Panic Attack (6 page)

On the day of the robbery, Gabriela had to go to work for the Seidlers, another family in Forest Hills. Carlos didn’t want her to call him all day, or even later on. He’d said, “Don’t do nothin’ stupid, just sit by the phone and wait for me to call. Cops track calls and shit. We don’t want them seein’ we been talking the day the house got robbed.
Comprendes?
”

Not talking seemed like the right thing to do, but it was hard, working all day long, keeping all the wondering and worrying in her head.
Later, she came home and had dinner with Manuela and called her parents at the hospital in Ec ua dor. Her mother said that
papi
wasn’t doing very good, and then she put Gabriela on the phone with him. Gabriela could hear it in his voice, how sick he was. He just didn’t sound like the
papi
she knew. She kept telling him to hold on, that she was gonna get the money for him real soon. He told her don’t worry, he was gonna be fine, but she heard the lying in his voice. That’s the way her
papi
was, always wanting to be strong.
Manuela spoke to her grandfather, too, and after she was crying and said to Gabriela, “How come you told him you were gonna get the money soon? Where you gonna get it from?”
Gabriela hugged her daughter and said, “God is going to get us the money. You’ll see.”
Around eleven Manuela was asleep and Gabriela was alone, waiting for Carlos to call, even though they weren’t supposed to rob the house till the middle of the night, like two in the morning. She didn’t know how long it was gonna take to rob a house, but she didn’t think it would take too long. Maybe by three they’d be all done, but then how long would it be before he called her? Knowing Carlos, he’d want to do drugs after. She wished she had some heroin right now; that stuff used to keep her very calm.
She tried to watch TV, but it was too hard, so she spent the whole night just walking back and forth in her living room. She’d never seen a clock move so slow. It seemed like it took forever till midnight came, and then one and two o’clock came even slower. But finally it was time— the house was being robbed, and soon, hopefully tomorrow, she’d have her money and her
papi
would be having his operation and everything would be okay.
The only problem was she had a horrible empty feeling in her stomach, like something was gonna go wrong. She kept telling herself,
Don’t think about that. That’s stupid. Nothing’s gonna go wrong. They’re gonna get the ring and the necklace and all the jewelry and sell it, and soon you’re gonna have the money for papi.
She kept telling herself this, but she didn’t believe it. The bad feeling was still there; it wouldn’t go away.
At three thirty, she knew it should be all over by now. They should be out of the house, back at Carlos’s or wherever. Then how come he wasn’t calling her? He’d said he’d go to a phone booth after the house was robbed and call her with a calling card so the police couldn’t find out. Maybe he didn’t have a chance to make the call yet. Maybe he was just making sure they were safe and everything was okay;
then
he’d call her.
But when four o’clock came, Gabriela didn’t believe that Carlos had forgotten about anything. He and his friend were ripping her off, that’s what was happening. They weren’t going to split the money three ways. That had just been more of Carlos’s lies. They were going to split it two ways, and one of the ways wasn’t going to be hers. She didn’t know how she’d been so stupid, trusting a man who’d already lied to her so badly, getting her so sick and ruining her whole life.
A few times, she was about to call him on his cell, but each time she stopped herself at the last second. She knew if he was going to steal from her, he wouldn’t answer his phone when she called, and she was still hoping she was wrong, that something happened, like he didn’t have a chance to get to a phone yet to call her, and everything would turn out okay.
Then, at five in the morning, she was still in the living room, waiting for the phone to ring, when Manuela came out and said, “
Mami,
what’s wrong?”
“I just been worried about your
abuelo,
” Gabriela said.
“I thought you said God was gonna save him?”
“I don’t know anymore, baby,” Gabriela said. “Maybe God’s too busy today.”
Gabriela made Manuela breakfast and lunch, then kissed her good- bye. She was so glad she had such a beautiful daughter, and she knew if it wasn’t for her daughter she probably would have killed herself a long time ago.
Manuela went back to sleep, and Gabriela turned on the TV, just to keep her mind busy. She watched
Cada Día
on Telemundo for a while and then switched to an English news channel, hoping to find out something about the robbery. She didn’t think there’d really be anything about it on TV, she thought she was just being crazy, so she couldn’t believe it when she saw the reporter standing in front of the Blooms’ house.
It was very hard to understand what was going on. Not because her English wasn’t good enough— she didn’t speak fluent but she could usually understand most of the news on the TV— but because she didn’t believe that a house getting robbed was such a big news story, on the TV news, it just didn’t make any sense. But then she heard what the lady was saying, how one of the men who’d broken into the house had been shot and killed by Adam Bloom. Mr. Bloom himself was on TV, talking about why he used his gun. Gabriela still couldn’t believe it— she thought she had to be asleep, having a bad dream. Then she heard the reporter saying,“Police are identifying the dead man as thirty- six- year- old Carlos Sanchez of Queens.”
