Delia's Gift (Delia 3)

“No, no, she is a top maternity nurse. But no more about her.”

He sat back and waited for Teresa to serve us our salads and leave. Then he lifted his fork and smiled.

“Tomorrow, Stevens will be outside at ten A.M. to take you to see someone I know you have been waiting a long time to see.”

He kept his smile, waiting for my response. My thoughts ran wild for a moment.

“Ignacio? He is out of prison?”

“No, not out of prison yet, but I have arranged for you to see him.”

I started to shake my head.

“It’s okay,” he said.

“He wants to see me?”

“He doesn’t know what he wants or doesn’t want right now. He’s in prison, and it’s not a country-club prison, believe me.”

“But—”

“I thought it would please you, Delia,” he said. “Don’t you want to see him?”

“Yes, of course, but…was he told that he had to see me?”

Señor Bovio lost his smile. “Do you want to see him or not?”

“Yes, señor, very much.”

“Then I wouldn’t ask so many questions. These things are not as easy to arrange as you might imagine. It will lead to his release faster if the people who are in a position to arrange it believe he can be a successful man out in public again. He has, I understand, not been an ideal prisoner and has not been interested in seeing anyone, even members of his own family. You could do him some good.”

“Sí,” I said, still feeling ambivalent and confused. There was something going on here that I didn’t quite understand.

“Dress simply, and don’t bring a purse. It’s easier if they have less to search.”

“Search?”

“They won’t let you into the visitors’ area without being sure you’re not bringing in weapons, drugs. You could be strip-searched, Delia. This is a maximum-security prison.”

“Sí,” I said, now growing frightened.

“I don’t know exactly why, myself, but I was told to tell you not to wear a wire bra. Maybe women hide things in them. You have a sports bra, I know. Wear that.”

“Sí,” I said.

“You signed the paper?” he asked, eating and nodding at the envelope.

“Sí, señor,” I said.

“Good. We’re having prime rib for dinner.” He leaned toward me. “Mrs. Newell would never permit you to have it when you were pregnant. Too fatty, but it’s very tasty. And wait until you see our dessert.”

He put his fork down and reached for the envelope. I watched him open it and look at the paper. Then he smiled at me.

“You have done a wise thing,” he said, “both for yourself and for Adan.”

I said nothing. Teresa served us our meal, and Señor Bovio asked me about my choice of nursing schools and then began to talk about Adan Jr. as if he were already old enough to consider college himself.

“Too many young people think only about the social scene and not enough about their education. They choose to go to this school or that, not because of the school’s success in studies but because of football or basketball or whatever. If a parent or a guardian is to do a good job with a young man, he should guide him to make the right choices for the right reasons.”