Elizabeth White - Sounds Of Silence

Resigned to sweeping up at least a bucket of sand, she finished putting lunch together, then went to the door.

“Danilo!” she called. “Bring Mercedes and come in for lunch.”

“Okay, Mommy,” he hollered back. Momentarily both children appeared at the door. “I don’t have to wash my hands,” Danilo announced through the screen. “I stuck ’em in Fonzie’s water bowl.”

Isabel grinned. A few weeks before Rico’s death, he had started feeding a mutt who’d wandered through their yard and made himself at home under the front porch. Big, ugly brown Fonzie—named after Rico’s favorite Happy Days character—had thoroughly weaseled his way into the family.

“Nice try.” She pointed at the sink. “Wash.” She beckoned Mercedes, who hovered outside, and rubbed her hands together. “Lavate,” she said slowly, so the little girl could read the word on her lips. Then, “Wash,” to demonstrate the English version.

Isabel loved to teach. In fact, she’d started college with the intention of earning her certificate, but getting pregnant right away had put an end to that. Rico had gotten bored with school and decided Border Patrol would suit him, so off they’d gone to the Academy at Glencoe. Since then she’d been so busy functioning as wife and mother, there hadn’t been time to think about finishing college. And after Rico’s death, she’d had all she could do to make ends meet. A talented seamstress, she’d made curtains, raised and lowered hems, sewn on buttons—boring jobs that sapped every bit of creative energy from a hobby she’d once loved.

All that was going to change, however, when she moved back to San Antonio. Her mother had promised to keep Danilo while Isabel went to college. She was going to be a teacher if it killed her.

All she had to do was sell this fixer-upper.

She gasped. She’d forgotten all about the appointment with the real estate agent this afternoon.

It was time to introduce to Danilo the concept of secrecy.

Isabel set a plate of sandwiches in the middle of her kitchen table, which served as dining room, breakfast nook, study and sewing room as the need arose. Danilo, who had long ago disdained the idea of a booster seat, hopped onto a chair with both legs folded under his bottom.

He folded his hands under his chin. “Can I say the blessing, Mommy?”

He always said the blessing, but he always asked first—a relic of the days when Rico used to take turns with him. The question never failed to tighten Isabel’s throat.

“Yes, but let’s get Mercedes situated first.” Isabel turned to find the little girl still in the laundry room, holding a pink hand towel against her cheek. After a deep, appreciative sniff, Mercedes neatly hung the towel on its rack. She smiled and circled her palm in front of her face.

“¿Bonita?” Isabel guessed, nodding. Oh, dear, how was she going to communicate with this little one? How would one say “eat?” She took a stab at it, bringing bunched fingers to her mouth.

Mercedes’s face lit. She rubbed her tummy.

Isabel laughed in relief. “Okay, I’m hungry, too,” she said in Spanish, patting her own stomach. “Come.” Offering her hand, she led Mercedes to a place at the table across from Danilo, who was now bouncing with impatience.

“Hurry, Mommy, God’s waiting.”

Smiling, Isabel sat at her end of the table near the bay window. “Let’s pray,” she said, bowing her head. Hopefully, having spent a couple of days with Benny at the orphanage, Mercedes would understand what was going on.

“Dear God, thanks for helping me write my name today.”

As Danilo rambled for a couple of minutes and finally got around to thanking God for the food, Isabel couldn’t help peeking. She was surprised and pleased to see Mercedes, eyes closed and hands moving, talking quite comfortably to God in her own way.

With a jolt, she realized Mercedes had pointed to her and Danilo several times.

When was the last time she’d felt like the answer to somebody’s prayer? Father, help me to be a blessing to this little girl.

“Amen,” said Danilo, reaching for a sandwich.

“Manners,” Isabel cautioned. “Offer one to your guest first.”

Danilo blinked. “Oh, yeah.” He thrust the plate across the table. “Here, Mercedes. The one on top’s got more jelly in it. You can have it.” He looked at Isabel, who smiled in approval. She’d given up convincing him Mercedes couldn’t hear his chatter.

Mercedes timidly took the top sandwich, watching for Isabel to begin eating before she took a dainty nibble. In between bites Mercedes examined the mermaid characters on her plate and cup. Someone had given them to Isabel as a baby gift before Danilo’s birth, and she’d put them away in case she ever had a girl. It was good to have a use for the dishes.

“Nilo,” began Isabel, “there’s something I need to talk to you about.”

Danilo’s eyes widened. “Mrs. Logan said she wouldn’t call you.”

Isabel frowned. “About what?”

“About the time-out.”

“And why were you in time-out?” Danilo hid behind his milk glass, but Isabel waited him out.

He emerged sporting a world-class milk mustache. “I’s just talking.”

“You can’t talk whenever you feel like it, Danilo. That’s disrespectful and disobedient.”

“I’m sorry, Mommy.” Danilo’s big brown eyes were sorrowful. “I told Mrs. Logan I’s sorry. I was telling Josh a joke. You know, what has two knees and swims?”

Isabel closed her eyes and took a deep breath. This was not going to work. Nilo couldn’t not talk. How in the world was she going to keep Mercedes’s presence a secret?

She leaned her head on her hand and regarded her son. “Okay, buddy. If Mrs. Logan forgave you, then I forgive you. But that’s not what I wanted to talk to you about. It’s Mercedes.”

Danilo beamed at Mercedes. “Thank you for getting me a sister! She’s way more fun than Josh’s sister.”

Isabel’s mouth fell open. “She’s not your sister! She’s just going to stay with us for a couple of days while the police look for a bad man who wants to find her.”

“I won’t let any bad man get her,” Danilo declared. “I’ll put on my superhero pajamas and—”

“Honey, no. Listen, all I need you to do is not tell anybody she’s staying with us.”

“But why?”

The three-letter W word. Why, why, why. If she heard it once, she heard it forty times a day.

“Because…” Isabel laid both hands on the table on either side of her plate. “Because I said so.”

“Not even Josh?”

“Especially not Josh.”

“Not Mrs. Logan?”

Isabel firmly shook her head.

Danilo scrunched his face for a moment, then grinned. “Superheroes can’t tell anybody who they are. I like secrets.”

Relief washed through Isabel. “That’s right. It’s a secret.”

“Okay.” Danilo cut a Rico-like look at Isabel. “But can I at least pretend she’s my sister?”

Pablo Medieros reracked the hundred-eighty-pound barbell he’d been bench-pressing and sat up to wipe his chest with a towel. In his opinion, the Piedras Negras Fitness Center was of barely acceptable standards, but it was the only private gym in town. His gaze touched the dusty windowsills and ceiling fans, the frayed carpet, the spiderwebs in the corners.

When Governor Avila, his boss and first cousin, won reelection this fall, his first action would be attracting businesses to the depressed cities along the border. If he brought money here, civic improvements across the state would follow.

Of course, in Pablo’s opinion, the legal route wasn’t always the most efficient. He didn’t much care which side of the law he stepped across; after all, legality was relative.