Sitting on the couch, she stared at the TV for a long time— maybe for seconds or minutes or hours, she had no idea. Finally she was able to think. She couldn’t understand how this could have happened. The Blooms were supposed to go away; the house was supposed to be empty. And why did Mr. Bloom shoot Carlos? She knew he had a gun— she’d seen it in his bedroom closet when she was cleaning, and sometimes he even left it out on the little table near his bed— but she couldn’t imagine that kind man killing somebody even if his house was being robbed. It just didn’t make any sense.
Then it hit her, what this really meant, and she started crying like she was at a funeral, but she wasn’t crying for Carlos. She didn’t go to church very much lately, but she still believed in Jesus Christ and that even bad people like Carlos had some good in them somewhere. But she still couldn’t feel bad that Carlos was dead, not after all the bad things he had done to her. The one she was crying for was her
papi
. Carlos wasn’t the only man Mr. Bloom had killed with his gun, because now her
papi
was going to die, too.
Gabriela was still sitting on the couch crying when Beatrice called and said, “Did you hear what happened at the Blooms’ house last night?” Beatrice said she was in Forest Hills, at work in another house, and everybody was talking about it.
“Yes, I saw it on the news,” Gabriela said.
“The guy who was killed,” Beatrice said. “They said his name is Carlos, Carlos Sanchez. It’s not your old boyfriend Carlos, is it?”
“Don’t tell anybody you know that,” Gabriela said. “Please.”
“Why?” Beatrice asked. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing,” Gabriela said.“I just don’t want the police coming, asking me questions, when I’m so worried about
Papi
.”
“You okay?” Beatrice asked. “You don’t sound good. I’m worried about you.”
“I’m fine,” Gabriela said, crying. “But please, please don’t say anything to the
policía
. I’m begging to you.”
Gabriela was scared, even more scared than she was when she found out she had HIV. At least there was medicine she could take for HIV, but she couldn’t think of any way to make this okay. So many people knew that Carlos was her exboyfriend. The Blooms and the other people she worked for didn’t know because she never wanted them to find out about the drugs and the HIV, but Beatrice and her whole family knew, and Manuela knew, and neighbors in Gabriela’s building knew. And what about all the times over the last couple of weeks that Gabriela had talked to Carlos on his cell phone? There was no way the
policía
wouldn’t find out.
Gabriela was thinking about killing herself again— she could jump off a bridge or take pills. Pills would be very easy. She had a new bottle of sleeping pills and could take all of them and be dead very quickly. If she was dead it would probably be better for Manuela, too. It wasn’t going to do her any good having a mother in jail. Beatrice could raise her good and give her a happy life.
At seven thirty, after Manuela left for school, Gabriela got the sleeping pills out of the cabinet. She was planning to text- message Beatrice, to tell her what she was going to do, so Beatrice could discover her body and not Manuela. She just hoped that she died before Beatrice arrived at her apartment. The worst thing would be if she woke up alive in some hospital bed.
She was about to type the text message when the doorbell rang. She looked through the peephole and saw a man with dark hair.
“Who’s there?” she asked, and the man said, “Police.”
She was surprised. She knew the police would come, but she didn’t think they would come this fast. She was going to lock the door and take the pills, but she was afraid the police would break the door down and call an ambulance and save her.
She opened the door, hoping she could convince him to go away so she could have a chance to kill herself.
“Yes?” she said.
“You Gabriela?” he asked.
He was in a leather jacket and was wearing dark sunglasses. He didn’t look like police.
“Yes,” she said. She couldn’t remember ever being so scared.
The man reached into his jacket for something. She thought she’d see a badge, but it was a gun. She looked into the dark hole and saw her poor
papi
’s face.

Marissa got out of bed at around noon and headed down the main staircase. She was about halfway down when she suddenly stopped and couldn’t get herself to go any farther. Although it looked like the blood was all gone, she remembered what that guy had looked like, with that big piece of his jaw missing and all the blood, and got so grossed out she felt like she was going to throw up. She took the back stairs instead and went right into the kitchen. She was planning to ignore her father, give him the silent treatment after their argument last night. She didn’t see him downstairs, and her mother wasn’t around either.

No answer. Usually she loved it when she had the house all to herself, but after last night the idea of being alone kind of freaked her out.
“Mom! Dad!”
Her dad came out of the den, finishing a call on his BlackBerry. “Okay, Lauren, I’ll check back with you later on that. Bye- bye now.”
