California Sunrise (4 page)

“Alicia, I didn’t mean it that way.” His hand gripped the windowsill. “Look, you said you wanted to be the best mother you could for Luis.”

She shifted her gaze to the steering wheel and nodded.

“So meet me for coffee. I know you can read the book. I want to hear what reaction Luis has to the things you try. Think of it as doing me a favor.”

What if what he learned from her made another woman’s life easier? Maybe it would be worth having coffee with him, as awkward as it might be. And the inevitable gossip.

“People might talk—see more than coffee. Watsonville’s a small town.”

“Will that bother you?”

“They’ll think what they want anyway.” She shrugged. “If it’ll help, I’ll show up. Where will you be?”

“Let me have your number, and I’ll call you tomorrow.” He pulled out his cell phone.

She gave it to him. “Thanks, Dr. Mendez.”

“Raúl, please. If we’re going to scandalize the community by having coffee, the least you can do is call me by my first name.” He smiled at her.

“Okay ... Raúl.” Their gazes held for a few seconds longer.

“See you next week.” He tapped lightly on the car roof before heading toward another section of the parking lot.

She stared at his back, intrigued and nervous about the upcoming meeting. Was he truly interested in helping her with Luis, or was there something more on his mind? She hadn’t known many professional men, just the kids in her high school and the gangs on the street.

Her grandmother would laugh at her thinking that a doctor’s interest was anything more than concern for Luis, but a niggling question made her hand shake as she started the car. At the edge of the parking lot she hesitated a moment before turning left toward the mountains.

The sedan strained as it climbed the twisting road up past decrepit greenhouses, the Dun Movin Ranch and reinforced mountainside. Eucalyptus leaves littered the roadway, and overlooks were edged with cans, beer bottles, and trash she had no desire to examine closely.

At the top of the ridge an abandoned restaurant held sway over the view of the valley floor and the bay beyond it.

She passed the closed apricot stand, drove to the end of the lot, and got out. Leaning against the hood of the car, she stared at the patchwork of row crops, clusters of houses, and massive electric towers. Palm trees swayed in a breeze she couldn’t feel.

All the troubles of the world were down there. She was above it. For the moment. It was her extended sanctuary, where she could complete her business with God and pray for extra strength to survive another week with Luis.

Here, she would be able to sort out her feelings about the doctor.

The conversation at the church had rekindled memories of the office visit. She rubbed her hand where he’d touched her. Up until that point he’d only been the pediatrician. Then he’d become more than merely a doctor.

But a professional man wouldn’t want a girl burdened with a special-needs child, a girl barely out of high school, a girl broken in by a teenage gangbanger.

An immoral man in power might want her for a time, but he’d eventually dismiss her.

Dr. Raúl Mendez seemed like an honorable man—someone who wouldn’t take advantage of her. The sorrow she’d glimpsed in his eyes meant he had his own dark past.

A gulf as wide as the bay lay between them. She should be safe on the opposite shore, as long as no sails appeared on the horizon.

• • •

Alicia strode into Starbucks, surprised at its emptiness, a rare occurrence for the coffee shop. She settled herself at a window table, perusing the book Raúl had given her while she drank her mint tea.

She was going to keep this meeting professional.

A few moments later, Dr. Mendez entered. He smiled, held up two fingers, and went to the counter.

“I’m a sucker for these Frappuccino things,” he said when he sat down. “Nothing healthy in them at all, but they satisfy the sweet tooth I’ve had since I was a kid.”

The mental image of a grubby kindergartner with a lollipop made her smile. “I bet your parents adored you.”

A little of the caffeine- and sugar-induced high departed from his expression. “Not quite.”

“I’m sorry.”

She waited for him to elaborate.

“My parents were farmworkers. Another child, at least until he was old enough to be put out in the fields, was simply one more to feed. They meant well.” The frown on his face as he stared at the sweet coffee indicated the topic was not open for discussion.

He set down his cup. The putty holding his neutral expression in place slipped a little, revealing a longing that snaked into her heart.

She took a sip of her tea, forcing her gaze from his. When she looked up again, his mask was back in place.

“What questions do you have? How can I help you?” he asked.

“The book says there are tests that can be done to see if he has Asperger’s. What are they like?”

“When Luis is at least eighteen months old,” Raúl said, his voice drifting into doctor-mode, “we can do an evaluation. That includes biofeedback tests, speech and motor skills evaluation, and a survey of specific questions we ask you and any other caretaker he has. That will help us determine if he does have Asperger’s and to what degree.”

The words hammered at her mind. It all sounded technical and inhuman. And if Luis did have Asperger’s? Her little boy would be locked behind a social wall he hadn’t chosen. He might learn to cope, but he’d never totally fit in.

Raúl placed his hand on hers, and she jerked at the unexpected touch.

“I’m sorry,” He withdrew the warmth. “Touch is comfort for so many people, I forget it doesn’t suit some.”

“No problem.” A thickness in her throat made the words heavy, and she put her hand on her lap.

“I was trying to reassure you. Even if he does have Asperger’s, it’ll be okay, Alicia. We’ll make it okay.”

How could he say that? There was no cure for the condition, was there? “The book said Asperger’s kids are”—she looked at her notes—“over-stimulated. What does that mean exactly? Is there medication?”

“When we walk into a room, our minds take in thousands of bits of information, file away 99 percent, and concentrate on what we need to function. People with Asperger’s have a problem with their filing system. All those bits of information bombard their minds constantly. As a result, they get cranky.”

In a flash, she understood something new about her son. “So that’s why it’s so hard to move Luis from one place to another.”

“Yes.” His smile approved of her understanding.

Something stirred within her—a feeling distinctly unwanted in this setting.

