SURE, I COULD GET a jump on visiting Luis and go now, but why? Like Scarlett O’Hara, I’ll think about that tomorrow. Today is all aboutme. And I’m as happy as a kid on a snow day.
What to do? Well, it wouldn’t kill me to exercise a little—get in a few thousand steps. Then maybe some reading time outdoors. I pull on my sneakers, and, armed with a book and the best intentions, I head out.
First problem: I forgot there are no sidewalks here. But I get it. If I lived here, I wouldn’t want a lookie-loo like me trying to peer intomywindows either.
Second problem: The private street ends in a countryroad that’s not great for walking. Too many twists and turns with blind spots at every curve and too many entitled drivers who ignore the speed limit as they zoom by. I might not look particularly fetching these days, but I’m still several notches above roadkill.
The only walking trail around is the uphill one that leads to Taggart Park, so I head there. The park has lots of benches. The perfect spot to bring a book for a little peace and quiet.
Except…what was I thinking? Today is Halloween. The park is teeming with screaming Spider-Men and Ninja Turtles, little Barbies and witches, ghosts and Taylor Swifts, all running around and bouncing into each other as they burn off their Halloween party sugar highs. An Elsa (Frozen) pushes a bucktoothed Jasmine (Aladdin) off a swing. Then Jasmine pushes Elsa. As both girls start to cry, Elsa’s mother rushes over and yells at her kid, then at Jasmine, then at Jasmine’s mom.
I look around. There’s one small civilized spot in the entire park. At the far end, Marianna is sitting and reading to a colorful creature on her lap—a sweet three-year-old butterfly named Bella.
Marianna looks up and sees me. She waves and smiles. I walk over and both of them give me a hug. Marianna is dressed like a matador—black leggings, black ballet slippers, a sparkly black-and-silver jacket, and a red cape flung over her shoulders. Bella is a perfect little red-and-pink butterfly with green antennae poking out of a green headband. They both look fabulous.
“Where’s Lily?” Bella asks, sounding disappointed.
Do people know that Amber and Lily are gone? I’m not sure. So I play it cool. “She and her mommy are having some private time,” I tell her.
“I heard about the gallery party,” Marianna says, chuckling. “And about the art.”
“Yeah. I bet the artist is having a field day with the leftovers.”
She laughs. “Like they say in France,chacun à son goût.” Her accent is as smooth as the playground slide. Marianna speaks French too?
Before I can ask her, she says, “I used to babysit for a French couple, Reynard and Clarice DuBois. They had two sweet kids and fed me wonderful dinners with too much butter and cream. They were great people to work for.”
I see an opening and jump right in. “Was that in Colombia or Mexico?”
“It was right here,” she says. “Nights when Felicia doesn’t need me, I sometimes babysit for other families, make extra money to send back home.”
I want to repeat my Mexico-or-Colombia question, but that seems too ham-fisted. So I try to sound casual when I ask, “Where’s home?”
“It’s here now,” she says, hugging Bella. “Felicia and Paulo are sponsoring me. That means I’ll be working for them for at least another seven years, till my papers come through.”
Damn. Another evasion. Was it innocent or intentional? I don’t know. I remember when we first met, Marianna showed me an old Colombian trick for getting a baby tostop crying. I’m sure she said she learned it from her grandmother.
“And you—how are you liking your job?” she asks.
“Actually, something pretty sweet happened,” I tell her. “Lily tried to say my name.”
“That is so wonderful!” she says.
“Well, it wasn’t my whole name, justCa. But that’s good enough.”
“You must be so pleased!” she says, clearly happy for me. The woman is pure goodness. “If she didn’t like you and feel close to you, she wouldn’t have bothered.”
She’s right. If I were Lily, I might be sayingMaby now. But I wouldn’t bother withDatill I was in high school.
“Lily will be talking before you know it,” she says. “I know. I have a bunch of sisters and brothers. I am the oldest.”
“Are you planning on going back to see them anytime soon?” I ask. I figure I’ll get in one last try. “Colombia, right? Or was it Mexico?”
“I can’t go back,” she says, ignoring the second part of my question. “Too many… things… happening down there.”
Things? What kind of things? This time, she definitely dodged the question. But why the secrecy? I would really like to know more about this, but before I can ask, I see something out of the corner of my eye on the other side of the chain-link fence. Someone is watching us. At least I think he is. A big, heavyset, balding man with a gray ponytail. Round face, a scowl. A chill goes through me.
I know that face. I saw his picture in Ben’s office.