At first Marissa was kind of surprised that her dad was acting so normal, that he was able to get back to work so quickly after going through so much trauma, but then she decided it made perfect sense. After all, he wasn’t exactly in touch with his emotions. She remembered how he didn’t cry at all at his father’s funeral— even at the cemetery, when they lowered his father into the ground, he was stone- faced—and then a few months later he was a mess, snapping at everybody all the time, drinking too much. It would probably take him a few weeks before he realized how he actually felt about the shooting, and in the meantime he would take his anxiety out on her and her mom.
When her dad came into the kitchen Marissa was at the counter, pouring a cup of lukewarm coffee.
“Hey, good morning,” he said, sounding inappropriately upbeat. “How’d you sleep?”
She waited several seconds before mumbling, “Shitty.”
“Aw, that stinks,” he said. “Maybe you should take a nap later or something. Oh, and by the way, I’m really sorry about last night. I was just feeling exhausted and stressed and I shouldn’t’ve taken it out on you.”
“Whatever,” she said, not ready to forgive him yet.
“No, not
what ever,
” he said, mimicking her. “I was wrong and I’m sorry. Friends?”
He extended his arms, inviting her to hug him.
“Friends,” she said grudgingly.
They hugged loosely; then she took a sip of the coffee. It tasted sour and murky.
“Hey, so I was thinking,” he said. “Maybe instead of going down to Florida I’ll just fly Grandma up here instead.”
“Can she travel?” Marissa asked.
“She said she’s been feeling a lot better lately and that she could handle the flight. She could just sleep downstairs on the pullout and use the downstairs bathroom so we don’t have to worry about her going up and down the stairs.”
“Sounds good to me,” Marissa said.
She was always up for getting out of a trip to Florida. She used to like going down there when she was a kid, mainly because she and her parents always stopped at Disney World on the way back, but for the last ten years or so going to her grandma Ann’s condo in North Miami had been torture. It was always nice to see her grandma, but at her condo Marissa was basically a prisoner, hanging around all day, playing Rummy Q, watching game shows, and waiting for the main activity: going to the early bird dinner at four o’clock.
“Yeah, I think I’m just gonna call her and suggest it,” her dad said. “Maybe next weekend or the weekend after.”
“So,” Marissa said, “is there any news?”
“News about what?”
Was he serious?
“The shooting,” she said.
“Oh, no,” he said. “I mean, I don’t know what news there would be since last night. I mean, they removed the body right after you went to bed, and I was up for maybe another hour or so. I’ve been getting a lot of calls and e-mails, of course. It’s amazing the way news spreads. Remember my old friend Stevie Lerner? Big guy, dark curly hair? Anyway, you met him when you were about eight years old, I think, and the last time I saw him was at a wedding maybe ten years ago. Anyway,
he
called to see if everything was okay.”
“Did they figure out how the burglars got in yet?” Marissa asked.
“No, I don’t think so,” he said, like he really didn’t care one way or the other. “But the lock guy was here already, and we have brand- new locks for the back door, Medecos. There’re new keys. The alarm guy should be here at around—” He checked the time on his cell phone. “Actually, they should’ve been here a half hour ago.”
Marissa took another sip of the gross coffee, then said, “I’ll talk to you later,” and started to leave the kitchen.
“I was thinking,” her dad said, “maybe we could all go out to dinner tonight. You know, as a family.”
“I’m supposed to hang out with some friends,” she said.
This wasn’t really true. She had no set plans with her friends; she just didn’t feel like spending a whole night with her parents.
“Oh, then maybe we should do something over the weekend, just the thter all, he wasn’t exactly in touch with his emotions. She remembered how he didn’t cry at all at his father’s funeral— even at the cemetery, when they lowered his father into the ground, he was stone- faced—and then a few months later he was a mess, snapping at everybody all the time, drinking too much. It would probably take him a few weeks before he realized how he actually felt about the shooting, and in the meantime he would take his anxiety out on her and her mom.
When her dad came into the kitchen Marissa was at the counter, pouring a cup of lukewarm coffee.
“Hey, good morning,” he said, sounding inappropriately upbeat. “How’d you sleep?”
She waited several seconds before mumbling, “Shitty.”
“Aw, that stinks,” he said. “Maybe you should take a nap later or something. Oh, and by the way, I’m really sorry about last night. I was just feeling exhausted and stressed and I shouldn’t’ve taken it out on you.”
“Whatever,” she said, not ready to forgive him yet.
“No, not
what ever,
” he said, mimicking her. “I was wrong and I’m sorry. Friends?”
He extended his arms, inviting her to hug him.
