“I’m taking the dogs for a walk.”
Carmen nodded and gave her a small smile.
Zita whistled for her dogs, got into her car and left.
***
Zita drove on auto-pilot to the state park. They had to get Manuela and Johanna out of El Salvador as quickly as possible, but these things took time. The asylum application took months to process, and Zita wasn’t sure they had that much time. She wanted to jump on a plane and fly them over herself, but they would likely be shipped right back home again and things would be far worse. Plus, she couldn’t risk the criticism that would be directed at Casa Flanagan.
She swore. She wasn’t as familiar with the asylum process as she was with the SIJ status that the girls normally applied for. She’d have to ask Shelly.
If she was an immigration lawyer, she’d know all the things they could try. Right now she was useless.
Pulling into the parking lot and stopping next to the only other vehicle in the lot, she turned off the car and got out. She should have brought boots. The ground was fairly muddy— the dogs were going to love it. Keeping them on the leash, she started down one of the walking tracks.
She breathed deeply, enjoying the coolness of the air and trying to relax. The bushes surrounding the wide path were heavy with the rain that had fallen earlier in the day and the air was still. Occasionally, a bird would call out or flit from bush to bush, shaking the drops from the branches.
Zita needed this. The peace, the time for herself. She needed it for her own emotional wellbeing.
She wasn’t happy.
Her chest tightened at the admission, but it was time she faced the truth. She was twenty-five, still living at home, and couldn’t see how she could possibly leave.
Guilt swamped her and she fought to stay on top of it. Was it so wrong to want to move out of home, to have her own space and her own things? She wanted to have a decent night’s sleep, and be able to stay as long as she wanted in the shower, and to make herself toast for dinner if she didn’t feel like cooking. But she couldn’t leave her mother to cope with the girls on her own. It would be selfish and ungrateful. Her mother had left everything she had in El Salvador to give her daughters a better life.
Zita kicked a pebble on the path and it rolled a short distance before stopping.
That was her. Only getting so far before her momentum was lost.
As much as she loved her foster sisters, loved helping them and watching them grow, she wanted more out of life. She wanted an intellectual challenge as well as some level of independence. “I want to be an immigration lawyer.” Saying the words aloud made her recoil with guilt, but it was true. She wanted to fight the battle for her sisters’ freedom in the courtroom rather than staying silent in the crowd. She wanted to help more than the few girls who passed through their door.
But it meant going to college, then law school, and long hours of study. There’d be little time to help her mother care for the girls.
It was wishful thinking.
Bess barked at something on the path in front of them and Zita brought her attention to the present. It was a squirrel that quickly raced into the bushes.
Zita held both dogs back as they strained forward on the leash. It was foolish not to pay attention around here. There were poisonous snakes, and she’d spotted the occasional alligator as well.
Focusing back on the track she continued her walk. There was a place a little further on where she could sit for a while and contemplate.
When she arrived at the spot, she got the dogs some water and gave them both a treat, then sat down on the bench.
Perhaps it was simply the New Year blues. The whole “out with the old and in with the new”. A time to set resolutions and plan for the future. But she didn’t feel like she had the freedom to set her own goals.
She snorted, shaking her head at herself. She was being foolish. She had a hell of a lot more freedom than any of her foster sisters had ever had. She was rich in comparison. She lived in a beautiful house, in a country that respected her rights, and she had a supportive family.
And her familywassupportive. If she was honest with herself, her mother would probably be the first to tell her to go to college.
So what was herrealproblem?
Sighing, she closed her eyes and sifted through her emotions.
She was scared of failing.
In high school, she’d been a solid C-grade student. She’d been more interested in socializing than studying, until their first foster child had arrived, and after that she’d been busy helping Carmen. Her report cards had said she could do better if she applied herself, but was it true? Perhaps she wasn’t cut out for study. Maybe she was too erratic to focus on one thing.
She certainly didn’t have Carly’s drive or technical skills, and even Bridget had channeled her passion into a career, but Zita had been keeping her own desires locked down for so many years, she wasn’t sure she could unlock them now. Her mother had always told her she had to be strong for the girls, to hide her disgust or distress while they told their stories, and she had. She was so used to putting their needs before her own. And really, if she let her emotions out in the courtroom, she might be more of a liability than a help.
