Page 84 of The Crush
“Danny, where are—”
“I’ll explain later. I—I’m sorry.”
He doesn’t manage to disconnect before the other voice comes close enough that I can hear the words. Six words that make me shout Daniel’s name into the receiver long after the line has already gone dead.
“Agent Ríos, we’re ready for you.”
Sixty-Eight
Isabel
There’s a DEA field office on the north side of Laredo, visible whenever you drive on Highway 35.
Even more so when you’re parked in its parking lot.
I had insisted on going. Unable to do nothing, I had been so sure that it would work. That it would play out precisely like the picture I had in my head of myself marching in there and hauling him right back out.
Odd thing is that the US government doesn’t let just anyone storm into their offices and abduct one of their agents. Former or otherwise.
I had been sent packing in less than three minutes, along with Tadeo, who had stood by my side and waited for me to figure out what he already knew. That both of us were simply going to have to wait.
Every time I look at Tadeo from my place in the passenger seat of his truck, I can see it more clearly. All the sadness and the worry written into the lines of his face that I’d never noticed before.
All it makes me think of is the night of María’s funeral, my mom sitting on the porch as I hid by the door, terrified to let her out of my sight for more than a few moments.
It was the first time I’d ever seen her cry.Reallycry. Not tears of frustration like when my brothers drove her to the brink and not tears of laughter like when they won her back over. Until then, I didn’t know that shecouldcry like she had cried that night. My mom’s head resting against my father’s shoulder as she told him how unfair it was. My father’s arm around her waist as he told her how sorry he was.
I thought then that was what had made it better. That it was why she was smiling again when she noticed me and brought me back to bed with all the asked-for assurances that nothing would ever happen to her.
I didn’t know then that sometimes parents hide things even better than their children do. That there are some things apologies don’t fix.
“He’s been having nightmares about something that happened while he was gone,” I say quietly, each word scraping at the back of my throat as I try too late to get it out. “About something that happened to him, I think. I’ve tried talking to him about it, but he keeps saying that he doesn’t want me near those things. That he’s handling it, and it’s fine. But I know it isn’t,” I admit. “Do you really think he’s going to work for them again? That he’ll leave?”
“I don’t know,” Tadeo says, his hands resting impatiently on the steering wheel even as we remain motionless. “I never really thought he’d leave the first time. And now that he has you, I didn’t think—” His hands tighten around the wheel before releasing. “I should’ve fought him harder back then.”
I wait for him to continue, knowing he has more to say.
“His mamá was always better at it,” Tadeo says after some time. “They understood each other. Were so alike.” He pauses again. “I always thought she could’ve convinced him not to go. But then he never would have if…”
“He’s like you, too,” I tell him gently, watching his brow furrow and his jaw tighten in an expression that immediately reminds me of his son. “He’s so much like you, Tadeo.”
He doesn’t say anything at first, looks away before starting up again. “I tried to make him stay. Stood in the driveway the day he left and told him over and overnotto go. Refused to drive him to the airport, argued with him until I ran out of words. He still went. And after that, I guess I was always afraid that our last conversation would be a fight.”
The front entrance doors open again, two more men in suits walking out but neither of them mine. I don’t want my last conversation to be a fight either, but maybe sometimes it’s all that’s left.
“I think I need to go home.”
Sixty-Nine
Isabel
We pick up Eli’s truck on the way. Half peace offering, half excuse to get me in the door.
Until both trucks come to a stop in my parents’ driveway, Tadeo remains no more than a car length behind. He holds up a hand when I get out and walk up to the front porch, not to say goodbye but to say he’ll stay.
I never thought he wouldn’t.
Once I’m inside, Eli sees me first, sitting at the table in his Sunday best and looking a little worse for wear.
