Thirty Nights (American Beauty #1) (31 page)

The V appears between his eyebrows but he reaches in his pocket and hands me his iPhone.

I tap and scroll until I find what I want. “I think we need some music for this.”

He frowns but then his forehead locks in understanding. His posture tenses as though bracing for impact. The tectonic plates shift for the first time in the last three days. He gives me a swift, jerky nod. I grip his hand and wait as his eyes roam my face. The instant they lighten to turquoise, I tap the screen and turn up the volume.

“Well, I got a woman,” Ray Charles booms into the air.

Aiden’s breathing picks up, his shoulders ripple, but he doesn’t look away from me. I lean into his chest, wrapping my arms around him as, atom by atom, the tension leaves his body and he sighs.

“You did it,” I murmur, wiping my tears inconspicuously on his T-shirt.

By the time the song finishes, Aiden pulls away. I think he’s about to silence the iTunes but he taps the screen and Ray starts all over again. He rests the phone on the grass and, together, with synchronous movements, we lower Marshall into the ground. Big hands, small hands, tilling my own piece of land, covering the roots until the fir stands on his own.

“Grow well, Marshall,” I whisper, shuffling his needles.

Chapter Fifty

Allegiance

“Elisa! Elisa! Baby, wake up!” Aiden’s voice is urgent in my ear, his hand shaking my shoulder gently.

I jolt up, my heart racing.

“What? Aiden, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong, love. Here, Bob wants to talk to you.” He shoves his phone into my hand but my fingers are shaking so badly that it drops on the covers twice. Finally, I grip it along with the sheet and press it to my pounding ear.

“Hello?” My voice is in shreds.

“Elisa, Bob here.” His voice echoes in the bedroom, and I realize he’s on speaker.

“Yes?” I clutch Aiden’s hand.

“Did Mr. Hale tell you about the witness?”

“Yes, he said you’d let us know?”

“Yes. Well, I think we have an out, dear. I just got a call from the DOJ. They’ve reviewed the evidence and have put the investigation on pause. They feel they have enough to prosecute Feign.”

“Really?” My voice is going to shatter the glass wall.

“Yes. Obviously they don’t disclose witness names but I got the substance of the testimony. It incriminates Feign enough to charge him.”

“What about my friend? Was there anything there about him?”

“No, dear, but of course, if other clients come forward or the state wants to push maximum sentence, they may rehash it. But by then, hopefully, you’ll have your green card and you can protect your friend.”

I try to fight the warmth on my skin before I lose everything again. “What do we do next?”

“We need to file today and expedite the process in case they pick up again.” Bob’s voice cracks in excitement. It’s not until I hear that note that I start thawing.

“Elisa?”

“Yes?”

“I won’t congratulate you yet but—with crossed fingers—welcome to the United States.”

I listen but I don’t hear. I look but I don’t see. The world falls silent and disappears. An aura of life starts from the soles of my feet and soars to my eyes, incandescent. Then I see her. A little girl with purple eyes and black hair, one hand in her father’s and one in her mum’s in an English rose garden. They lift her up and she giggles. Our eyes meet. Through my tears, she blinks and smiles. Her face changes in slow motion over the years, within reach now, eye to eye. I smile back as she becomes me. This is what dreams are made of. This one belongs to me.

“Elisa, are you there?”

The rose garden disappears. “Yes.”

“The application is ready. Come to my office at four and we’ll sign and seal.” Bob’s joy jolts through the phone and suddenly, the purest laughter I remember bursts from my lips.

I don’t recognize the girl jumping up and down, squealing, bouncing on the bed, and running in circles around Aiden’s bedroom, into his closet, down the hall and back. Amidst the screaming, I hear Bob ordering me not to get into any accidents or commit any misdemeanors before four o’clock.

When he hangs up, I scream some more while ringing Javier and Reagan but neither picks up. I toss the phone across the room and launch myself at Aiden, tackling him to the bed, laughing and kissing every inch I can find.

“Thank you!” I squeal between kisses. “Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!”

For the first time in the last six days, he smiles. No sound, no dimple, but still a smile.

“I love you,” I say. My desire is cellular. Not just for his skin or the exterior that contains his soul. I want him inside out.

I expect him to push me away but he doesn’t. There’s indecision in his face but he surrenders with a groan. It’s been too long since he’s kissed me like this. He rolls with me on the bed until his body covers mine and everything that’s not him disappears.

