The Here and Now (Worlds Collide The Duets #2) - LL Meyer Page 0,9
where to go when you got to the other side of the river?” Desiree asks, sounding almost stricken.
“One of the young women in our group had heard from a friend of a friend of a kind of safe house. We followed her blindly.” She shakes her head. “I don’t know what we were thinking. But there’s something about youth that makes risk acceptable. In short, I was a fool.”
“But you made it?” I ask, pretty much astounded, listening to this story for the first time in my life.
She did make it, and as we all listen, I can barely imagine my seventy-two year old grandmother as an eighteen year old girl traipsing across the country with her cousin, lying low, working illegally and living in paranoia of being deported for more than ten years before she met and then married my grandfather. It just seems so far-fetched. My sweet, loving grandmother, the illegal alien.
But it makes me realize how easy it is for Chicano kids like me and my sisters, especially because we’re second generation, to forget that life wasn’t always so simple for those who came before us.
Ellie
Was I being nosy? Yes. But it’s not like I was going to hound Scott’s grandmother to share her experiences if she was reluctant. I admit that the appalled expression on Scott’s face when I asked the question made my chest tighten with dread. I thought, for a second, that I’d seriously screwed up. But then she started talking and everyone around the table hung on her every word. Even cousin Jaime, who died in a car crash in 1974, was news. Apparently, family history isn’t something they ever discuss . . . which holds a certain logic. I imagine that, however common, there’s a stigma attached to being an illegal resident, not to mention the habit of secrecy when your very existence is a crime. That can’t be easy to shake no matter how many years have passed.
It’s late by the time everyone’s curiosity is sated. Scott sends the girls, who are drooping off to sleep in their seats, to get their pajamas on and I’m admonished for trying to help clear the table. The matriarch assures me her grandchildren, including Scott, can handle it. I watch with more than a little interest as Scott and his sisters get the leftovers put away, load the dishwasher, and scrub the enormous pot like they’ve done it a million times, all while chatting and gently teasing each other. It’s almost intimate, and it fills me with what I think is envy. I don’t have this kind of relationship with my family.
Feeling content and full, I almost miss how the casual atmosphere in the kitchen changes.
“What do you mean she can’t do it?” Scott says, aghast. “She’s cancelling now?”
“Yes,” his grandmother says with her usual composure. “And I can’t cancel this appointment with the doctor. So one of you will have to do it.”
“Well, it’s not going to be me,” Mari says firmly. “I have the review for my chemistry final on Monday.”
“I just missed a day at work a couple weeks ago,” Scott says, and they all turn to Desiree.
“No, come on, you guys. These are my last couple weeks as a high school senior.”
The looks this excuse elicits from her family members tells me it falls somewhere between dismal and pathetic, possibly even risible.
“Fine,” she says, drawing the word out into two syllables. “But the little punks will have to entertain themselves.”
“What’s going on?” I ask, uninvited, butting into their business before I can stop myself.
Scott groans. “There’s a teacher conference on Monday and someone has to watch the girls.”
“Oh,” I say, smiling. “Monday’s my day off, I could do it.”
“Yes,” Desiree says with triumph, switching to English. “Ellie can do it. I knew I liked her.”
“What?” Scott says, annoyed with his sister. “No. She’s not doing it.”
“I don’t mind.”
“Yeah, she doesn’t mind, Scotty.”
They all turn to take in my eagerness. “I don’t mind at all. We’d have so much fun.” I can tell everyone except Desiree is dubious, and with a nauseating flash I realize that I’ve overstepped. “But it was just an idea,” I backpedal, worried that I’ve put Scott in an uncomfortable situation. Maybe he doesn’t want me looking after his kids.
But he counters with a tentative, “Are you sure? I won’t make a habit of it or anything.”
My head tilts. “Make a habit of what?”
“Asking you to watch the girls. I know they’re my responsibility.”