Perfect Glass (A Young Adult Novel (sequel to Glass Girl)) (23 page)

The heavy, swinging door to the ER exam rooms opened and Clayton walked straight to us, his eyes locked with Miriam’s. He dragged a flimsy waiting room chair close and sat, looking subdued.

“They’ve just moved her to the ICU upstairs. It appears to be a serious case of viral pneumonia. The doc was hoping it was bacterial so he could pump her full of antibiotics to help.” He glanced at me. “He wanted to know if she’s been more confused in the last few days.”

“She’s been really off,” I said. “I thought her dementia was speeding up or something.”

Clayton shook his head. “It’s probably a combination, but apparently viral pneumonia sneaks up. And it can cause a lot of confusion and neurological lapses.”

I felt the color draining from my face. “If I had paid better attention, she wouldn’t be so sick, right?”

Clayton reached for my hand. “No, Meg. She’s frail and infections like this lay claim faster on older people. Her lungs were compromised because she smoked for so many years when she was younger.”

“Can I…is she awake?” I said.

He smiled. “She is. She’s asking for you. Only you.” He glanced at Miriam and then back at me. “That’s overwhelming and if you don’t want to go in, you don’t have to. Her doctor said she has about fifteen minutes before he’ll need to put her on a ventilator to help her breathe so she can fight the infection. Once she’s on that machine, they’ll sedate her heavily and she won’t be able to communicate.”

I nodded and let the implications of his words sink in. She had fifteen minutes left to talk and, after that, who knew what would happen. And she wanted to spend those minutes with me.

“I’ll go. Right now. I want to go.”

henry

A
car’s engine rumbled low in the courtyard, misfiring like it had a bad cylinder. I leaned back in the office chair to look out the window. Another black sedan, another nighttime visit, another child. I knew it wasn’t for Raf or Aidia, so it had to be for Equis.

The day we’d all dreaded had finally arrived—three days before Christmas. Until now, Equis had been spared this fate because the social workers had made a good faith effort to find his family of origin. The kid we called Equis was actually named Xavier. According to John, he’d appeared out of thin air, as scrawny as an acorn calf. He’d filled out some, but he still seemed too fragile to make it anywhere but here.

What had always confounded me about Equis was his detached acceptance of all hardship. He should cry. He should recognize the injustice of this, the unbelievable abuse. I just wished he’d hit something—hit me, for crying out loud.

But Equis accepted this change with mild-mannered silence. He packed, hugged us all, kissed Aidia, smiled at Raf, and climbed into the sedan. They called him Xavier and, for a minute, I thought they’d picked up the wrong child. He corrected them before he turned to face the front windshield. “
Me llamo Equis
.” As they drove away, he didn’t look back.

“I thought I was cold,” Raf whispered, watching Equis disappear.
Poof
, like he’d never existed.

John, who had tried to hold it together while Equis watched, now walked in a circle around the perimeter of the courtyard. Raf and I waited, recognizing a man who’d reached his limit. After three or four times around, John stopped, tipped his head back, and threw a punch at the sky. And another one.

Raf glanced at me. My heart raced and scared me a little. I stretched and moved, trying to see if it would settle. Finally, bending over, hands on knees, I began to calm down. I caught Raf’s gaze and said, “We all reach a wall eventually.”

“Henry,” John yelled, still raging at the sky. “Tell Raf to make the connection. Right now. Tell him to call her and set it up in an hour.”

With barely a nod to Raf, I communicated the importance of his role in our next mission. Raf stepped into the office, hovered over the desk, and dialed the phone. After three quick calls, he returned.

“
Una hora. El Caramanchel
. Wear something less…American, okay?” Raf rubbed the back of his neck and pointed to my Denver Broncos t-shirt.

I had no idea what to wear to a seedy Nicaraguan bar for a meet and greet with a junkie prostitute. I finally picked a faded plaid shirt, untucked, and old, busted up jeans and boots.

John and I had devised a plan to cut through the red tape surrounding Aidia’s adoption. The first hurdle, definitely a forty-two incher, was a signature from her birth mother. I assumed she’d agree, considering she’d dumped Aidia on our porch with a bottle and a note that basically read, “
Hola, me llamo Aidia
.” And it didn’t shock any of us that we didn’t know where
mamá
lived—or even that we didn’t know
mamá
’
s
name.