He kisses me in places old and new. The top of my head, along my hairline, my eyelids, temple, eyebrows, nose, cheeks, jawline, throat. Slow like whispers. As if he’s determined to kiss every millimeter of my body. At the realization, I make a decision. It’s time.

“Kiss me here,” I whisper, pointing to the center of my forehead.

His eyes widen and he shakes his head. “Elisa, no—”

“Yes. I want you to,” I say with conviction.

He watches me for a long moment, then cups my face with both hands. Slowly, he breathes on my forehead like I did with his scar. I shiver but not in pain. I shiver with pleasure. Then light, like butterfly wings, his lips brush on my forehead once. Somewhere deep, I feel the past sealing.

I bring his mouth to mine and kiss him. Hard and fast like the new life ahead is not long enough. He groans and, abruptly, sits back on his heels. He watches me with burning eyes. That flicker of light is blazing there, strong and wild. Then he grips the hem of my T-shirt and peels it off in one move.

I tense. The bruises!

The snap of his teeth is audible. For a long moment, he is frozen, tension ripping through his body, hands in fists, teeth gnashing, eyes burning.

My first instinct is to cover myself but he bends over me, blowing a gentle gust of breath on my face. Then, slowly, he leans closer to the bruise on my arm. He blows on it too. Like he’s trying to chase it away.

He kisses every contour of his grip, every patch where I slammed against the door. His lips flutter over my skin, across my ribs and to my hips. He peels off the rest of my clothes and rolls me gently on my belly, as he kisses and blows across my shoulders, down my spine. The bruises are swarthy there too. His lips don’t stop. When we’re face-to-face again, there is no part of me he hasn’t kissed and consumed with his eyes. His body covers mine, a balm to my skin.

“Look at me,” he whispers, his voice strangled in my ear.

Our eyes meet as he slides inside me. I welcome him in spasmodic tremor. He buries his face in my hair, covering every inch of me, and starts moving with slow, deep thrusts. I’m lost in Aiden. He’s all I can smell, feel, touch, taste, see. He picks up his hard rhythm—my body molds to him instantly, and I come the only way I know how. Fully and for him alone.

He doesn’t stop. His heart’s craggy rhythm magnifies in my ears as he beats in and out of me. I come again but he keeps going. Like I want him to. No words, only sharp tempests of breath over my skin. He finds my lips. Mouth to mouth, we come at the same time with a violent shudder.

In the afterstorm, he lies with his head on my chest as I cradle him in my arms and legs, playing with his hair. I don’t know for how long—time has stopped having meaning. No more clocks, days, months. Only this road ahead of us that, despite the bruises, from where I’m lying, looks long and beautiful.

At length, his breathing steadies.

“Since this worked out, I think I’ll go stay with the guys at the cabin for a while.” His voice is still husky.

In the depths of my body, two things happen: a chill prickles at the base of my spine and the warm ember kindles between my lungs. “Good. You’ve earned a real vacation since I ruined it in every way.”

“You’ve ruined nothing.”

“How long will you stay?”

“Not long.”

“When are you leaving?”

He inhales behind my ear and kisses my throat. “A few more hours.”

I lock my arms and legs tightly around him. I’ll miss him like air but he needs this.

* * * * *

“Be safe,” Aiden says as Benson stows his suitcase—a reassuringly small weekender—in a navy-and-white Bell 430 helicopter with H
ALE
H
OLDINGS
printed across its fuselage.

I force a smile but the chills are returning. “I miss you already,” I say, walking into his arms. They wrap around me tightly.

“Don’t worry,” he murmurs in my hair. “You’ll get over it in a couple of hours.”

“Not funny.”

For an instant, his eyes shift. It’s too fast before they still again, gleaming with a new focus. More intent—the way one might gaze to decipher something on the horizon.

“Benson will be around,” he says. “If you need something, tell him. Promise?”

“Promise.” I melt to his chest.

To my surprise, he tilts my face up and kisses me hard. This kiss is hungry like the one this morning. And it sweeps me off my feet like our first one. I fist my fingers in his hair but he releases me too soon.

“I love you,” he says with unblinking eyes.

“I love you too.”

He kisses my forehead and tears himself from my grip. With an odd, stern look at Benson, he climbs agilely inside the Bell 430.

“Semper fidelis, Aiden,” I call as Benson closes the door and signs to the pilot—a Jean-Luc Picard look-alike—some aviation gesture.

