Page 5 of Catching Camila

“Hello?” said the voice on the end of the line.

Tingles broke out over Camila's arms. She cupped her hand over her mouth and spoke quietly into the phone. “Hello? I'm, ah…I'm looking for Beatriz Acha.”

The voiced sighed, low and female. “I haven't gone by that name in years, but yeah, this is Bea. Who is this?”

Camila's pulse quickened. Her eyes flicked to the door. “This is your niece, Camila.” She paused, a pit forming in her stomach. “Do you…remember me?”

“Je-sus,” Aunt Bea said. Camila could hear her shift the phone. “Camila, God, how you doing? I haven’t seen or heard from your mami in, what is it, ten years? How old are you now?”

“Twenty,” Camila said, a small smile breaking over her face. “It's been a long time, Aunt Bea.”

“It sure has.”

Someone shouted in the background on Aunt Bea's end. Camila listened as Aunt Bea pulled the phone away from her mouth and said, “Go downstairs. I gotta take this.” Camila pictured a husband or a boyfriend, handsome and rich. Aunt Bea’s voice came back in Camila's ear. “So,” she said slowly, “is everything okay?

Camila felt that pit again, only now it had multiplied. “Not really. It's my mom. She's… She needs help.”

A pause. “Does your ma know you're calling me?”

Camila picked at her tank top strap and swallowed. “No, but I—”

“Camila, honey, I can't get into this again. I tried to help your ma once, but…” She paused and blew out a breath. “No, I promised myself not again.”

“But, she needs you.” Camila gripped the phone as if she could hold Aunt Bea on the line with force. Down the hall the couch creaked as Mama shifted. Could this call go any worse?

“Then have her call me. Listen, do you want to come here? Is it that bad? I could send you a bus ticket.”

Camila shook her head. “I can't leave Mama.”

“I'm sorry. I really am. I just…” She paused, her voice hitching. “I can't do it. Not again. I love you, cariña. Be good to your ma.”

Camila held the phone to her ear. “Aunt Bea?” The phone clicked. Gone.

Camila dropped the phone on the bed and stared at it. After all the digging it had taken to find Bea's number, she really thought this call would be it. It was over so quickly her head spun. She picked up the phone and dialed the number again, her fingers trembling. It rang three times and then went straight to voicemail. Camila didn't leave a message.

She pulled the piece of paper from her pocket and scratched a line through Aunt Beatriz. There was only one more name on the rescue list, her abuelo. No matter how much she scrounged, she could not find a number for her grandfather in Bolivia. Her eyes rested on the photo wedged under the mirror frame. It was the last time she'd seen him, eight years ago when Mama had felt well enough to fly them to Bolivia. She remembered the thick wet air when they'd stepped off the plane, the smell of Abuelo's aftershave as he pulled her to his chest in a giant bear hug, his hand around hers as he led them to his black sedan. Just before they'd slipped in, Mama had snapped this photo: she and her abuelo, arms around each other's shoulders, matching smiles and the dry, grassy plain behind.

Now he was just a distant memory.

Beside her, the tired A.C. unit hummed diligently, pushing cool air over her bare arms. She hugged herself and stared out her window into the dark street. Who would save them now?

“Shit,” she said out loud. “I guess I’ll have to.”

* * *

Tuesday 9:53 a.m.

“Mama.”Camila offered her the bowl. “Take this. I gotta go.” She glanced to the clock. She'd have to pedal like mad.

Mama glowered at the cereal. “What's in the bowl, mi amor?”

Camila shuffled her feet. What would Mama do if she tasted the pill? “Nothing.”

Mama eyed her. “You know where liars go,” she said, reaching for the bowl.

“To the fires of eternal hell. Thanks for reminding me. How do you think Satan feels about bright pink?” She pointed to her shirt. “Will it clash with the everlasting flames? The instruments of torment?”

Mama frowned. “Camila!”

---