was my age back in Mexico, determined to lift herself out of poverty and the hard life. I had to give the devil her due. Despite how mean I thought she was, I couldn’t help but admire her for her achievements. I would never want to be like her, but I wouldn’t mind being as rich as she was. Who wouldn’t?

It occurred to me that I was very much like Cinderella now. I lived in a wealthy world, but I was treated like a poor servant. I was surrounded with expensive things—art, furniture, beautiful cars—and I was on an estate that rivaled those of presidents, kings, and queens. However, I still cleaned toilets and wore hand-me-downs.

Unlike Cinderella, I had no one with a magic wand to turn me into a princess, even just until midnight. I had no glass slipper. My cousin Edward was the only one I thought was really kind to me. Sometimes I felt he enjoyed how his kindness to me annoyed his sister and his mother. I knew he didn’t approve of the way either of them lived and treated people, especially servants. It didn’t take me long to realize that not only was I in a house without any sign of religion or faith in anything other than what money could buy, but I was in a house without any sign of love.

When I stepped onto the bus each morning, I wondered what would happen if I just sat and never stepped off. Would I end up in Mexico? Mata told me her father said Mexico was really only a few hours away. Of course, to get back to my village would take days by car or bus, and, of course, I had to have the proper papers. However, not a morning or an afternoon passed without my daydreaming about it. I was that homesick.

I was doing just that one afternoon after I had stepped off the bus and said good-bye to Ignacio, who had gotten up enough nerve to wave back when I waved. I started along as usual, taking my time, not all that anxious to get back to my aunt’s hacienda and start my chores. It was another magnificent day, when the birds seemed to want to sing more than usual. It caused me to remember my grandmother telling me the birds were jealous of my mother’s voice. How I longed to hear her again. Perhaps she was singing to me through the beautiful birds that followed me from branch to branch on trees along the street. I waved to the old gentleman, who waved back.

When I rounded the corner, I heard a car horn and stepped to the side, but the car didn’t pass me. I assumed it was Edward catching up to me as he occasionally did now, but it wasn’t Edward. It was Sophia’s boyfriend, Bradley Whitfield.

“Hola, señorita. Venga. Quiere un paseo?”

A ride? Where was Sophia?