As the Bell lifts Aiden to the heavens, a warm gust of air floats from my mouth as though chasing after him. Biologically, I know it’s just a breath but the instant it leaves me, I feel empty. Adrift. So maybe it’s not just breath. Maybe it’s the soul.

Chapter Fifty-One

The Free and The Brave

They say it takes the soul time to catch up with the body. It lags behind motions, schedules, intents, means. Mine is still chasing after Aiden as I burst through the door of my apartment to pick up my passport for Bob.

Reagan comes running down the hall in her L
ONDON
C
ALLING
T-shirt.

“Isa, what the hell are you doing here?”

I launch myself at her. “Oh, Reg, I tried calling you. Bob’s finished! We’re clear!”

It takes a moment to sink in. Then she squeals in a way that is dangerous for eardrums and pulls me into a tight hug. We start jumping on the spot, breaking into a dance, until we run out of breath and simply hold each other.

Eventually, we skip arm in arm to my room so that I can pick up my passport and go back to Benson, who is waiting outside, looking rather tense.

“What about Javier? Can you sign after you see him?”

“I tried calling him, too, but he didn’t pick up. I’ll go there right after.” I start wondering whether I should tell her about the whole Feign mess but she yanks my elbow.

“What did you say?” Her voice is low, as though she heard blasphemy.

“I tried calling him. He’s probably working. What, Reagan?”

Reagan’s face drains of color.

“You don’t know.” Her whisper trembles and her hands start shaking.

“Know what?” But suddenly, I don’t want to hear her answer. My spine shivers and I want to cover my ears. She takes my hand.

“Isa.” She swallows hard. “They caught him.”

My body dissolves at her words. No ears left to puncture or heart to implode. Only my mind as it delivers a blow.

Are you Elisa Snow? Daughter of Peter and Clare Snow?… There’s been an accident…an accident…an accident…

“Isa!” Reagan’s arms break my fall. “Sweetie, how did you not know?”

Miss Snow?… No, catch her…her head… Miss Snow? Look at me… In the ambulance. Now… She’s bleeding.

“Isa? No! Look at me. Not that look. It’s not the same. Isa, listen to me.” Someone is shaking me. I try to see past the ambulance lights and the January night but the sirens blast a crack in reality. The shaking gets worse. Something sharp strikes across my cheek. The biting sting brings Reagan into focus, as I realize she just slapped me.

“Reagan!” I grip her soft hands.

“I know, sweetie. He was caught early Friday morning. Maria and I tried calling you at Aiden’s. He said you knew about it. How is that possible?”

Sirens blare. Red lights spin. Dark, light, dark… Reagan’s hands are a vise around my fingers. She repeats slowly.
Friday morning. Aiden said we knew.
Another sound joins the sirens.
Aiden talking on the phone,“yes we know about it”. An earlier unknown phone call in the backyard. A 253 area code. Aiden’s answer as he darts away from me.

I have no senses left so whatever is still alive finds a sixth one. A sort of see-feel, more conscious than instinct and more subliminal than thought. It mutes the sirens.

“Reagan, where’s Javier right now?”

“At the Tacoma Northwest Detention Center. His bond hearing is at one thirty. I was just about to head over there. That’s why I was shocked you were here.”

“What is Tacoma’s area code?” Of all the questions that will never be answered, and the ones that will, this is the threshold that decides my next step. Did Aiden really know and why did he lie?

“Two five three,” Reagan reads from her phone.

The room tilts and the sirens wail again. I dial Javier from Reagan’s phone, hoping against all evidence that this is all a mistake. A huge, terrible mistake.

You’ve reached Harvey. Leave a message.

“Maria said they take away their phones.” Reagan’s voice is hushed as she caresses my hair.

“They get one phone call when they’re caught. Sometimes, a second if they can’t get through.”

“That’s all?” Reagan’s horror doesn’t touch me. I’ve lived this reality for four years.“What about lawyers? Visitation rights?”

“No right to a lawyer. Undocumented families can’t visit because they’re afraid they’ll get deported.” Of course, ICE doesn’t tell them that. This is communal wisdom from broken families.

“So he’s all alone? That’s why Maria can’t go to the hearing?” Reagan covers her mouth with her hand.

“He’s alone.”

The words erase my bedroom. A sterile endless corridor reeking of ethanol, formaldehyde and something putrid stretches before me.

