Hailey's War

“I know that,” Nidia said softly, her green eyes nervous.

“Yeah, you know that, but what are you doing about it? Nidia, grow up, be a woman. Do what’s gotta be done.”

These were hard words, but I didn’t jump in with anything to soften them, because Nidia’s face was clouded, uncertain, and I thought she might finally be relenting.

Finally she nodded. “Okay,” she said. “I understand.”

“And you’ll let Hailey find your baby a safe place to live?”

Nidia nodded.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I wish there was another way.”

Outside the bedroom, I went immediately to the refrigerator and stood looking at the drinks inside, the RockStar and Red Bull, orange juice and milk, and wished that I hadn’t laid down the law about no drinking or drugs on the mountain. I closed the door without taking anything out.

“Thanks for doing the heavy lifting in there,” I said.

“You weren’t gonna,” Serena said. “You’re too soft, prima.”

Alcohol would have helped me sleep less fitfully that night, so it was probably a good thing there hadn’t been any in the trailer. My light and restless sleep ended a little after midnight, when I raised my head with a sense of the noise that had awakened me: the soft click of the front door being pulled to.

I reached for my SIG, but already I could tell that there was no one in the darkened living room who shouldn’t be: me on the couch, and Serena in a sleeping bag on the floor. Payaso and Iceman had taken the extra bedroom. I wasn’t sure where Cheyenne was: maybe in the master bedroom with Nidia, maybe with Payaso and Iceman. Sleeping arrangments between Trece and the sucias were fluid-except for Serena, of course, who never sexed the guys.

If no one had come in, someone had gone out. I sat up and pulled apart the blinds to look out the window. Outside the trailer was a moving shadow, a slight female form carrying a shapeless bag. Nidia. I should have known she’d given in too easily to Serena’s browbeating.

I sat up and put my head in my hands for a moment. I was very tired, like lead was braided through the fibers of my muscles. But I got up, very quietly so as not to wake Serena, pulled on my sweatshirt, jeans, and boots, and slipped out the door.

Now I knew where Cheyenne was: with the guys. She couldn’t possibly have slept through Nidia’s getting up, packing her things, and leaving the bedroom. Unless, of course, Cheyenne had known that Nidia planned to run away and had become a silent accomplice.

The time it had taken me to get dressed had slowed me down. Nidia was halfway down to the main road when I caught up with her. In the moonlight that filtered through the treetops, I could see that the bag she was carrying was a pillowcase into which she’d stuffed her few possessions.

She heard my boots crunching in the snow and gravel when I was about ten feet behind her, and she turned, raising a gloved hand to her eyes when I switched on my flashlight.

“Go away,” she said, eyes narrowing in a mix of resentment and defensiveness at being caught. “Go back. Leave me alone.” She turned and started walking faster.

I broke into a jog, closed the small distance, and grabbed her arm to stop her.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” I said. “You’re running away from the only safe place you have, by yourself, with no money? Nidia, where do you think you’re going to go?”

“I’ll find someplace,” she said, pulling her arm from mine.

“How?” I demanded. “The only reason we’ve been able to get you this far is because we had a plan and resources. This is crazy. Come back up and we’ll at least talk about this where it’s warmer.”

That last part was only half a negotiation attempt. I really was cold. She had the long parka and gloves that I’d bought her. I was in a sweatshirt and bare-handed.

“No,” Nidia said. “Not until you promise to help me protect my baby, not give it away.”

I stood still, thinking about my options. If I made that promise, I didn’t know how I was going to keep it. If I didn’t promise, I couldn’t just grab an eight-months’-pregnant woman and muscle her back up the hill. And if I let her go, my mission was over and I’d have failed.

I rubbed the bridge of my nose, trying to understand. “What’s going on, really, Nidia?” I asked. “Did you love this guy, Adrian? Is that what this is about?”

Her face was pinched, as though I’d touched a sore spot. “No,” she said. “Johnny was the only one I ever loved. But he would understand this. He would want me to stay with this baby and take care of it.”

She’d told me as much back in El Paso, when she said that Johnny would have wanted her to go to Mexico. Because I hadn’t known she was with child, I hadn’t understood what she was really saying.

Now I thought I did. Nidia wasn’t delusional. She knew the baby she was carrying wasn’t Johnny’s, yet in some way it represented the children they were supposed to have had. She’d loved Johnny and then he’d been killed. Then she’d felt something for Adrian, if not love, and he’d died, too. Nidia had suffered a lot of loss. In her mind, this baby was the universe’s gift to her to make up for it. She wasn’t letting go of that.

I wished I didn’t understand what she was feeling, but I did. I knew how powerful love could be when it came at an age little greater than childhood. I’d been first introduced to my cousin around the same age Nidia was when she’d first seen Johnny Cedillo. That was how I knew that if CJ had died, leaving me with the only child who would carry a piece of his soul into the world, I would not let that baby out of my hands. No matter what the cost, I’d find a way to keep it with me and protect it. And with that realization came the unwelcome corollary: If you could do it for yourself, why can’t you do it for Nidia?

“Okay,” I said, capitulating. “I’m going to help you.”

“You are?” She hadn’t expected to win me over. Her hand was on her stomach as though her child needed physical protection from me.

“Yeah. Come back up, and I’ll think this through all over again. I’ll think of something.”

Nidia relaxed, and her hand moved away from her stomach.

We began the walk back up. I blew on my bare fingers to warm them. Nidia noticed and said, “Do you want my coat?” It was the only way she knew to thank me.

“No,” I said. “I’m fine.”

When we reached the mobile home, Serena was sitting on the doorstep, smoking a cigarette, its red cinder glowing. Nidia’s steps faltered, as if she were expecting a tongue-lashing from Warchild, but I said in a low voice, “It’s okay, I’ll handle her.”

When we were in speaking distance, Serena said coolly, “Out for a walk?” But she clearly saw the pillowcase in Nidia’s hand. She understood.

“Not exactly,” I said, and then to Nidia, “Go on inside.”

For a girl as heavily pregnant as Nidia was, she almost ran up the steps, then slipped through the door and closed it softly.

Serena dropped her cigarette into the snow. “What’s up, Insula?” she said.

I drew in a deep breath and released it in a long plume of steam in the air. “This is about Johnny Cedillo,” I said, and explained the conclusions I’d come to.

Serena scowled. “This girl used to want to be a nun, and now her whole life’s about being a mother?” She shook her head.

“I know it’s hard to understand.”

“She’s not being realistic, either,” Serena said. “No matter where her heart’s at, she’s not gonna be able to defend her baby from the Greek and his whole machine.”

“She expects me to do that,” I said. “She thinks like a child. She was mad at me for not being able to handle everything with no compromise from her. That’s what a kid expects from a parent. And if I can’t, she’ll run away again with no plan, like a kid, and she’ll get herself killed.”

“And you can’t let her do that,” Serena said.

It wasn’t a question, but there was a question inside it, and after a moment, she articulated it. “Hailey,” she said, “why are you doing all this? Some pretty heavy shit has happened to you since you first met this girl. Nobody