Delia's Crossing (Delia 1)

“You can use the bathroom,” he told me, gesturing in its direction. “There are towels there for the workers and such. Go on,” he ordered. “We’ve got to get going, or you will be very late after all.”

He walked out of the room. Slowly, I fixed my clothing and got up. When I went into the bathroom, I saw how inflamed my face was. It was streaked with tears I hadn’t felt. I cleaned myself as best I could and then sat on the toilet seat and tried to regain my composure. He knocked on the door and told me to come out to the car quickly.

“Move it. I’m leaving in a minute, whether you’re there or not.”

I didn’t want to go with him, but I was in a daze. He talked incessantly all the way back to my aunt’s estate, his voice calm and happy, as if we really were boyfriend and girlfriend and nothing terrible had occurred. It made it all seem that much more unreal to me. Maybe it didn’t happen, I told myself, but my sore shoulder and the scrapes I had on my rear and lower back reminded me it had.

When he pulled up to the hacienda, he sat back, smiling.

“I wouldn’t make up any stories about this afternoon,” he warned. “It will be your word against mine, Delia, and this will be the second time you were in trouble with a man since you arrived. No one will believe you. Besides, you probably enjoyed it. If you’re honest with yourself, you’ll admit it.”

I shook my head and opened the car door. “You’re no prince,” I said.

“Huh?”

“You’re a disgrace to your nanny,” I told him. “You have sinned against everyone who loves you.”

His smile seemed to freeze on his face. Then he pointed his right forefinger at me. “You’d better keep your mouth shut, Delia. I’m warning you.”

“I don’t have to tell anyone,” I said. “God has seen what you have done.”

I got out and closed the car door. He pulled away quickly and sped down the driveway. Then I brushed down my clothes and started up the stairs. When I looked at the doorway, I saw it was ope

n, and Sophia was standing there glaring out at me.

“You bitch,” she said. “Mr. Baker was right about you!” she shouted, turned, and went back inside.

My heart bobbed like a yo-yo in my chest. Feeling like a trapped animal, I followed her into the house and hurried up the stairs to my room to get out of my soiled clothes and start my chores. Now I understood what Cinderella felt when the clock struck twelve and she fell back into her state of despair. Only, unlike her, I had no one coming in search of me.

Later, as I did my chores, I thought about the irony. Those who had seen me leave my village in the limousine were certain I was on my way to some sort of promised land. They thought I was being comforted and compensated for my great grief. They thought some sort of mercy had been thrown over me. They didn’t know that the evil eye was not finished with me yet.

I vowed to keep my laughter, my smiles, my happiness, should it ever come, locked deep inside me. I would not tempt the ojo malvado again. I did my best work that afternoon, never scrubbing as hard or cleaning as completely. The work kept me from crying. Señora Rosario was impressed enough to give me a compliment, but I didn’t say thank you. I would not even accept compliments anymore. Everything frightened me now. Good only led me to more bad.

Later, after I had changed to go to dinner, Edward came to my bedroom, knocked, and entered.

“Bradley Whitfield took you home today?” he asked me.

I looked away when I answered so he wouldn’t see my face.

“Yes.”

“Watch out for him,” he warned. “He’s a smooth talker.”

“Smooth?” I shook my head.

“Yeah, that means he’s sly, er…tricky…dishonest.”

“Sí,” I said, now understanding.

“But I bet you knew that anyway,” he added. “See you at dinner,” he said.

I waited for him to leave, and then I finally began to cry.

Before I went down to dinner, I showered and saw the burns and scrapes on my body from my struggle with Bradley. Some of them stung badly and took my breath away when the water hit them. I sucked in my tears, dried myself gently, and dressed for dinner.

The moment I took my seat in the dining room, my aunt was on me. She leaned toward me, her eyes dark and cold with accusations.

“Sophia tells me you had Bradley Whitfield drive you home. How did you get him to do that?”