of Job. Except for the skin disease, the dead cattle and kids, she could be Job, waiting for the other shoe to drop. What more will be asked of her? That is a stupid, stupid question, she tells herself in order to shame herself into acceptance. Just like God did to Job. But she is not God. Still, she doesn’t know any better than to dumbly, bluntly keep asking herself that question.
* * *
Like any lover with a go-between, Estela wants to know every detail of Antonia’s meeting with Mario: What did he say? What did la do?ita respond? How did he seem about the baby?
It’s all good, Antonia lies. A favorite phrase of her students, a polite way of saying, back off.
But even after being reassured, Estela looks dubious. What if Mario changes his mind again? Estela recounts how she ended up in la do?ita’s garage. Mario got drunk. He told her he was sending her back. She ran away. More of the story than Antonia would like to know—if she plans to get away at all.
I’ll talk to him and to José. What else can she do?
Go take a warm bath, she instructs the girl. I’ll put together some things for you.
Estela nods, the obedient girl who will not be straying from the narrow path again anytime soon.
Antonia calls the Open Door Clinic to set up an appointment. The receptionist greets her warmly. We’ve missed you, but no worries. The clinic has hooked up with the college’s Spanish department. An internship for double majors (Spanish and premed)—they come over to translate. The news momentarily appeases Antonia’s guilt. No need to feel it’s either her or the dragons. One of the easements of the First World, there’s always an organization or agency to pick up the slack. A passing of the moral buck. But what will this do over time to her sense of compassion?
It just so happens that the doctor in attendance tonight is Dr. Trotter, Sam’s colleague, whom Antonia has met on a number of social occasions. She’s okay, was Sam’s lukewarm assessment, perhaps unfairly based on Beth’s appearance: overweight, often out of breath—a not-so-good advertisement for the medical profession. But Beth is a kind soul who will go out of her way to help.
I feel awful, Beth confesses when she comes to the phone. She has been meaning to be in touch with Antonia, that’s why she took the call tonight when she heard it was Sam Sawyer’s widow. Sam was such a generous mentor to so many of his younger colleagues, including Beth. Anything she can do?
Antonia recounts the situation: the undocumented teenager about to give birth, the disgruntled boyfriend, the farmer’s short window of welcome.
Beth is full of sighs—or maybe it’s just her shortness of breath. Her first, I assume? Beth queries.
I think so, Antonia conjectures. So much she doesn’t know about Estela. The girl did show Antonia her birth certificate—she’s actually seventeen, looks no older than fifteen—and a primary school ID, the same sweet, round face, with two tidy beribboned braids rather than the single one down her back.
A perfect storm all right, Beth sums up after hearing all the details. And of course, she’ll arrange a ride for the girl to be brought to her practice for a prelabor checkup. She’ll also alert the ER and Admissions over at the hospital to notify her directly if a young Mexican mom in labor is brought in. And here’s her cell number in case Antonia should need to reach her directly.
In a matter of minutes, Estela is set up with a safety net of options. These are lucky breaks, courtesy of Sam’s practicing in a small Vermont town for over forty years. Antonia, and by association, Estela, can tap this network, bypassing those entrails of the medical care system. Theirs is still a small-town hospital with a handful of satellite practitioners. But change is on the horizon. Soon the tiny hospital will go the way of the one-room schoolhouse. The large medical center up in Burlington will be taking over the hospital and satellite practices this summer. Their CEO has been issuing reassuring bulletins: Nothing will change. You will still be able to . . . The notices posted in every office and examining room. We shall see; Antonia tries to stave off her cynicism. But it is, after all, the nature of the corporate beast to gobble up small fry without noticing at all, ensconced as it is in the upper floors of