But the porch light was on, and as he walked up the sidewalk, Rev. Washington opened the door for him.
“I’m sorry to be so late,” Ryan apologized.
“Make no mind,” Rev. Washington said quietly. “Martha’s gone to bed, but I stay up late and watch Cage’s documentary of the protests. Come on in.”
Ryan wondered what it would like to have a father who stayed up every night to watch what you did for a living. He hoped Cage appreciated him. Probably did more so now than when he was growing up, he thought, trying not to let a grin show.
“We’ve got a lot to talk about,” Rev. Washington said. “But it can all wait. Rafael was an easy kid. And he went to bed without fussing. So that’s good news. I’m meeting with Dr. Clarke and J.J. at 10 a.m. tomorrow. Do you want to be there?”
Ryan thought about his schedule. He didn’t have class until 2 p.m. “I can be,” he said. “But what about Rafael?”
Rev. Washington smiled approvingly. “Glad to see you thinking that way. Martha said she’d watch him until we get things arranged. She’s quite taken with him. He’s a little charmer. We did talk to Bianica, and she’s willing to help with childcare. She mentioned you’re probably eligible for the childcare center at the university, although it’s got a long wait list, especially now with COVID.”
Ryan nodded, thinking about COVID. “Teresa was masked when she came to the newsroom,” he said. “I hope that means he hasn’t been exposed at home. The Valdez are quite an extended family with lots of interaction.”
“You’ve met them?” Rev. Washington asked as they walked up the stairs to the bedroom Ryan would be sharing with his son. “You may want to reach out to them then.”
Ryan nodded. “I plan to. But she brought him to me for a reason,” he said slowly. “And I’ll do my best for him.” He hesitated and then told the pastor about the car watching the Newsroom. “Maybe just paranoia after last week,” he admitted.
“But it is concerning,” Rev. Washington said thoughtfully. “I’ll warn Martha. We’ll want to keep the doors locked and watch out for him.”
“About tomorrow? Do you want me there?” Ryan asked. He wasn’t sure it would be helpful for J.J. “Cage and Sarah are closer to him than I am. You may need the commute time to explain his new household,” he added with a short laugh.
Rev. Washington smiled and patted his shoulder. “Get some sleep. Breakfast is at 7 a.m. although Rafael will probably be up much earlier than that if he’s like my boys were. Today has been a long day for you.”
Ryan nodded and opened his new bedroom door, Gregory’s old room he thought. He set down his bag and the Target sacks quietly. A window lit the room enough that he could make out the bed that Rafael was in.
I have a son, he thought again with wonder.
He moved silently toward Rafael’s bed, and looked down at him. He reached out as if to touch his hair, but stopped just short of it, so not to wake him. Rafael slept with his thumb near his mouth, but not quite in it. Ryan smiled. Someone had been a thumb sucker, and Teresa had broken him of it, he guessed. She really had done an amazing job of raising him. He was such an open and happy child. All these strangers. His mother gone. And he’d taken it in stride. He seemed almost fearless. Or maybe just a child so loved by everyone he’d encountered so far, that he just assumed that would continue. Ryan didn’t know whether to be happy about that or worry he lacked the caution he was going to need. Just living in a city would require some caution of strangers, and this whole ICE thing scared him.
He sat on the floor and watched his son sleep.
He’d told the Reverend that Teresa had brought Rafael to him for some reason, but he couldn’t see what he could provide the boy that her family couldn’t. Although from what she said, her father was in custody, and her grandfather was doing check-ins waiting for a hearing. Ryan grimaced. Cut down on illegal immigration — Trump had made that a cornerstone of his campaign. Get rid of the criminals. But the criminals — the few there were — were hard to find, so they went after the people who had built lives here, who had ties to the community, were raising their families and had jobs. And it wasn’t just Latinos. A lot of Asian Americans were being deported too — some of them back to countries where their lives would be in jeopardy, true of those from Central America as well. The Trump administration was trying to revoke Haitian refugee status and make them go back — people who had lived here for decades. Africans. The Somali community in Portland and elsewhere was frightened as well. Even people who were here legally were afraid. They carried their papers with them because ICE was raiding Greyhound, illegally Ryan thought, but no one had asked him. ICE was hanging around courthouses, looking for those who were victims to crimes as well as those who committed them. Every day it seemed the Oregonian was running another story about someone who was picked up by ICE. And Oregon was a sanctuary state. Still, ICE seemed to think they had free reign to do whatever they wanted. So far, no one seemed effective in stopping them. Even here.
And then there were all those like Teresa, brought here as a child. She’d gone to school here, graduated from high school. She hadn’t even known she was sin papeles until ICE knocked on her door, apparently. Ryan shook his head. Her parents should have told her, he thought, but until Trump? Why would you? But she could
