The Lemon Orchard (28 page)

“The point is, whether you’re married to her or not, you love each other,” Julia said.

“Well, yes, we do,” he said. “Or I do, anyway.”

“She loves you, too. You’re part of the family, Lion.”

Lion stared straight ahead at the river so she wouldn’t see his eyes glittering and know that her words, however loving, could never make up for the fact Graciela had married John instead of him.

Julia

She felt intensely aware of Lion’s emotion, and fell silent so he could be alone with his thoughts. They passed train tracks and warehouses, then crossed the Los Angeles River and drove up bustling tree-lined Cesar E. Chavez Avenue, alive with shops and restaurants. There were street murals, elaborate and colorful, depicting Zapata, Pancho Villa, and the Mexican flag.

Julia felt entranced by the murals. One showed a school in cross section, with students studying, teachers at the blackboard, the library full of books, angels hovering over the school roof. Another was an homage to Diego Rivera—a Mexican pueblo and workers painted in his strong style, thick and foreshortened, with a portrait of Diego and his love Frida Kahlo in the corner.

“Can we park and walk around?” Julia asked.

“Just tell me where.”

They circled around, drove past White Memorial Medical Center, onto East First Street. The buildings of downtown Los Angeles shimmered in the heat, like a mirage, across the river. Julia heard music, and turned her head to see the domed kiosk marking Mariachi Plaza.

“Here!” she said.

“And just look at that hotel!” Lion said, his voice animated again as he pointed out the newly renovated Boyle Hotel—a four-story red brick Victorian and Romanesque Revival building with a turret, a graceful domed cupola, and a bronze sign at the corner with the original date, 1889.

Lion had to drive around looking for a spot. The area was busy. There were several vans with band names and phone numbers hand-scrawled on the sides. Julia and Lion paused at the Spanish colonial bandstand, where many mariachis had gathered in their charro clothing and sombreros.

Cars circled the square, and Julia watched the freelance mariachis smile at the drivers, hoping to be chosen for Friday night celebrations. One driver rolled down his window, spoke to a man wearing a dark green charro suit. The mariachi gestured to his band. Six men carrying instruments hurried to their van and followed the car away. Meanwhile, another band played Mexican folk music.

A mural of the Virgin of Guadalupe dominated one wall, bouquets of flowers and votive candles laid at her feet. Other paintings showed mariachis playing guitars, both on earth and in the clouds of heaven above. Julia’s skin tingled as she thought of Rosa, of how Roberto had told her this had been their destination. Had Rosa remembered? What if she really had made her way to Mariachi Square?

Even as she and Lion strolled around, Julia knew she was dreaming. And the truth was, she wouldn’t even want Rosa here—the plaza was grittily romantic, but nowhere for an eleven-year-old girl to be alone. People hurried all around, in and out of the Gold Line subway station.

Julia remembered a Saturday when, at thirteen, Jenny had told her she was spending all day at her friend Martha’s, but instead they’d taken Amtrak into the city. They had gone to the Plaza Hotel, wanting to see the portrait of Eloise. Jenny had led Martha northwest across Central Park—the same route she’d taken with Julia a month earlier—to the American Museum of Natural History to see the panorama of the Yaquis and other Sonoran Desert people.

Washing Jenny’s jeans, Julia had found her train ticket and museum admission receipt. She’d had to wait all day for Jenny to get home from school, feeling more and more upset as the hours passed. She could hear her own mother’s voice: “You could have been raped/kidnapped/murdered!”

By the time Jenny got home, Julia had calmed down enough to ask, “Why didn’t you just tell me?”

“I wanted to do it on my own,” Jenny had said.

“Well, I would have let you go, but I would have preferred knowing where you were instead of your lying to me.”

“Mom, you’re just saying that,” Jenny said. “Think about it. There’s no way you’d have let me go to New York alone with Martha.”

Julia had thought about it, and had known Jenny was right. There were so many dangers in the world—if she had had her way, she’d never have let Jenny out of her sight. Julia had wished she could wrap Jenny in safety forever, and she had believed that meant keeping her home, in tiny bucolic seaside Black Hall.

