Notes from a Spinning Planet—Mexico (17 page)

“What's the occasion?” I ask as I unlock the door, then lighten her load by taking a bag in for her.

She sets down her bags, then opens a white plastic one, using both hands to remove a giant hunk offish, and reverently sets the fish on the granite countertop like its some kind of trophy. “I caught this today.”

I bend over to examine the huge fillet. “Wow. What is it?”

“A sixty-pound yellowfin tuna.”

“No way,” I say. “You actually caught a sixty-pound fish, Aunt Sid?”

She eagerly nods. “It was so exciting, Maddie! I hooked it on my line, and Ian helped me reel it in.” She grins and rubs her right arm. “He actually helped me a lot.”

“That is so exciting.”

“I gave some of it to another couple who didn't catch anything. And they cleaned and filleted this for us to have tonight.”

“That is so cool.”

“So you don't mind helping me with dinner?”

“Not at all. Mind if I grab a quick shower first? I just got back from the pool.”

“No, you shower while I put things away.”

I glance at Shelby's closed door and assume she's sleeping off another day of heavy drinking. As I shower, I wonder if I should tell Sid about hiding her booze—or just play dumb. Playing dumb sounds tempting.

I hurry to dress, then go back out to help Sid. All kinds of food are spread across the counters, and she puts me in charge of the salad.

“What time are the guys coming?” I ask as I start washing an interesting-looking head of lettuce. Its leaves are kind of curly, but hopefully that's what it's supposed to look like.

“In about twenty minutes.” She's furiously chopping herbs now. “But it's okay if we're not ready since Ian promised to grill the tuna for me.”

“How do you know how to do this?” I ask, looking at the various fresh herbs and spices. As far as I know, Sid has never been much of a cook.

“Ian went to the store with me,” she says sheepishly. “He told me what to get and how to do this. I just hope I'm doing it right.”

“Why isn't Ian doing the cooking?” I ask. “I mean, since he's the pro.

She laughs. “We agreed when we went fishing
that you cook what you catch.
And since I'm the one who caught it, I'm stuck playing chef.
But don't worry, I have a feeling Ian will take over when he gets here.” She starts peeling a garlic clove. “Is Shelby around?”

“Yeah. I think she's sleeping it off.”

“Oh.”

“Do you think she has a drinking problem?” I ask quietly.

“The thoughts gone through my head,” she admits. “But she might also just think it's party time since she's on vacation. I hope that's the case.”

I start washing tomatoes now. They're so ripe and red that I'm tempted to take a bite out of one. You can't find produce like this back home in December.

“How did things go with Francesca?” she asks.

“Really good, I think.”

“Did the orphanage people agree to let her quit her job and move in with her aunt?”

“Yeah. But it was weird, Sid. I mean, when we got to the orphanage, which they call a girls’ home, it was like this incredible mansion and this huge, beautiful yard. Really impressive.”

“Well, that must be nice for the girls.”

“You'd think. And the inside was really swanky. There was original art and marble floors and Oriental rugs and stuff. Not exactly kid friendly, though. But then, I didn't see any kids in there, either.”

“What?” Sid holds her knife in the air. “An orphanage with no kids?”

“We went to a different wing where the girls live. It was pretty sparse. No frills. More like you'd expect a children's home in Mexico
to look. But the contrast was weird. I mean, one minute you're in a mansion, and the next you're in this very sterile and institutional place. I went into one of the rooms—Francescas youngest sister's room, which she shares with three girls. It was tiny. Even smaller than my bedroom. But it was neat and clean. Kinda stuffy, though. And all four girls were shut up in there doing their homework.”

“Interesting.”

“Anyway, after we took her sisters out for a few hours, I got to talk to the owners. And that was kinda weird too.” I confess to Sid how I posed as her assistant who was possibly doing an article. “I hope you don't mind.”

She laughs. “Hey, I might want to do an article. The place sounds pretty strange. They don't do anything bad to the girls, do they?”

“No, I don't think so. I mean, they're really strict and controlling. And I don't like the way Francesca must pay to help with her sisters, and then there was the whole job thing and housing. But what makes it seem even more weird is that the Bernards said the girls’ home is supported by donations from people who sponsor the girls.”

