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.