Yet now, standing in Mariachi Plaza, Julia knew that safe Black Hall, where nothing bad could ever happen, was where Jenny had died. Maybe life was too capricious for even the best parents to manage. Roberto had done his best as a father, with the most disastrous results possible.

“Are you okay?” Lion asked.

“Yes,” she said. “Enjoying the music.”

“I once had a majordomo who arranged a party at my house. We had a taco truck and a mariachi band. What a hit that was. We’ll have to do it again.”

“That would be fun,” Julia said. The heat had tired her out, and she was still feeling the aftereffects of the fire and everything else that had happened yesterday. They found a bench in the shade, and Lion spotted a coffee and fruit ice cart. He went to check it out, and Julia pulled out her phone. She had been meaning to call Jack back.

“Finally,” he said when he answered.

“What did you mean?” Julia asked.

“I’m on the trail, Julia. I tracked down the Marcie footprint, and it turns out it belonged to a woman named Felicia traveling with the Diamondback tattoo guy.”

“The man who died?”

“Yes—but Felicia is alive. I’m in my car now, heading to her house. I’ll let you know what I learn as soon as I see her.”

“Could Rosa be with her?” Julia asked, standing up.

“I don’t think so. She’s been in touch with her mother and friends in Mexico, and she didn’t mention her. But I’ll find out what happened in the desert. We’ll at least know that much.”

Lion walked toward her with two cups of pomegranate ice, and she met him halfway.

“I thought this would refresh us,” he said.

“Thank you,” she said. “But we have to get back to the Casa right away.”

“Why, is there a problem?”

“No. Jack Leary is about to find out what happened to Rosa, and I want to be with Roberto when he calls.”

“Let’s go then,” Lion said, and they hurried to his car.

chapter seventeen

Jack

He drove east from Yuma toward the address Maya had given him. This rural area had been part of his sector, and he knew it well. The road took him through swaths of desert, sun-bleached rock formations, and purple mountains in the distance. Saguaro cactus grew everywhere, tall and mysterious. If Louella had been with him, she’d have had her binoculars out—watching for pygmy owls and elf owls piping out from the nests they’d built in cactus cavities.

The houses along this stretch were poor, and far between. When he came to the address Maya had given him, he took a deep breath. It was a trailer, the roof caving in, a satellite dish on the corner. But attempts had been made to make it look nice: a cactus garden along the side, a shrine to Our Lady of Guadalupe, an American flag next to the door. A child’s toys were in the yard: a doll, a baby carriage, and miniature garden tools. Jack’s throat felt dry.

He knocked on the door.

No answer, but he saw a curtain move.

“Felicia?” he called. “You have a daughter? I see her doll. I’m not here to give you any trouble. I’m just looking for another little girl, Rosa. I think you knew her.”

He stood silently for a full minute as the front door opened. A woman stood inside, her hand on the shoulder of a little girl who looked to be about four years old. Behind them he saw shadows of other people, four or five, trying to stay out of sight.

“Hello, Felicia. I’m Jack Leary,” he said. “Your mother’s friend Maya told me where I could find you.”

“I know. She found my number and called,” Felicia said.

“You have a beautiful daughter,” he said, crouching down until he was eye level with the child. “What’s your name?”

“Mamá?” the girl asked, looking up for guidance.

“Se llama Eduarda,” Felicia said.

“Named for her father who died in the desert,” Jack said.

Felicia’s eyes filled with tears. “Sí,” she said. Then she clutched her daughter and asked him,“Migra? Policia?”

“No, not at all,” Jack said in Spanish. “I just want to ask you about what happened in the desert.”

“
Eduardo murió
.”

“I know. I’m sorry,” Jack said.

“Gracias,” she said.

“You were with other people, right?”

“Yes, we got lost.”

“But you made it here safely.”

“Thank God,” she said, touching the top of Eduarda’s head.

“You helped a girl,” Jack said. “You found her along the way, while you were walking.”

“Sí,” Felicia said. “She was alone.”

“Is she here?” Jack asked.

“Of course not,” she said. “This is Eduardo’s family’s house. Too many people already.”

“I understand. Do you know where she is?” Jack asked. “Did she make it to the States with you?”

“Yes, but she was very sick. Unconscious. She went to the hospital.”

“Which hospital?” Julia asked.

“Pais Grande Medical Center,” Felicia said. “We left her at night, at the door.”

