James Grippando - Hear No Evil

“He must be mistaken. I’ve been told that my mother was-” Jack paused for the right words, not interested in getting into the details of the pregnancy. “She was seriously involved with a local boy when she left Bejucal. So it couldn’t have been Torres. The article said he was from Havana. And I’m sure my grandmother would have recognized the name and said something if it was Hector Torres.”

“According to El Pidio, the boy’s name wasn’t Hector Torres. It was Jorge Bustón.”

Jack was at a loss for words, partly from hearing the name Bustón for the first time, but partly because he didn’t understand. “That doesn’t make sense. If his name was Jorge Bustón, then how does Hector Torres fit into this?”

“Take this for whatever you think it’s worth, Jack. But based on that picture, my friend says he’d bet his whole life savings that Hector Torres was from Bejucal and was in love with your mother.”

“Wait a minute. Is he saying that Torres is…”

“Sí, sí. Exactamente. Hector Torres is Jorge Bustón. That’s what he thinks.”

Jack suddenly realized he was crushing the loaves of bread. “That can’t be.”

“You’re probably right. I’m sorry. I wasn’t sure if I should say anything to you or not. The article mentions how Hector Torres and your father have been friends for over thirty years, how Torres helped Harry Swyteck get elected governor, all that stuff. I don’t mean to stir anything up.”

“Don’t worry about it. Thanks for passing along the info. And double thanks for the bread.”

Jack started to walk away, but Kiko caught him and slipped a business card into his hand. On the back was a handwritten number.

“El Pidio’s phone number,” said Kiko. “Like I say, maybe he’s crazy. But maybe he’s not.”

Jack gave a little nod and he stuffed the card in his pocket. Kiko shook his hand firmly, as if to convey that they would speak of this no more. Then Jack left the bakery to track down Abuela.

Jack had an appointment at South Miami Hospital.

He knew he had to stay focused on Lindsey and her trial, and this latest information about Jack’s mother and Hector Torres was already distracting enough. Even so, Jack was suddenly feeling the need to tackle at least one of the things that had been gnawing at him about Brian.

It had to do with Brian’s biological mother.

Lindsey had seemed to be holding something over Jack’s head from the day they’d met, her underlying accusation that both Jack and Jessie had decided to give up Brian because of his hearing impairment. Even though Jack hadn’t even known about the baby, let alone his deafness, Lindsey’s words were beginning to feel like a spot on his soul. Maybe it was the reason Jessie had decided not to tell him about the baby. Could she have thought he was so utterly shallow that he wouldn’t have wanted any part of a child who was less than perfect? There was one way to rule out the possibility.

Jack met Jan Wackenhut in the hospital cafeteria on her lunch break. She was the head of the speech pathology and audiology department. Jack had gotten her name through a friend who, of course, couldn’t help adding that Jan was a lively brunette and a terrific dancer. Jack got a lot of that from do-gooders who couldn’t wait for him to rejoin the Married Farts Club, but this was all business. They sat on opposite sides of a little round table in the corner. Jack had an ice tea, and Jan picked at a small wedge of quiche as they spoke.

“When did you say the child was born?” asked Jan.

“Ten years ago.”

She guzzled some ice water, dousing an overnuked piece of broccoli that had apparently set her mouth on fire.

“I can tell you this,” she said. “We do screen infants for hearing loss here at this hospital. But that wasn’t the case at most hospitals in the country ten years ago. In fact, it’s only been in the last two or three years that infant screening has caught on. I read something not long ago that said only twenty percent of newborns were tested as recently as 1999.”

“So, ten years ago, it’s unlikely that my friend would have discovered that her newborn was born deaf and then decided to give him up for adoption.”

“Highly unlikely. Especially when you consider that most women make the decision to give up their child for adoption long before delivery. Your friend would have to have known that the baby was deaf before it was even born.”

“Is that possible?” said Jack.

“Not really.”

“What about prenatal testing?”

“How old was your friend when she gave birth?

“Young. Early twenties.”

“At that age, she probably would have had only ultrasound, which is limited to identifying problems of a physical or structural nature. It can’t detect problems of function-mental retardation, blindness, deafness. It can’t detect chromosome abnormalities either, like Down syndrome, which can sometimes be accompanied by problems like deafness.”

“What if she had some more extensive testing?”

“Even amniocentisis and CVS test for a specific number of chromosome, biochemical, and structural disorders. Deafness, blindness, and even some heart defects and some types of mental retardation just aren’t picked up through prenatal testing. And even if you could test for deafness, you’d have to be looking for it to detect it. You can’t just blanket test for every conceivable defect known to medical science. Not yet, anyway-and definitely not ten years ago.”

Jan finished off the rest of her quiche in three quick bites. “Time to get back to work,” she said.

“Ditto,” said Jack. He thanked her, then started down the long maze of freezing-cold hallways that eventually led him to the hospital exit and the parking garage. He wasted about five minutes looking for his Mustang, a mental lapse that ended with the realization that his car was gone for good and that he was driving a crappy rental.

As he climbed behind the wheel and switched on the A/C, he wasn’t thinking about his car, his old girlfriend, or even Brian. He was thinking about Lindsey, how the mother of a deaf child probably should have known that deafness couldn’t be detected through prenatal testing, and that ten years ago a newborn probably wouldn’t have been screened.

Yet, she’d still looked him in the eye and accused him and Jessie of dumping their baby because he was less than perfect.

He felt a rush of bitterness toward Lindsey, but he pushed it aside. His heart was pounding. Jessie’d been gone such a long time. But somehow he hoped she could hear him nonetheless.

I’m so sorry, Jessie. I’m sorry I let myself think that about you.

At ten minutes past three Jack was surrounded by any number of women who could have kicked his ass. Fortunately, most of them were behind bars.

Jack and Sofia had a trial-strategy meeting with Lindsey at the detention center. He cleared security at the visitors’ entrance, then passed through the main visitation area. It was one of the most depressing sights he’d ever seen on such a beautiful Saturday afternoon, a great day for the beach, the park, maybe a little barbecue with friends in the backyard. Teary-eyed wives slow-danced with their husbands, the music playing only in their heads. Mothers in prison garb hugged daughters in pigtails. Little boys giggled at the sound of a mother’s voice, a sound less familiar with each passing month. Jack felt a tinge of sadness for Brian, thinking that someday he might have to come here to visit his mother. Then he felt the same sadness for Lindsey, realizing that Brian wasn’t here today, right this very minute, because his grandparents had already convicted her and wouldn’t allow him to visit.

Jack entered a quieter area that was reserved for attorney-client meetings. Sofia was waiting for him in Room B, but their client had not yet arrived.