“It'sounds more like the donations are sponsoring the Bernards,” says Sid as she pours some olive oil into a bowl.

“Exactly.”

“That's too bad.”

“I know. But like Francesca told me, there is both bad and good. If I'd been orphaned in Mexico, I'm sure, like her, I'd have been thankful to have the Bernards take me in.”

“Still, it's sad that they might be misusing donations meant for the girls.”

“I have their Web site information,” I tell her. “I want to check it out and see how they represent themselves. Francesca told me things change when special visitors come. The girls are allowed to use the house and the pool, and they feel like they are on vacation.”

“Then its back to their little prison cells?”

I nod. “Well, she didn't say that. Really, that girl has an amazingly good attitude.”

“She's grateful.”

“Yeah. I guess we Americans could learn a lot from someone like her.”

“Still, it's not right for the Bernards to take advantage of other people's generosity by pretending to provide help. It's just a pretense for them to live the lifestyles of the rich and famous.”

“That's how I felt too.”

“Well, let me know what the Web site looks like,” says Sid. “I really might want to do an article on something like this. Not just with the Bernards, but I'm sure there are other orphan scams going on. No harm in letting people know which ones are good and which ones are not so good.”

“Hopefully, we can get Francesca's sisters moved out of there first. Francesca thinks the great-aunt might be willing to have all three of them live with her.”

“Wouldn't that be wonderful?”

“Wouldn't what be wonderful?” asks a sleepy-sounding Shelby. “And what's going on here? Is it Thanksgiving or something?”

So Sid explains about catching the tuna and our dinner guests, who should be here any minute.

“Well, isn't this nice. Roomies who can cook.” Shelby takes a slice of green pepper and pops it into her mouth. “But can you make a margarita?”

“Not me,” says Sid.

“Me either,” I add. “And right now I don't think you could find room for the blender on the countertop.”

“Well, I need a shower anyway” she says as she opens the fridge and looks around. “Hey, what happened to the Coronas?”

“I haven't had any,” says Sid.

“And you know I can't stand beer,” I remind her, focusing my attention on the tomato I'm slicing.

“Hmm…” She slams the refrigerator door and leaves. “That's weird.”

After she's gone and we can hear water running in her bathroom, Sid asks me if I know anything about her missing beer.

“Well, I was kinda worried,” I admit. “She was pretty wasted, and I didn't want her having anything else while I was down at the pool. I sort of hid her booze.”

Sid laughs.

“Do you think that's okay?”

“Well, considering this is her parents’ condo and they probably wouldn't want their daughter ending up in some Mexican hospital with a bad case of alcohol poisoning…yeah, I think it's okay.”

“Good.”

“Where did you hide it?” she asks quietly. “You know, just in case we need to humor her a little to make it through the night.”

So I show Sid my spot, and she promises to take charge of this little dilemma.

“So how are you handling this thing with Shelby and Ryan?” asks Sid in a concerned voice. “Still okay?”

I smile. “You know, I hadn't even thought about it today. I guess I was so focused on the thing with Francesca and her sisters. And, really, if Shelby and Ryan have something going, well, other than feeling disappointed in Ryan, there's not much I can do about it. Is there?”

Sid shakes her head. “Well, I have to say, you're taking it better than I am. You know, I feel kind of like a surrogate parent where Ryan's concerned, and it's all I can do not to just knock that boy in the head.”

“Speaking of knocking,” I say, tilting my head toward the door. “I think our guests have arrived.”

“Goodness,” says Sid, looking down at her shorts and slightly grubby T-shirt. “I haven't even cleaned up since fishing.”

“You go and clean up,” I tell her. “I can entertain the boys.”

Sid laughs. “Well, now, don't entertain them too well!”

I roll my eyes. “I'm sure Shelby will be out any minute if her radar's working. She can take over where I leave off.”

“And I'm sure she will.”

“Come in,” I say as I open the door.
“Mi casa es su casa.”
I kind of laugh. “Well, not actually. Since this isn't really my house.”

“How's the cooking coming?” asks Ian, going straight for the kitchen and examining our efforts. “Looks good.”

“Thank you.”

He sets a bottle of wine on the countertop and sniffs the herb-and-olive-oil mixture Sid just concocted. “Needs a little more basil,” he says as he picks up a sprig of green and starts to chop.