You can’t see them, Miss Snow…stop her…she hit her head on the pavement, fainted.

“Is it like jail?”

“Yes.”

“But it’s not a crime.” Reagan has no volume. Her face is white and her lips thin.

“I know.”

“What are the conditions like?”

I shake my head. Should she know the stories? Suddenly, although she’s holding me, I’m protecting her. She’ll see the dark soon enough. I grip her hand as I ring Casa Solis.

Maria answers but she doesn’t sound like Maria. Her voice is a shadow of sound too ephemeral to be called a whisper. “
¡Amorcita!
You in Tacoma? Tell him I’m there
corazón y alma
. Tell him I’ll set a plate at dinner every night.”

“I’ll tell him, Maria. Did someone turn him in?” Is this the DOJ? Feign? But why?

“I don’t know. The guard said they were waiting down the street around six in the morning as he headed to work.”

Someone must have reported him. That’s too exact a time and location for ICE to be there accidentally. “And the girls?”

“They don’t know.”

“Good. Don’t tell them. Today is his bond hearing, he may still be released until the removal trial.”

It’s highly unlikely. For Javier to be released on bond, the judge needs to decide he’s not a flight risk. With a paralyzed father and four sisters, Javier looks exactly like someone who would leave and not return for his trial. But Maria doesn’t need that reminder.

When she hangs up, I turn to Reagan. “Let’s go.”

“What about your signing?”

“I have until four. Tacoma is an hour away. Drive like hell, Reagan.”

“Maybe we should call Aiden? Maybe he can get him a lawyer or be a witness or something? I still don’t understand why you didn’t know.”

I do. Aiden got the call Friday morning and didn’t tell me. I’m sickened to think of the reasons. To protect me? Or to make me hate him and leave him?
You’ll get over it in a couple of hours
, he said.

We sprint out of the apartment, the door slamming behind us. Benson is leaning against the Rover. When he sees me, he straightens in a rigid way. Is this why Aiden gave him a stern look earlier?

“Did he know?” I ask, hoping I’m missing something. I cannot hear my voice but Benson must because he hesitates and purses his lips. Reluctantly, he nods.

“Why didn’t he tell me?” I know this question is not for Benson but I can’t stop it. He presses his lips tightly like he cannot speak.

I have been violent once. Four years ago as they strapped me to a gurney. Whatever triggers the savage fires now. Anger strikes inexorably across miles, and finds him in his log cabin. The entire U.S. Marine Corps won’t be enough to save him when I see him. Impotent for release, anger expands. The epicenter envelops his cabin. The shock waves unleash me on his Rover. I start kicking it but Reagan yanks me back from my waist.

No…let me see them…one last time…maybe they’re still warm… Please…let me say goodbye.

* * * * *

We get in Reagan’s MINI. I expect Benson to stop me but he doesn’t. He simply steps back, his face blank, as the tires screech on the pavement.

“Isa, can you explain the process? How the hell does it work?”

“Well, he could depart voluntarily but Javier will never do that with the women and Antonio behind. He’ll fight if he can because he’s their main support. So today the judge decides if he should be released on bond. Then, they set a removal hearing in a few weeks where they decide if he has any legal basis to stay. Chances that he wins are very low. Then, they ship him off and he cannot return for ten years.”

Reagan’s profanities fill the car as it speeds over the black asphalt. At the immigration courthouse, we file through the security guards.
Weapons? No. Illegal substances? My family. Intent to harm the U.S.? No. Passport? Not American? No. Why are you here? To live.

The guard hands me to another, who pats me down. Numb as I am, I feel the hands more, not less. Reagan does not get patted down. They smile at her differently.
You’re one of us
. She doesn’t smile back.

The courtroom for Javier’s hearing is sterile. American flags. Wooden chairs. The judge’s bench. One table for ICE, one for Javier. Twenty-nine days ago, a similar room crushed me. Today, I could demolish it with my heart alone. I fix my eyes on the clock on the wall, waiting.
1:16, 1:20, 1:21
.

The double doors in the back of the courtroom open. My knees give out.

Javier wears an orange jumpsuit. An armed officer follows him inches behind. Javier’s head is down and he takes small steps. His skin is pallid despite its sienna beauty. For the first time in my life, I see him with a thick, dark stubble.

