“My cousin, how else? I called him to ask how you were doing. Didn’t he tell you?”
“No.”
“I wondered why you didn’t call me. Have you been given your car yet?”
“
No.”
“Don’t worry about it. I’ll send a car for you. It’s time you got out, got back on your feet, Delia. Put some color in those cheeks. If everyone sees you depressed and sad all the time, they will think you really are mentally disturbed.”
“Is that what Señor Bovio thinks?”
“Who cares what he thinks? Are you going to come or not?”
Perhaps Fani was right, I thought. Perhaps I should try to improve, not only my mental state but my looks. Moping about like this did me no good. How would I ever get back on my feet and fight for my son? And then there was the wonderful possibility of seeing Edward. He would know what I should do.
“Yes, I’ll come,” I said.
“Great. Don’t worry about anything. I have clothes for you, too. I don’t want you dressing like some old lady. Just bring yourself. I’ll have you picked up Friday at noon. My last class is at one, so I’ll be at my apartment by the time you arrive.” She laughed. “It’ll be like a resurrection, the resurrection of Delia Yebarra. I love it.”
I nodded to myself. She still enjoyed running everyone else’s life, but for now, I didn’t care. Maybe she would do better at running my life than I obviously had been doing.
After I hung up, I marched down to Señor Bovio’s office to tell him about Fani’s invitation. He shrugged, barely looking at me.
“You’re free to go anywhere you wish, Delia. Where is the application for the school?”
“I’ll give it to you later, señor.”
“Good. I just arranged for your money’s release. You can write a check anytime. See,” he said, “I knew you would realize it’s all for the best. You have your whole life ahead of you. And Adan has his.”
It was on the tip of my tongue to correct him, to say he was not Adan. He was Adan Jr. But I just nodded and left him.
Later, I did give him the application when I joined him for dinner. He was in such a good mood that I felt guilty for being even slightly depressed. A part of me wanted me to hate him for what he was doing and what he had done, but another part of me continued to see his resurrection, too. And then I thought that Mrs. Newell wouldn’t be there forever. In fact, she probably wouldn’t be there much longer. I would wait her out. Things would be very different then. He would realize how important a mother was to a child, and didn’t he want the best for his grandson?
As Abuela Anabela used to say, con paciencia, se gana el cielo. With patience, you can win heaven. And that’s what Adan Jr. was to me, heaven.
Nevertheless, the waiting was difficult. Mrs. Newell did not agree to another visit after dinner. She said the baby was too fragile to be disturbed. She thought it was a mistake to start any visits this soon. It did me no good before to point out that I was his mother and not a visitor, so I didn’t even mention it.
I retreated to my room and tried to occupy my mind with thoughts about Edward and the weekend in Los Angeles, but nothing could stop me from breaking into tears every few hours. I was happy to fall asleep, but I woke up in the middle of the night because I thought I heard a baby’s cry. I listened hard, but it was very quiet. Could I have wanted so much to hear Adan Jr.’s voice that I imagined it, or could I somehow have heard him, even this far away?
I got out of bed, put on my robe and my slippers, and tiptoed out, down the hallway to the stairs. The house was always kept dimly lit. I stood at the foot of the stairway, listening hard. I did hear a baby’s cry. I wasn’t imagining it. Slowly, I climbed the stairs and then paused at the top. It was just as dimly lit up there. I listened again. Now I was positive I heard the baby crying. Why wasn’t Mrs. Newell attending to him? I inched my way along the shadowy hallway wall and saw that the door to Adan’s room was open. It was as dark in there as it was in the hallway.
Of course, I expected Mrs. Newell to leap out at me at any moment, but I continued to the room. When I looked inside, I froze. Sitting beside the crib, Señor Bovio, in his robe and slippers, had his head in his hands and was sobbing softly. Adan Jr. moved his arms and cried. Just as I started into the room, Mrs. Newell appeared, coming from the bathroom. She was in a nightgown, but there was something very different about her. She looked as if she were in a daze until she felt my presence and turned sharply to look at me.
“What’s wrong?” I asked. “Has something happened to my baby?”
“It’s none of your business,” she said, and closed the door in my face.
All I could do was stand there, terrified, my whole body shaking. Adan Jr.’s crying stopped, and it was silent, so silent I could hear the thumping of my own panic-stricken heart.
“Please, let me see him!” I cried, and knocked on the door. I might have been there for minutes, I wasn’t sure, but suddenly the door opened, and Mrs. Newell, now back in her uniform, stepped out.
I backed away.
She closed the door behind her.
“What is it? Why is Señor Bovio crying? Why was Adan Jr. crying so hard?”