He covered her hand. “I wasn’t implying you were dumb.”
She shrugged. “I know. I haven’t had the experience. It doesn’t matter.”
But it clearly did. Their food arrived and Zita started eating. David didn’t know what to say to cheer her up.
Zita’s phone buzzed. Checking the message she said, “The girls will be ready by half past two. We should hurry so we can get the groceries before then.”
“All right.” She clearly didn’t want to talk about it, so he changed the subject.
***
The weekend hadn’t been so bad after all. Zita was certain she would have scared David off after the crazy at her place, but he’d barely been fazed by it. Then he’d said he was happy spending time with her, and her heart had melted a little.
“Zita, are you ready?” Carmen called.
“Coming.” She had to focus on what she was supposed to be doing. Today was Beatriz’s final hearing.
Zita checked her appearance, making sure her braid was still tidy and her dark skirt suit was free of dog hair. Stopping by Beatriz’s bedroom, she found the ten year old sitting on the edge of her bed, chewing her lip and playing with the buttons on her shirt.
“How are you feeling, Bea?” Zita asked.
The girl looked up at her, her eyes fearful. “What if they send me home? Pablo will kill me for running away.”
Zita’s heart squeezed. She couldn’t promise the girl a positive outcome, all she said was, “We’re going to do everything we can to convince them to let you stay.” She hugged her. “We should get going.”
Beatriz slipped her hand into Zita’s. She swallowed. God, she hated this bit. She felt everything her sisters felt. The fear of them being sent back to their dangerous homeland would be suffocating if she let it overwhelm her. Instead of letting it show, Zita kept up a constant chatter about Xaviera and Elena. At the front door, she waited while her mother and the girls wished Beatriz luck, and then they got into her car and drove into Houston.
The hearing was being held at the immigration court. Zita and Beatriz met Shelly outside the building, and together they went through the security checks and then into the waiting room for their case to be called. Zita was allowed into the courtroom as Beatriz’s guardian.
“We have all the evidence to present,” Shelly told Beatriz. “You have a strong case.”
She was encouraging, but Zita only heard what she wasn’t saying. There was no guarantee Beatriz would be allowed to stay in the country. Her stomach swirled as she tried not to picture having to put Beatriz on a plane back to her stepfather.
“Beatriz Morales,” a clerk called.
Zita and Shelly stood. Zita took hold of the young girl’s hand. “Come on, Bea.”
Her hand was shaking. She gave a small nod as they followed the clerk into the courtroom and took their seats behind one of the desks. At the other desk sat the lawyer representing the Department of Homeland Security. It was his job to ensure those people who were suspected of being a danger to the United States weren’t permitted to remain in the country. If they had examined the evidence impartially, Beatrizshouldbe allowed to stay. But there was always a first time.
Judge Torres began the proceedings by turning on the recording equipment and going through the identification of all those present. The only other person in the room was the interpreter who would translate for Beatriz.
When the evidence was presented to the judge— photos of Beatriz bruised and beaten, and statements they had received from her mother and neighbors in Guatemala— the DHS lawyer made his first objection.
“These are not strong pieces of evidence,” he said. “There is nothing stopping the mother or neighbors from lying in their statements, and there is no proof the injuries were in actual fact caused by the respondent’s stepfather. She could have been in a fight with gang members.”
Zita gritted her teeth. Logically, she knew he was right, but he hadn’t sat with Beatriz as she’d relived the terror, hadn’t yet heard her stories of how she had hidden every time Pablo had come home from work, particularly if he’d been drinking. He hadn’t listened as Beatriz told of trying to fight him off, of being thrown across the room and threatened with death.
Zita didn’t listen as Shelly responded to the accusations. She’d been through this so many times, the only thing that was different was the girl sitting next to her. She squeezed Beatriz’s hand as the interpreter kept Beatriz informed about what was being said.
Finally, it was Bea’s turn to speak. Zita had been coaching her over the past few weeks, making sure she knew what information she needed to tell the judge. The girl shook as she stood and held onto Zita’s hand tightly. She spoke softly at first, hesitant, and as Shelly asked her further questions she grew more confident in her responses. When it came time to talk about the abuse, she stopped.
“You can do this,” Zita told her in Spanish.
The girl nodded and told the judge about living with Pablo. Tears ran down her face as she recounted the abuse, the fear and the desperation, which had led to her leaving the country with Elena.
Zita blinked back her own tears, swallowing hard to get her emotions under control. She needed to be strong.
When Beatriz was done and all the questions and cross-examination was completed, the judge was silent as she reviewed her notes.