She pushed it aside. The man may tug at her emotions and have book learning, but he didn’t understand the least bit about her life.

“I have to take him places. He can’t stay in one room all his life. How do I manage that? What happens when he goes to daycare? Or school?”

“It’s never going to be easy, particularly now, when he doesn’t have much language.”

“He’s got ‘no’ down.”

Raúl laughed. It was a full-throated, deep-from-the-belly laugh that lit the room with hope, erased her irritation, and released a bubble from deep in her soul.

For the first time in months, the band that had tightened around Alicia’s chest when she realized there was something wrong with Luis loosened, and she giggled. The sound was so unexpected it triggered another, then another. Soon she was laughing so hard tears leaked from her eyes.

When she realized the other patrons in the coffee shop were looking at her, she stifled her joy.

“Don’t let them do that to you,” Raúl said, once more touching her hand.

This time she didn’t pull away.

“It’s okay to laugh. In fact, it’s great medicine when you have a lot of stress.” He cocked his head. “I’ll make it my job to make you laugh more often.”

“How do you plan on doing that, Dr. Mendez?” The heat from his touch warned her she was close to a line she shouldn’t cross, but desire ambushed her internal strongbox and released the fire she’d jailed when she’d realized she was pregnant with Luis.

“Raúl. I told you it was Raúl.”

“What’s your plan, Raúl?” Her pulse quickened.

“I plan to meet you for coffee more often. That way, we can discuss how Luis is doing without an office visit, I can get my caffeine fix, and you can have your prescribed laughter.”

Tempting. How wonderful it would be to discuss her life with an understanding friend.

But the doctor was not her friend. Besides ...

“Won’t your assistant object to that? I’m sure word would get back to her.”

He frowned. “My assistant?”

“Graciela.”

“I’m not interested in anything Graciela has to say, no matter what she thinks.”

Electricity skittered across her skin as tension crackled the air between them.

A cell phone rang.

They didn’t move.

It rang again. Sighing, Raúl grabbed the phone from his pocket and answered. “Yes. Tell her to bring her daughter right in. It could be nothing, but it could be serious.” He hung up. “I’m sorry. I have to go.”

“Of course.” Her muscles sagged.

“Wednesdays are usually quiet. Can you meet me here next Wednesday?” His voice was earnest, like a boy begging a parent for a puppy.

She shouldn’t.

“Please. I want to help you.”

Help for Luis trumped danger.

“Okay. At one. It’s my lunchtime.”

“Good. I’ll see you then.” Relief passed over his face as he stood, nodded at her, and left.

She pushed her papers together and stuffed them in her tote. If only she could do the same with her life.

• • •

Focus, Raúl!

Getting his parents back from Mexico was the important thing. He didn’t have time to get distracted by a woman, no matter how much she interested him.

He was lucky an emergency had called him away from the coffee shop before he made a fool of himself.

Why had he asked to meet her again?

The local paper lay folded on his desk. That should do the trick. There was always something to piss him off within its folds.

A few minutes later he flung it back down. The anti-immigrant infection had spread to Watsonville.

He snatched up the paper again and stared at the photo of a tall man with a straw cowboy hat and a pot belly, his pale face mottled from exposure to the sun. This Joe Wilson wanted to put an initiative on the ballot to make parents show their child’s U.S. birth certificate when they registered them for the Watsonville public schools or health services with any kind of public funding. If the child didn’t have legal and official documentation, he—or she—would be denied service.

Would they go ahead with the initiative? And, if they did, would it pass?

What could he do to prevent it?

Nothing.

Oh, he’d vote against the measure if it appeared on the ballot, but he didn’t want to take a visible stand.

He pulled out his cell and called the immigration lawyer he’d hired to begin the process of getting his family back from Mexico.

“What is taking so long, Thomas?”

“I told you this wasn’t going to be easy. Immigration frowns on allowing people in who came once illegally—especially if they stayed a long time.” The attorney paused. “Here’s the other thing, Raúl. I’m having a hard time getting in touch with your parents. There are papers they need to sign. I sent them weeks ago but haven’t heard anything. When I call, no one picks up the phone.”

Odd.

“I’ll see what I can find out.”

“Do that. We can’t go any further until I get those papers.”

Someone knocked on the office door just as he hung up the phone.

“Your next patient is ready, Dr. Raúl,” his nurse said.

“
Sí.
”

He left his office and rapped on the examination room door, glad for the distraction from parents, political issues, and a woman he couldn’t put out of his mind.

Once home with his customary burrito, Raúl stood in the kitchen and riffled through his mail. When he noticed an envelope bearing a Mexican stamp and addressed in
Tío
Alejandro’s cramped handwriting, he tossed the rest on the counter. Maybe this would tell him why his parents were ignoring the attorney.

He ripped it open, the thin pages crinkling in his grip.

“
Sobrino
,” the letter began, as always.

His hands shook slightly as he continued to read.

He slumped into a chair, his legs suddenly weak from the effort of standing.

Mierda!
Raúl wanted his parents back, not to be responsible for his older brother.

He skimmed the rest of the letter.

Juan lived in the mist of Raúl’s memory. Ten years older, his brother had already been in the fields working when Raúl entered elementary school. The person he remembered had been a lean, rawboned teenager with an attitude.

Obviously, the attitude remained.

With a few more words,
Tío
Alejandro closed the letter.

No mention of his parents returning someday.

His shoulders sagged as he folded the letter and slid it back into the envelope. He would have to change the focus of his attorney’s efforts. It didn’t matter what he wanted, only what his parents needed.

It was how family worked.

But he had no family. Once he’d left his brutal uncle behind, he’d lost contact with many of the extended cousins, forcing his childhood from his mind. For years, his drive to complete his studies and his anger at his situation had driven his life.