Delia's Gift (Delia 3)

She held it out.

I plucked it from her palm and put it in my mouth, or at least that was what she thought. I drank some water, and she nodded.

“You can go prepare what you want to eat anytime you wish,” she said. “You may even eat in the dining room if you want. Señor Bovio will not be home tonight. He’ll be up at the hospital.”

She flicked a smile and left.

I took the pill and put it back into the bottle. I would take it after I ate. It couldn’t possibly make such a difference. She was just showing me how much authority she held over me, I thought. Let her believe what she wants, I told myself, until I’m strong enough to throw it back in her face.

As time went by, ironically, what Señor Bovio and Mrs. Newell thought would serve as punishment served more to speed my recovery. My walking to and from the kitchen, my preparations of food, food that Teresa secretly enjoyed as well, and my work keeping my room clean all made me stronger faster.

When the week was up and I was told to get ready to go see Dr. Denardo, I was able to walk with straighter posture and a firmer gait. Stevens looked pleased to see me so much better and said so. Mrs. Newell did not go with me to Dr. Denardo’s office. I was glad about that. I wanted to get there more to hear what he had to say about Adan Jr. than what he had to say about me. I hoped he would be willing to talk about him.

Naturally, he gave Mrs. Newell most of the credit for my good progress.

“You’re healing well,” he said. “I don’t see any complications arising.”

“And my baby?”

“He’s gained weight,” he said. “At the rate he’s going, he might not be there as long as we first thought.”

“Can you ask Señor Bovio to let me go visit him? Please,” I pleaded. “The nurse told me premature babies like to have their mothers there.”

“I’ll speak to him,” he promised.

“Gracias, Dr. Denardo.”

“Keep doing what you’re doing and listening to Millicent. She’ll get you up and around as quickly as possible.”

To get me out of the house, I thought. She’s not helping me for me but for Señor Bovio.

Fani did not come home the following weekend as she had said she might. In fact, she never even bothered to call to tell me one way or another, or if she had called, I was never given the message. I tried desperately to keep myself occupied so I wouldn’t think about the terrible situation in which I now found myself. I read, took my walks, and waited hopefully to hear Señor Bovio say I could go see Adan

Jr., but he avoided me, never having his dinner when I had mine and never coming around to talk to me. Twice I went looking for him in his office, and twice Mrs. Newell intercepted me to tell me he wasn’t home. He was away on business.

Finally, nearly ten days later, he did come to see me. I had just had my breakfast and was straightening up my room, arranging my clothes, and dreaming of the day I would walk out of the hacienda with Adan Jr. in my arms. Suddenly, I felt someone looking at me and turned to see Señor Bovio in the doorway. The mere sight of him filled me with renewed hope. Perhaps there was some shred of forgiveness and mercy in him after all. Maybe he had been convinced of how important a mother could be to an infant, especially one who had Adan Jr.’s special needs. I saw that he was carrying a briefcase and imagined he had stopped by on his way out to work.

“Hola, Señor Bovio,” I said. I immediately sat at the small table, and he entered.

“I understand you’re doing well with your recuperation,” he began.

“Sí, Señor Bovio. How is the baby?”

“Adan is doing well. Dr. Denardo assures me he will be fine.”

I smiled and waited.

He reached into the briefcase and produced a business envelope.

“I would like to keep this as simple as possible, and I have asked my attorney to write it up so it would be that way,” he said. “I’m leaving it here for you to read and to sign.”

“What is it, señor?”

Instead of replying, he continued to dig into his briefcase to produce another envelope.

“In this second envelope is a list of all that I am pledging to do for you. You will note that where there is money involved, there is actually a bank account and an investment account. This,” he said, pulling a set of keys from his sport jacket’s right pocket, “is one of the sets of keys for your new car. It will be delivered here as soon as Mrs. Newell or Dr. Denardo tells me you are well enough to drive.”

I said nothing, nor did I reach for anything.