Page 89 of The Crush
I meet Isabel’s father’s gaze, see the way he looks at me. And I can’t help but search for pieces of her in his face, hoping to find something to ground myself. Instead, all I can picture is what it would feel like to see her look at me the same way.
“It would be better for my daughter if you let her come home.”
“Sheishome.”
“She isnot,” he booms, but, when he speaks again, he’s back in control. “What sheisis young and impressionable. And maybe she even thinks she loves you now, but in time she will see. Her mother and I didn’t raise her the way we did,protecther the way we did for her to end up with someone who—” He gives me that look again, disappointment and resentment. “She doesn’t deserve to becursed, too.” I stand there, my lifeline feeling as if it’s slipping away as he turns and heads for the house. “If you actually do care about her, you’ll do the right thing.”
Maybe it wasn’t so bad when they called me a hero.
Seventy-One
Daniel
I sit in my truck in the parking lot for hours, lose count of the number of times I almost put my key back in the ignition. Each time I stop. Because each time I know—know that if I go back—I will never have it in me to leave.
Instead my dust-streaked boots now press against machine-polished floors.
I need to find a phone. Isabel and my dad have to be up by now, both wondering where I am. Isabel would go looking for me, and my dad—my dad especially…Fuck, what will I even say?
I glance back in the direction of the receptionist on duty, an older woman who keeps giving me suspicious looks and who has no issue letting me know that she clearly isn’t impressed by my appearance.
Can’t say I blame her. Tucking in my shirt doesn’t hide the fact that my clothing is mussed from sitting up all night. Splashing water from the bathroom sink on my face doesn’t hide the fact that my eyes are red from lack of sleep. Politely sitting in the Laredo DEA office lobby doesn’t hide the fact that I can’t stop shaking.
Unable to sit still any longer, I approach her desk again. “Ma’am, can you please try Brenner again? It’s very important that I speak to him.”
“Sir, as I’ve told you…” Somehow she—Salma, according to her ID badge—still manages to look down at me even when I’m standing over her. “It’ssix thirtyin the morning. He’s not in yet, and even if he was, his schedule does not have any openings.”
“He will want to meet with me,” I reply, undeterred. “He’s been trying to for months.”
“I really don’t think—”
“Call him.” Salma’s eyes narrow, and I tack on, “Please.”
She sighs before reaching for her Rolodex. “Fine. And I should say it’s Daniel…?”
“Ríos,” I repeat, reaching into my back pocket for my wallet and slapping my ID down in front of her so she has no excuse not to believe me. When she picks it up, she holds it up to the fluorescent overhead light, inspecting it for its authenticity. “Ma’am, if you could—”
“Young man, this is a government office,” she informs me. “Your unwillingness to follow even basic procedure doesn’t give me much confidence that you are who you say you are.”
“It should,” I mutter back, meeting her withering gaze with little difficulty as she hands me my license back and gestures once more in the direction of the bench. I stay put, waiting as she makes the call and then speaks to someone that I hope is Brenner.
“Sir, you have Daniel Ríos here to see you. I’ve told him—” Her drawn-on eyebrows rise, her eyes flicking to me with growing interest. “I see. Yes, I’ll have him wait for you.”
She sets down the receiver and I resist the urge to sayI told you so, before I say, “I need to use a phone.”
“Mr. Ríos,” she warns, clearly at the end of her patience with me. “This line is not for personal calls.”
“No, of course not. But do you still have to dial eleven to get out?”
She glares at me, and I wonder how close she is to calling for security despite Brenner saying he’ll meet with me.
“Five minutes,” I plead with her. “I really need to let my dad and my…”She won’t be yours anymore after this.I drag a hand down my face and force myself to start again. “I need to let my family know where I am.”
For the first time since I arrived, the expression she gives me—while not exactlywarm—is at least less hostile. “Five minutes?” I nod, and she taps her pen on the desk until she pushes her chair back with a groan. “All right. Anything to stop you hoverin’. Come on.”
The deeper we go into the building the more the noise starts to build, a mix of sounds from overworked printers and overworked people. She deposits me at an open desk in the far back corner before pushing a phone in my direction. I grab for it so fast the handset falls from the cradle, forcing me to put it right again before I can start to dial.
“Appreciate all your help,” I say as my finger waits over the first key, waits for her to take the hint. Although when she finally does step away with a roll of her eyes, I almost wish she hadn’t, if only to have one last excuse to delay.
