After driving down a very wide and busy street, we turned onto smaller ones lined with houses side by side. The van slowed down as we looked at street names and numbers. Some of the houses were nicely painted, with green lawns and colorful flowers, while others were faded, poorly tended, and overgrown with weeds. The one we finally stopped in front of was immaculate—yellow paint with white trim and several large bushes of red roses beneath the front window.
Eduardo walked me to the blue house next door and rang the doorbell. When a large dog appeared in the door’s window growling like a ferocious wild boar, Eduardo set down the plastic bag containing my belongings and stepped forward, between me and the impending danger. My throat constricted remembering Manuel’s futile attempt to protect me as well, so when a young woman balancing a baby on her hip shushed the dog away and flung open the door, I couldn’t speak.
“You must be Alma,” she said, speaking Spanish and eyeing Eduardo suspiciously.
“Yes,” I finally blurted out. “And this is Eduardo, one of the college students who was kind enough to give me a ride.”
She didn’t seem impressed and continued to glare at him coldly. His eyes narrowed and he turned to me. “Will you be all right? Do you want us to stay until Berta shows up?”
Confused, I looked from Eduardo to the woman, wondering if they somehow knew each other. The tension was palpable. Then it occurred to me that maybe it was the color of his skin. Like me, she was brown, while Eduardo was darker, like afromexicanos in Oaxaca. I’d experienced this myself, some lighter Mexicans feeling they were better than darker Mexicans. It saddened me to think it might be the same here in el norte.
The woman shifted the baby to her other hip. “Berta didn’t say to let anyone in, except you. If he waits, he waits outside.”
Exasperated, Eduardo shook his head and rolled his eyes. Then with a deep sigh, he said, “Let me give you my number. If things don’t work out here, just give me a call. We don’t want you to end up on the streets.” After writing his number on a piece of paper, he handed it to me and shook my hand. Casting a dark look toward the woman, he turned and walked to the car.
“Thanks again, Dr. Eduardo!” I shouted. He laughed as he climbed into the van. Kelly honked the horn as they sped away.
As I picked up my bag, the woman raised her eyebrows. “Be careful who you ride with. You never know in this city.”
“You never know anywhere,” I said softly as we walked toward the yellow house with two hanging pots of flowers on either side of the door. The red flowers and wrinkled leaves hung limply, begging for a drink of water. I made a mental note to tend to them as soon as I could.
As she unlocked the front door, she turned to me and said, “I’m Isabel. I went to school with Diego. When we were kids, I mean.” Her nails were long with white tips and almost every finger had a silver ring.
I nodded and, holding out my stubby finger for the baby to grab, asked, “And what’s his name?” His sleeper was blue with little trains, so I assumed he was a he.
“Paolo,” she said without a glance at him. Then as an afterthought, “He’s not mine; he’s my sister’s.”
My gaze shifted to the interior as she swung open the door. The room we entered was dark until Isabel walked to the corner, reached behind the curtains, and pulled a long cord. Gracefully, the curtains glided open to a small yard with two large trees and a rusty swing set. Light swept through the room, revealing to the left a comfortable sofa and chair facing a TV and to the right a small round dining table with three chairs. But what made my heart race with anticipation were the dozens of framed photographs throughout the room. Some were on tables, some on shelves, and others were hanging on the walls.
Isabel sank onto the soft blue sofa, bouncing the baby on one thigh. “So, you’re Diego’s sister? Half-sister?”
I nodded.
“I didn’t know he had any brothers or sisters.”
I remained standing, shifting from one foot to the other, uncertain what I should do next. I bit my lip and decided to set down my bag and sit in the chair that matched the sofa.
As I settled in, it tipped back and swiveled to the left. Surprised, I giggled. It both rocked back and forth and turned in a complete circle. I could move it one way and watch the television, or I could swing the other way and look out into the yard. The arms themselves felt like plump pillows. I closed my eyes and settled back, feeling the soft fabric under my fingertips. When I opened my eyes, Isabel was looking at me with a crease down the middle of her forehead. My cheeks flushed, and I lowered my eyes.
“How long will you be staying?” she asked.
I shrugged. “I’m not sure yet.” What could I say? I had no idea what was going to happen here. I would take one day at a time.
Isabel sighed and, gathering the baby, stood up. “Well, Berta said to call her when you got in. The phone number is out here in the kitchen.”
I followed her back toward the front door and turned left into the small kitchen, which I hadn’t noticed when we