The shocker was that the very agency that required her signature for the legal adoption of Aidia also made it illegal for us to look for her birth mother.

Our secret weapon in the case turned out to be Raf. His wandering through San Isidro late at night, which had worried John and Kate to death, turned out to be a blessing in disguise. He’d overheard a conversation about the girl who’d left her baby on the steps of Quiet Waters. He did some digging for us and found her name, Carmen Alvarez, and her occupation.

After much discussion, John decided the best way to locate Carmen without scaring her would be through a convoluted system of backyard messaging. Raf put the word out that he knew of an American man who had an interest in Carmen. Carmen sent back a message, giving him a cell phone number he could call.

She said, for an American, she’d be available with thirty minutes notice. It was insane to imagine John posing as a john, but there you go. We’d already bought tickets for this crazy bus and we had to ride.

After a short, tense drive into San Isidro, John and I squeezed into a booth in the little bar Raf had picked. The place could’ve been a watering hole in a Western movie. Here, though, the atmosphere was a little danker. The stakes a lot higher. I wiped my sweaty palms on my jeans and glanced at John, who must have felt as out of place as me.

He covered his mouth and coughed, hiding behind his hand to say, “Can you try to look a little less conspicuous, Henry?”

“Back at ya, brother. You might want to loosen up on the table.” His knuckles were turning white where he gripped the grimy table’s edge. “Why is it so dang quiet in here? It’s like a morgue. Where’s the music?”

Raf waited outside by the front window. We could see him through the dirty glass because he stood directly under a neon sign. When he saw Carmen approaching, he gestured to us behind his back with the common Nica signal for “give me a minute.”

John leaned around me and watched her intently, taking in everything. I resisted the urge to turn around the stare—no need to alert the regulars.

“Does Aidia favor her?”

“It’s eerie.” He spoke without moving his lips. “Aidia is her spitting image.”

“What are they doing?”

“I think she’s trying to tempt Raf with her menu of services,” John said, chuckling. “Wish I had a picture of his face—she’s scaring him to death.”

The door squeaked as it opened. An older couple stepped past Raf and Carmen to enter the place. While the door stood open for a moment, the sound of Raf’s nervous laughter reached us. Carmen turned on the charm with a soft voice like Latino music. I turned quickly to catch a glimpse just as Raf placed his hand on her shoulder and leaned close to her ear.

“What’s he doing?” I said. John had a death grip on the table again.

“I think he’s telling her what’s up. She’s squinting, trying to see us, and checking the street like she’s nervous. If she bolts….”

I put my hand out, telling John to stay calm as the door opened again.

“
Señor
John,” Raf called. “Can you come here for a minute?”

John hopped up and moved smoothly toward the door, acting calm and collected even though he was anything but. His boot heels knocked hard on the wood floor. Raf held the door open for Carmen to step inside.

Good Lord, she was so thin and rawboned, she looked like she had a tapeworm.

“
Hola
,” John said. “
Me llamo
John Stahl.” He took her small hand in both of his.

“
Hola
,” she said.

I willed myself not to stare. I’m pretty sure the focused attention of two tall American males would send her running for the hills.

“¿
Como está
, Carmen?” John continued.

“
Bien
.” She glanced around, noticed me, and then took a step backward toward the door. John took a step forward, not letting her get away.

“¿
Habla ingles
?” he said.

“
Un poco
,” Carmen said, licking her lips.

“I’ll speak in English and Raf can help translate if you need him to.” John nodded at her to make sure she was with him.

She whispered, “Okay.”

“I have no desire to make trouble for you,” John said. “My wife and I love Aidia so much and we want to adopt her. The Nica government says you have to sign a paper saying that would be okay with you. Would you do that for us? For Aidia?”

Carmen breathed deeply through her nose and stood still for so long I had to check behind me again to make sure she hadn’t run off.

“Five thousand American dollars,” she said, in an unexpectedly hard voice, no doubt perfected in the back alleys.