“Sid hinted that you might want to take over our little
cocina”
I say hopefully.

“I don't want to offend anyone.”

I hold up my hands. “Don't worry. No offense taken. Just yell if you need help.”

“Hello, everyone,” says Shelby as she emerges from her room looking—I hate to say it because it sounds so corny—fresh as a daisy. But her halter top is covered with yellow and white daisies, so it's not like I'm making this stuff up. “I hear we're having a special dinner tonight.” She eyes the bottle of wine. “Umm, pinot grigio. Do you want me to open that for you?”

“How about if you put it in the refrigerator to stay cold?” suggests Ian. “We'll have it with dinner.”

“Oh.” She nods as she puts it away, but I can tell she's disappointed. “I'd offer you boys a Corona, but we seem to be fresh out,” she says as she searches the interior of the fridge like she still expects to find one.

“That's okay,” says Ryan. “But I'll have one of those Cokes, if you don't mind.”

“And I'd like a bottle of water,” says Ian. “I think I got a little dehydrated on our fishing trip today.”

“I heard it was hard work reeling in that tuna,” I say as I grab myself a can of Coke too.

“Man, I wish I had been there,” says Ryan. “I would love to go deep-sea fishing down here.”

“Oh, not me,” says Shelby. “I get seasick.”

“But you were okay parasailing?” I ask.

“That's different.”

“Maybe you can book a fishing trip tomorrow,” says Ian. “I think I've still got the business card for the guys we went with. They were absolutely great.”

“And judging by this fish, they knew what they were doing,” I say.

Soon Sid emerges and helps Ian in the kitchen. I go out to the terrace to sit, and before long, Ryan joins me. “So what did you and Francesca do today?” he asks in what sounds like a slightly aggravated tone.

“Didn't Ian tell you?”

“No, he and Sid left for their fishing trip before I got up.”

I nod. “And you and Shelby got in kind of late last night.”

“Yeah.”

So I fill him in on Francesca's life, the girls’ home, her sisters, and how they might be able to live with her great-aunt now.

“Wow, that's pretty cool.”

“What's pretty cool?” asks Shelby, joining us with what looks like a margarita in her hand.

So I briefly tell her about Francesca, leaving out lots of details, since I'm pretty sure Shelby's not really interested.

“Francesca was an orphan?” she says sadly.

“Yeah. Her dad left when she was about seven, and then her mom died not long after that.”

“How tragic.”

“So you can see why its pretty cool that she found her aunt.” I'm staring at her drink now. “What are you drinking?”

“A margarita.”

“Oh.”

“You want one?”

“Where did you get it?”

She laughs. “Well, since no one would let me in the kitchen, I called room service and ordered a pitcher. It just got here.”

“Isn't that handy,” says Ryan with what sounds like an attitude.

“That's what I love about this place,” she says lightly. “All the comforts of home.”

“You mean you have people delivering you pitchers of margaritas at home?” I ask.

She laughs. “I was kidding.”

By the time we sit down to dinner, Shelby is, once again, pretty much wasted. Oh, she doesn't make a scene or spill her food or get ugly, but you can tell by the loudness of her voice and the way she laughs when something's not really funny that she's plastered.

“This was a great meal,” I tell Ian and Sid as I start to clear the table. “That's the problem with Mexico: I'm sure I've put on ten pounds since we got here.”

“That's why you should drink more and eat less,” says Shelby as I pick up her plate. That's when I notice she's barely touched her food. And it occurs to me that this is usually the case with her. At first I thought she was just one of those “petite” eaters. You know, uncomfortable making a pig of herself in public. But now I'm wondering if
she might have not only a drinking problem but an eating disorder as well. I shake my head as I dump her uneaten food into the garbage. I'm so glad I only have to room with her for two more days.

Sid comes into the kitchen with some plates, and I stop her. “You and Ian did the cooking. In fact, you did the catching. You are not allowed to also do the cleaning.”

“Works for me,” says Sid.

Then, as I'm rinsing plates, Shelby puts on some loud music and tries to get Ryan to dance with her. But he refuses, saying he'd rather come help me in the kitchen, which is actually rather nice.