“Friends,” she said grudgingly.
They hugged loosely; then she took a sip of the coffee. It tasted sour and murky.
“Hey, so I was thinking,” he said. “Maybe instead of going down to Florida I’ll just fly Grandma up here instead.”
“Can she travel?” Marissa asked.
“She said she’s been feeling a lot better lately and that she could handle the flight. She could just sleep downstairs on the pullout and use the downstairs bathroom so we don’t have to worry about her going up and down the stairs.”
“Sounds good to me,” Marissa said.
She was always up for getting out of a trip to Florida. She used to like going down there when she was a kid, mainly because she and her parents always stopped at Disney World on the way back, but for the last ten years or so going to her grandma Ann’s condo in North Miami had been torture. It was always nice to see her grandma, but at her condo Marissa was basically a prisoner, hanging around all day, playing Rummy Q, watching game shows, and waiting for the main activity: going to the early bird dinner at four o’clock.
“Yeah, I think I’m just gonna call her and suggest it,” her dad said. “Maybe next weekend or the weekend after.”
“So,” Marissa said, “is there any news?”
“News about what?”
Was he serious?
“The shooting,” she said.
“Oh, no,” he said. “I mean, I don’t know what news there would be since last night. I mean, they removed the body right after you went to bed, and I was up for maybe another hour or so. I’ve been getting a lot of calls and e-mails, of course. It’s amazing the way news spreads. Remember my old friend Stevie Lerner? Big guy, dark curly hair? Anyway, you met him when you were about eight years old, I think, and the last time I saw him was at a wedding maybe ten years ago. Anyway,
he
called to see if everything was okay.”
“Did they figure out how the burglars got in yet?” Marissa asked.
“No, I don’t think so,” he said, like he really didn’t care one way or the other. “But the lock guy was here already, and we have brand- new locks for the back door, Medecos. There’re new keys. The alarm guy should be here at around—” He checked the time on his cell phone. “Actually, they should’ve been here a half hour ago.”
Marissa took another sip of the gross coffee, then said, “I’ll talk to you later,” and started to leave the kitchen.
“I was thinking,” her dad said, “maybe we could all go out to dinner tonight. You know, as a family.”
“I’m supposed to hang out with some friends,” she said.
This wasn’t really true. She had no set plans with her friends; she just didn’t feel like spending a whole night with her parents.
“Oh, then maybe we should do something over the weekend, just the three of us. Maybe go into the city to see a movie or a show. When was the last time we went to a Broadway show? It’s been ages.”
“Are you sure you’re feeling okay, Dad?”
“Fine,” he said, smiling unusually widely. “What do you mean?”
“The way you’re acting. It’s . . . I don’t know . . . not normal.”
“What do you mean?” he said. “I had a phone session with a patient. I’m taking care of stuff around the house. I think I’m acting very normal.”
“Yeah, but it’s not normal to act normal. I mean, you’re allowed to be upset.”
“Upset about what?”
“You shot somebody,” Marissa said. “If that happened to me, I mean, if I was the one who shot him, I’d be a total mess right now. I mean, you wouldn’t even be able to talk to me.”
“Everybody handles things differently,” he said.
“
Anybody
would be upset,” she said.
“Look, I was upset at first, okay? I mean, you saw me last night, right? I was expressing my anger then, but I’m okay with it now, I really am. I mean, I’m not going to beat myself up over it. I was in a difficult situation, and I did the best I could under the circumstances. I wish it hadn’t happened, but it did happen, and it could’ve happened to anybody— that’s the important thing. You know how many people in this neighborhood have guns? The Zimmermans have a gun, the Stenatos have a gun, the Silvermans have a gun, the Coles have a gun. I bet there’s a gun in every other house on this block, if not in every house, and I think any other father would’ve done what I did. I protected my family, that’s all. It’s not something to feel bad about, it’s something to feel good about.”
God, he was so deep in denial it was hopeless.
“Look, Dad, if I were you, I’d talk to somebody. Your therapist, some other counselor, whoever. I really think you’re still in shock right now but you don’t realize it.”
“Shock?” he said, like he’d never heard the word before. “Why do you—”
“Hello?” her mom shouted. It sounded like she was in the foyer, near the front door. She sounded totally panicked, like something horrible had happened. “Who’s home?!”
Marissa and her dad looked at each other with concerned expressions, then left the kitchen together and met her mom in the living room. Her mom looked frantic and went right up to Marissa and wrapped her arms around her and wouldn’t let go.
“What is it, Mom? What’s wrong?”
Her mother was crying now, but it was worse than the way she’d been crying last night. Last night she was just upset. Now she looked devastated.