“You were on foot?” Jack asked.

“No. By then we were in a car. We had met our friends.”

“Pais Grande isn’t so far from here. Did you ever find out what happened to her next?” Jack asked.

“I don’t know. Once I called to inquire. I asked about la niña from the desert. They asked if I was her family, and I couldn’t lie, so they wouldn’t give me information.
Lo siento,
” Felicia said.

“No, don’t be sorry,” Jack said, looking into Felicia’s eyes. “You saved her life. She was alive when you left her at the hospital in Pais Grande, and that is because of you. Her family will be very grateful for the information.”

He left her trailer with a plan of what to do next. It felt good to be on the case again, and this time he wouldn’t have to turn anyone in. He would learn if Rosa had survived. If she had, he doubted that she was still in the area, but anything was possible. Somebody at the clinic would have seen her, treated her. And somewhere out there was the answer.

chapter eighteen

Julia

That night Julia dreamed of Jenny. She had always been such a good rider, and she was riding a big bay horse. Julia stood outside a white fence, cheering her on. It seemed to be a horse show, a hunt seat competition. Jenny looked beautiful in her black jacket and hunt cap, buff breeches and tall black leather boots.

Timmy was watching too, from across the ring. He was standing there with his new girlfriend, and Julia felt panicked that Jenny would see them. If Julia could just keep Jenny from seeing, she could save her life, and everything would go on as it was supposed to.

Jenny rode over to Julia and stopped. She sat high on the beautiful dark horse, looking at her mother with sadness in her eyes.

“Jen,” Julia said, reaching for her hand.

“It’s okay, Mom, I saw them. You can’t protect me.”

“Stay with me, sweetheart. I don’t want you to die.”

Jenny cast a glance over her shoulder, looking straight at Timmy.

“Hearts are made to be broken,” Jenny said.

“What do you mean?”

“I love with everything I have. I wouldn’t change that, even if it killed me. You wouldn’t want me to.”

“Jenny!”

Then Jenny urged her horse into a full gallop, and they jumped the fence. In dream magic, Julia went soaring after them. She followed Jenny and the horse flying through the sky. Jenny’s English riding clothes became a faded, tattered dress, and the horse changed color from dark brown to pale gold.

They landed in the desert, and Julia recognized the place where she and Jenny had spent that summer working. Only instead of anthropologists, there was a long stream of people walking north. She searched the group for Jenny, and found her near the head of the line.

Jenny was standing with a young girl: Rosa.

“I love you, Mom,” Jenny said, looking up at Julia. “I didn’t leave because of you, I left because of me.”

Julia couldn’t hold back tears. She stepped forward and hugged her daughter. Jenny’s neck smelled the way it always had. Julia didn’t want to let go, but when she did, Jenny was gone. The line of people had disappeared, and Rosa stood there alone. Julia picked her up.

Her arms were heavy with the weight of Rosa, but when she woke up she was in bed with Roberto. The dream had felt so real, she slid out from under the covers and walked to the open doorway onto the balcony, expecting to see horses and the two girls in the yard. Dawn was an hour away, but the eastern sky was starting to lighten through mist rising from the sea.

“Julia?” Roberto said, waking up, lifting onto his elbow.

“I just had a dream,” she said, looking at him.

“Sí?”

“About the girls.”

“It was just a dream, amor,” he said.

“Jenny and Rosa were together,” she said. “I don’t
want
it to be just a dream.”

Julia felt his eyes on her as she turned back toward the sea and felt guilty for the thoughts coursing through her mind. As horrible as Roberto’s last five years had been, at least he had the chance of finding his daughter—while Jenny was gone forever.

“I heard her voice,” she said.

“Jenny’s?”

“Yes. In the dream; it was exactly the way she always sounded, but she was older. Twenty-one, the age she would be now. And Rosa was eleven.”

“Jenny is helping Rosa,” he said.

“Do you really believe that?”

“Sí, amor,” he said.

“I wish Jack would call,” Julia said.

She stood in the doorway scanning the yard. Two coyotes skulked along the coast path. As if sensing her, they turned to look, and she saw their eyes glowing red-gold in the first light. They rustled into the brush and disappeared. Maybe she’d dreamed them, too.