“Five…five thousand,” John repeated, stuttering and fading away.

“
Sí. Por la molestia
.”

“For your trouble?” John translated, touching his chin with his hand. “Your trouble? I’m willing to give you five thousand American dollars to help you get on your feet. To help you put your house in order. ¿
Entiende, Carmen
?”

She stayed quiet, wearing a stone cold mask of
whatever
. John’s brow wrinkled and he shook his head. “But let’s not call it money for your trouble,” he said. “Can we agree that’s just degrading to Aidia? This money…I want you to use it to turn your life around.”

Before she could bolt, John touched her arm and gestured to our booth where he’d laid the papers out neatly as soon as we’d arrived, along with three pens in case two failed us. She sat and held a pen, but her raised eyebrow and her hesitation made it clear she wouldn’t sign until she’d seen the money.

John had come prepared. In fact, he’d come prepared to pay a lot more. He kept his wallet under the table so she couldn’t see just how prepared he was, counted out five large, and laid the money like a fan in front of her. I took a scan of the room to make sure none of the locals had taken an interest in the deal.

I was still so jacked up from losing Equis, I felt like I could take every guy in here if it came to that.

John kept a hand on the money until she’d signed on the dotted line, in triplicate. He read the form once more, mouthing the words, desperate to make sure we hadn’t missed anything while we had her captive.

He was taking a leap here, negotiating with a crackhead, under the table, in a dark cantina. The courage etched on his face came from loving Aidia so much he’d close his eyes and walk through fire to see her safe.

Raf stood back, watching the exchange, but something had changed in him. He was engaged, like he had an emotional stake in what was happening in this place. I stood, walking over to him. He stiffened and hardened his expression again, but I wasn’t fooled.

“Thanks for your help with this, Raf,” I said, leaning into him so he’d hear me. “You know you’ve probably changed a little girl’s life completely.”

“I just made a phone call. I didn’t do
nada
.” He jammed his hands in his pockets and studied his shuffling feet.

I smiled. “Yes, you did. John would never have been able to find her or convince her to meet him. That was all you. We’ll never forget what you did.”

“Henry, I….” He cleared his throat and tried again. “Does this mean she’ll belong to them? Is everything legal now?”

“Not yet. But the rest will be easy.”

“I’m glad for Aidia,” he said. “She’ll be fine.”

The point was not lost on me that Raf, himself, had asked to be taken to America and I’d told him it was impossible. Later, I’d asked John if we could take Raf to the States. “Not with a juvie record,” John had said.

What bothered me most about this scene, though, was that now Raf seemed finished. He’d been angry or superior or offended ever since I met him, but always with energy, always like he wanted to go somewhere. Now, whatever had been propping Raf up and motivating his rebellion was gone.

I reached out to check his forehead for fever and he didn’t even fight me. He stood still while I pressed the back of my hand to his face.

“You feeling okay, Raf?”

“I’m tired,” he said. “I’m ready to go home.”

I motioned to John that he should wrap things up.

On the way back to Quiet Waters, Raf, alone in the backseat, stared out the window. John and I marveled at the miracle that sat between us—a legal form containing the signature of Carmen Alvarez, prostitute and reluctant mother, a form that represented the entire world to a little girl named Aidia.

“Hey, did you ask her why she named her Aidia?” I said.

A corner of John’s mouth kicked up. “I didn’t ask her. It means ‘help.’ Did you know that? ‘Help.’ Ironic, right? Like a plea left on our front porch. I’m sure when you name a child that, you mean it to be an offer of help or a statement about God’s provision or something profound like that, not a plea for help.”

“Help,” I repeated, trying out the word while I held the image of Aidia’s face in my mind. “Sure is something.”

“Sure is. We were told if we could get that signature, the rest would be simple.” John gestured to the backseat with his chin. “Is he okay?”

I glanced back to check Raf’s status. “He says he’s tired.”

John reached back with his arm and squeezed Raf’s knee. I waited for the push back, but Raf just raised his head and met John’s eyes in the rearview for a second.

“Thanks, Rafael,” John said. “For everything you did. You were the reason this worked.”