“Yeah, what’s going on?” her dad asked, concerned yet calm.
Marissa’s mom let go of her. Tears were streaming down her cheeks, leaving smudges of mascara, and her lips were trembling.
“I-I just spoke w–w-w- with that d-d- detective . . . C-c- c-clements.” She had to catch her breath. “I c-c- alled him about the paper... He called back and... and .. . she’s d-d- dead.”
Marissa was lost. “Who’s dead?”
“G-g- gabriela,” her mom said. “Somebody shot her. She’s dead.”
Marissa was confused. The only Gabriela she knew was their maid, but that was impossible. Marissa must’ve misunderstood something. Her mother must’ve meant some other Gabriela. Maybe someone from the neighborhood or a friend of a friend. Something like that.
“Gabriela?” Marissa asked. “Gabriela who?”
Her mom couldn’t speak for several seconds, then blurted out, “Our Gabriela.”
The room seemed like it was spinning, and then Marissa wasn’t sure where she was anymore. Her father had to actually grab her to keep her from falling. Somehow they all wound up on the living room couch, Marissa sitting between her mom and her dad.
Her mom was asking her if she was okay, and Marissa, crying, was saying, “It’s not true. Please tell me it’s not true.”
“It’s true,” her mom sobbed. “It’s true, it’s true, it’s true.”
“How do you know it’s true?” her father asked. “Maybe there’s some mistake.”
Her dad wasn’t crying at all, and he didn’t even seem very upset. He sounded weirdly calm, in control.
“He told me,” her mom said. “The detective. He said she was shot this morning in... in her apartment.”
“Maybe there was a screwup,” her dad said. “Maybe it was some other Gabriela.”
“No, I asked,” her mom said emphatically. “He said it was Gabriela Moreno, and he gave me her address in Jackson Heights. It’s not a mistake. She’s dead. Somebody shot her.”
Marissa was still sobbing. Last night had been one of the scariest times of her life, but this was like a total nightmare. Gabriela had been so young, so happy, so healthy. How could she be dead? This wasn’t possible.
Then it hit Marissa, and she said, “Oh my God. You don’t think it has something to do with last night, do you?”
“It has nothing to do with last night,” her dad cut in quickly. “Okay, come on, let’s not get all hysterical before we know all the facts. I want to talk to Clements, find out exactly what’s going on here.”
He was trying so hard to sound in control. Like people were getting shot left and right, but of course he could handle it, it was no big deal.
“He said he’ll be over,” her mom said, “later.”
“Good,” her dad said. “I’m sure there’s a lot we don’t know right now.”
“Didn’t Clements say he was gonna go talk to Gabriela?” Marissa asked. “Isn’t that what he said last night?”
“He didn’t have a chance to talk to her,” her mom said. “He said he was planning to talk to her today when—”
“Then it has to have something to do with it,” Marissa said. “It’s too coincidental.”
Her father stood up and started making a call on his BlackBerry. “Let’s just see one thing, okay?” he said.
“What’re you doing?” her mom asked.
“Let’s see if she picks up her phone.”
“What’s wrong with you?” her mom said. “I’m telling you, she’s dead.”
Her dad ignored her, with the phone to his ear. Then after several seconds he clicked off and said, “Voice mail.”
“Of course her voice mail picked up,” her mom screamed. “What the hell’s wrong with you?”
“Can you guys please just stop fighting?” Marissa asked.
“What’s Gabriela’s cell?” her dad asked, and her mom leaned over her lap, grabbed fistfuls of her hair as if she were trying to pull it all out in total frustration, then made an infuriated gravelly sound in the back of her throat.
“What were you saying before about a paper?” Marissa asked.
Still looking down, her hands still clutching her hair, her mom said, “I had the code to the alarm written on a piece of paper. I realized it was missing this morning, that’s why I called Clements.”
“Okay, think about what you’re saying,” her dad said. He was standing in front of them, looking down at them. “Just think about it for a second without getting hysterical. You know Gabriela, right? You know how wonderful she is, how loyal she is, how trustworthy she is. How many times has she been in this house alone? How many times did she babysit for us, or pick up Marissa from school? She’s worked for us for how many years? Twelve? Thirteen? And in all that time she’s never stolen anything from us. I’m talking not even a dollar bill from on top of my dresser. I mean, there’s probably been hundreds of times that she had total access to my wallet, your pocketbook, your jewelry, and she’s never stolen a cent from us. But now you’re positive, there’s no doubt in your mind, that she conspired with that criminal Sanchez to rob our house? Why? Because they’re both Spanish? I mean, just think about how absurd that is before you start screaming your head off at me, okay?”