Delia's Crossing (Delia 1)

She laughed. “I would have said the same thing. You’re too much like me, Delia.” Her face turned hard, her eyes cold. “It’s of no use to pretend otherwise.” She smiled again. “We are cut from the same cloth, you see.”

“I am not like you,” I said firmly. I could feel my spine harden. “I have lost my mother and my father, and I am far from my home and the people I have known and loved all my life, but you are far more lonely than I will ever be, because you do not have the comfort of your memories.”

Her smile froze and then dissipated. The cold, angry face I had seen that first day returned. “How dare you pity me. You own nothing, not even the clothes on your back. You breathe this air only because I permit it. You’d be groveling in the dust and the grime of that poverty right this moment, if it wasn’t for my generosity. You’re too stupid to know what side your bread is buttered on.”

“What is it you want?” I asked, tired of her rage.

“You go and you betray me, try to drive a wedge between my son and me, and you want to know what I want?”

“I did not try to drive a wedge between you. He came to me and asked for the truth, and I could not lie to him anymore.”

“Oh, you couldn’t lie anymore? You poor thing, troubled by the weight of your deceptions.” Her face hardened again. “When I rewarded you for them, you accepted it all, didn’t you? The clothes, the acceptance as a member of the family so you would be waited on just like the rest of us, so you would enjoy all of this,” she said, gesturing at the house. “You ate at my table. You were driven to and from school in a Rolls. You took Sophia’s gifts. You were starting to accumulate quite a little fortune for an immigrant barely here long enough to grow warts, but warts you’ve grown, right on the tip of that pretty little nose, warts only I can see, but they are there nevertheless.

“Okay,” she said, pulling herself up straighter on the settee, “you’ve won a little battle and caused a rift between my son and myself, but it will pass, and eventually he will be too consumed by his own needs and wants to devote so much time to you.

“To ensure all that, I’ve decided to reward you for your little betrayal. I may not have my attorney do any more than absolutely necessary to defend you. You might be held accountable for your part in this horrible event, you and your Mexican boyfriend. We’ll see. After all,” she said, “those Mexican boys would not have attacked Bradley Whitfield if it were not for you, anyway. He’s dead because of you, and Edward is half-blind because of you.”

She stood up.

“Keep dusting,” she said. “You’re used to filth, and you’ll be visiting it again, I’m sure.”

She turned and walked to the doorway, paused after opening it, and looked back at me.

“You’re wrong. I do have the comfort of my memories, the comfort of knowing I have buried them long ago.” She smiled. “They have passed on through the third death.”

“And how will your children treat the memories of you when you die, Tía Isabela?” I replied quickly. “How long will it take for you to pass through the third death?”

Her eyes widened. She flashed her clenched teeth and then walked out, closing the door behind her, the silence that followed crashing down like a curtain made of iron.

I did finish my dusting in the library. It took me hours, but while I worked, I did not cry. When I was finished, I went upstairs slowly. The door to Edward’s room was open wide enough for me to look in as I was passing. I saw him sitting on his bed beside Jesse, who had his arm around his shoulders. They were talking softly, and Edward was looking down, looking as if the weight of the reality of what had happened to him was settling on him. I walked on quickly.

The door to Sophia’s room was open even wider. I could hear her laughter. She was talking to one of her girlfriends on the telephone.

“I just love the way they all trailed after us, pleading for a tidbit of information,” I heard her say.

I went into my room and closed the door. For a long moment, I just stood there looking at everything. This was a wonderful room, a beautiful room, a room in a palace, a dream room for any of my girlfriends back in Mexico. There were many who would do much more to be here. There were many who would think me a fool to have put any of it at risk.

I walked to the windows and looked out onto the large, lavish property. How many times had I been told that the good and the pure of heart might not be rewarded on this earth, but they shouldn’t be sad, for their rewards would be much greater in the life to come? Was it true, or was it just a rationalization, a way to keep the poor and the underprivileged from rebelling, from becoming thieves? Why were the poor and the pure of heart given any life of hardship? How much should they be tested?

Was that what was happ

ening to me? Was I not only Cinderella but Job, whose every earthly blessing was taken away to prove his faith and devotion? How many times had Father Martinez told that story in church? Maybe someday he would tell my story to deliver the same message.

I stood for a while longer and watched the April sun sinking behind the San Bernardino Mountains to the west. Not having been here before, I wasn’t sure what the weather should be like, but I had heard people say that it was much hotter much faster this year. It seemed to be true everywhere, so I imagined it was warmer back in Mexico as well. I thought of the children swimming in the river, floating on old inner tubes, and remembered when I did it, too.

Despite the air conditioning, I had worked up a sweat working in the library. I went to shower and change for dinner. I had no idea what it would be like eating at the table with Tía Isabela, Sophia, and Edward now, but I did not know what else I should do. Of course, I wondered if Tía Isabela would send me back into the kitchen to eat with the servants the moment I appeared.

Not only didn’t she do that, but she acted as if nothing at all was wrong or changed. Jesse was eating with us this evening, too, and it seemed he had cheered up Edward. I felt I was really in a dream now. No one talked about Edward’s eyes. No one mentioned the events that had led to Bradley Whitfield’s death, not even Sophia, who babbled on instead about an upcoming school party. She and Tía Isabela talked about clothes.

Was I going mad? Had I imagined everything that had happened? Was I really there? When the dinner ended and I started to rise to help clear the table, Tía Isabela told me to stop.

“You don’t need to do that,” she said. “Go upstairs and work on your schoolwork. I’ve decided you can and should return to your class tomorrow.”

She didn’t smile when she said it, but she didn’t sound angry at all. I looked at her and at Edward and Sophia, but I saw nothing but agreement. Jesse looked pleased and told me he expected I would be mainstreamed very soon. They were all congratulating me on my further mastering of English. Even Sophia chimed in with, “It’s easier to talk to her now.”

I looked at Tía Isabela. Where was that anger, that hate? Why did she suddenly act so forgiving? Despite all of this, I felt like the male black widow spider, tempted by the female to join her in making a new family of spiders and then stung to death. There was a new web of deceit being spun around me. What had she promised Edward, I wondered, that he was so trusting of her sweet tone and generosity toward me?

After dinner, Sophia rushed off, supposedly to do her homework. Edward was occupied with Jesse, who had brought him schoolwork, too. Tía Isabela went to her office. I had started for the stairway to go up to my room when I heard Inez call to me. She had stepped out of the kitchen and was in the hallway. Surprised, I hurried to her. She looked about for a moment and then pulled me back into the kitchen. There was no one else there.