I stand as he comes closer. He looks up at me with hollowed eyes. His face is haggard; his lips chapped. I stumble forward to hold him but the officer —Bailey, his tag says—slips between us.

“No contact with detainees, ma’am.” Bailey holds out his hand. “Please step away.”

I ignore Bailey and keep my eyes on Javier’s. “I’m here.
Corazón y alma
.”

He’ll know it’s from Maria. And from me. Bailey drags him to the table. In minutes, a sharply dressed man strides in with a leather briefcase. Lawyer. I expect him to take ICE’s table but he sits by Javier.
How did Javier get a sharply dressed lawyer? Maybe Aiden?
The emptiness inside vibrates with something like life.

“Mr. Solis, Christopher Benetto with the law firm Benetto and Briggs. I apologize I couldn’t meet you at the detention center. I was getting the details on your case.”

Benetto scans the courtroom. His eyes rest briefly on Reagan and me. He and Javier whisper ear to ear away from Bailey. After some hushed conversation, Benetto strides toward us.

“Miss Snow, Miss Starr, are you both documented?”

“Yes, sir. I’m on my grace period, Reagan is a citizen.”

“Good. Listen. It’s imperative that you don’t say anything during the hearing. Sometimes families and friends speak up but that does more harm than good. Particularly if you know something that could hurt him.” As he says the last words, Benetto looks straight at me. I know what he is
not
saying. Javier has worked illegally and I am a witness. If I speak up and ICE questions me under oath, I could harm Javier.

“Did someone turn him in?” I try to speak normally but my voice comes out in whooshy wisps of air.

“Yes. ICE got an anonymous tip. It must have been someone who knew when and where Javier would be.”

“Was it the DOJ? They’ve been investigating a few things,” I suggest.

Reagan raises an eyebrow at this news but I squeeze her hand. There will be time to tell later.

Benetto shakes his head. “No, I checked. They seem to have closed the investigation and are starting Feign’s prosecution. The tip came from somewhere else—before the DOJ closed the file.”

Incapable of doing something productive with that information, I focus on other horrors. “Does this mean that ICE will go after his parents now too?”

Benetto smiles for the first time. “That’s highly unlikely. Recent presidential orders require ICE to focus on high-priority cases. They won’t waste resources on his parents. And even if they did, they wouldn’t deport them and leave the minor girls alone. Still, it’s best if his parents keep their distance—avoid the lion’s den, as it were.”

I draw in some air—one horror down, too many more to go. “Mr. Benetto, what about your fee? Javier doesn’t have much money and—”

“Don’t worry, Miss Snow. I can do this pro bono but fee arrangements are privileged. I cannot discuss them with you but he’ll be taken care of.”

“How did you hear about Javier?” Something isn’t clicking. How would Benetto know about a random immigrant getting caught?

“I can’t discuss that either. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” He ends the discussion with a nod and strides back to Javier. They resume their whispering. I keep my eyes on Javier, a symbiotic line keeping us tethered.

ICE comes with pageantry. One lawyer and two support staff. When they walk past us, the lawyer’s eyes linger on Reagan and me. He takes his place at his table, setting out high stacks of paper and scribbling. I look away from his furious hand flying across the pages, and fix my eyes on Javier. The only way I can tell he is breathing is by the small rise of his shoulders.

In twelve shoulder rises, the Honorable Judge Lopez walks in and we stand. The judge watches Javier as he swears to tell the truth, and nothing but the truth, so help him God.

Help him God?
Whose God? Who is he swearing to? The government that won’t recognize him? How can you recognize a man’s word but not his life? What credentials do we have but the way we live?

ICE puts on its case.
Illegal alien for ten years. He is not eligible for relief from deportation. The anonymous tipster mentioned painting supplies and frames. This evidence indicates he’s working illegally somewhere. He has accomplices that will harbor him. He will disappear. He should not be released on bond.
ICE rains blows on Javier. He’s a creature of law, not of nature. Not a human, an alien. Not undocumented, illegal. Not families, accomplices.

When ICE rests its case, Benetto takes over.
Javier came here as a young teenager. He has minor sisters who are citizens, talented and dependent on him financially. His father is injured. He has no criminal history. He will return for the hearing. He should be released on bond
. Benetto’s tactic is simple: highlight the man, the son, the brother, and not the law.

At last, it’s over, and a silence descends on my eardrums. Judge Lopez’s face is inscrutable. He taps his pen mutely on the bench.