June
Somehow in my head, I decided that if a month went by without hearing back from Immigration, Esther, Jerry, or Angelo, that meant all was well. But my imaginary arbitrary deadline was broken two days before the designated date.
On a Tuesday morning, I was just back from jogging and on my way to the shower when my phone rang. I hated sweating and considered ignoring it until after I showered, but the breath I had been holding for nearly a month of waiting for news made me rush to pick it up.
My heart was the first to recognize the danger. Its jolt caused my stomach to cramp at the sight of Esther’s number.
“Sorry for the early hour. They want to do another interview.”
Oh, God!
“Stokes?” My voice came out hoarse.
“Yes.”
“It’s the fraud unit, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
Esther’s single-syllable responses didn’t help.
“It’s the address thing, right?” I sounded as if I were pleading with her to abort the danger.
“I think it’s that and the age difference,” she replied.
“I didn’t get anything by mail.” As if this could nullify the whole thing because I hadn’t received an official word on it yet.
“You will.”
“How did you—”
“I have connections.”
“Is there anything you can do?”
“All I can do is provide you this early warning and guide you on your next steps.”
“When will it …?” I barely uttered.
“I don’t know yet. You have to be ready because it can be within a very short notice.”
“What do we do now?”
“You have to pass this,whateverit takes.”
I took a deep breath. I knew what that meant.
And just then, she added, “Including Angelo giving up his apartment in San Francisco for the time being.”
I wondered if she suspected us, too.
I then called Jerry, but he already knew. Initially, I was going to call Angelo, but I couldn’t. Not yet. It made it too real, and I needed to put a little distance between me and reality.
“I’ll let him know. June, tell whoever you need to tell because I’m going to make sure he’ll be at yours tomorrow.”
Jesus.
“I … I can’t tomorrow.”
