Delia’s Gift (9 page)

“You are keeping your tutor waiting unnecessarily,” Mrs. Newell complained.

“I’ll be right there.”

I hung up, quickly took off my bathing suit, and dressed in a skirt and blouse. Still in sandals, however, I rushed out and down the stairway to go to the library.

Mr. McCarthy sat at the long, light-walnut desk with my books, workbooks, and other school materials spread before him. He was a stout man with thin, balding gray hair and a round face that looked swollen because his small dark-brown eyes were so sunken. His
complexion was smooth, however, so smooth that he looked as if he never had to shave. He stretched his thin, pale lips into a smile that seemed to sink into his cheeks and disappear. He wore a brown-and-white-striped sport jacket with a coffee-colored bow tie that was so tightly tied it moved with his Adam’s apple when he spoke.

“Hello there,” he said.

I hurried to the desk.

“Hi.”

“So,” he said, getting right down to business, “I met with your teachers before I came here today to learn where you were in your studies before you stopped attending school. If you’ll sit down,” he said, pausing. “I don’t like having to look up at students when I speak to them.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

“You’ll notice that I have marked each textbook where you should have been at that time. Under each book are the assignments to follow once you read the text assigned. I have also created a time line for it all. I understand you hope to take your exams at the same time as the students in your old school?”

“Yes, I would.”

“We’ll see,” he said. “You have to be ready.”

“I’ll be ready,” I said. “I have not much else to do but my schoolwork.”

“I don’t imagine so. You’re not the first prospective teenage mother I’ve had to tutor. In fact, these days, it seems like an epidemic.” He dropped the corners of his mouth even deeper into his cheeks.

I felt my whole body tighten and close like a fist, but I said nothing. I dropped my gaze to the books.

“Well, then, I’ll leave it all with you and see you next Wednesday. We’ll go over what you did and see what you didn’t understand.”

He rose. His waist was as wide as his shoulders, and he wasn’t much taller than I was. Didn’t he want to tell me anything else or ask me anything?

“I was always a little ahead in all of my classes,” I said, “even though my grades weren’t perfect.”

“That should make things easier, assuming, of course, that you knew what you were doing. You’re right about your grades. They weren’t all that impressive,” he added, bending over to whisper. His breath smelled like sour milk. “This is not going to be a walk in the park. I’m a private tutor since retirement, but I’m not for sale. I have my standards, and I don’t compromise them to please my employer.”

“I don’t think you should, either.”

“Good. Then we have an understanding. I left my telephone number if you have any problems that can’t wait until next Wednesday.” He nodded and walked out.

I looked at the books and the assignment sheets. He was right. I hadn’t done as well as I could have in the public school, but that was because I was very depressed and unhappy after we had returned from Mexico. I would do well now, I thought. I wanted a future.

I sat and looked at the doorway through which Mr. McCarthy had just walked. He was very different from the pleasant teachers I had at the private school and the public school and not very encouraging. But beggars couldn’t be choosers. Perhaps all of these challenges, the lonely world I was living in, were of my own mak
ing and not just the work of some evil eye that had chosen me for torture and unhappiness.

I always had trouble blaming God for our misfortunes, always had difficulty believing that he kept track of every little thing that happened to us or whatever we did. We wrote our own stories. I wasn’t pregnant because of some unexplainable accident. I had wanted to make love with Adan. Deep in my heart, I wanted his child, a child who would be our child.

And so I was here and would have to do whatever was necessary, walk over whatever hot coals I had to walk over. If I kept feeling sorrier and sorrier for myself, I wouldn’t have the strength or the will to get to a brighter future for myself and for my child.

As
mi abuela
Anabela would say whenever she heard or saw someone full of self-pity, “
Gato llorón no caza ratón.
” A crying cat catches no mice.

I will not be a crying cat, I thought.

Almost out of anger as much as out of ambition, I set forth to attack the work Mr. McCarthy had detailed for me. I vowed to myself that I would do it so well that I would wipe the smirk off his marshmallow face.

M
arking off the days designed for me on Mrs. Newell’s schedule was like counting drips of molasses falling into a bucket. Even though I followed her orders and kept myself busy with my schoolwork, the monotony began to wear on me.

In fact, the days became so dreary that I actually looked forward to being taken to Dr. Denardo’s office for my tests. As promised, he stopped by every other week to check on how I was doing and get a report from Mrs. Newell, but he did very little and was very happy with what he saw. He never failed to compliment Mrs. Newell on how well she was managing my pregnancy. They discussed me in front of me as if I were invisible.

“How is her appetite? How is she sleeping? Does she have any unusual pains?”

It made me feel like some controlled laboratory animal.

Finally, the day for my ultrasound arrived. Señor Bovio surprised me by insisting that he would drive me to Dr. Denardo’s office himself.

“This is too important to send you off with surrogates,” he told me. “If fate had permitted Adan to live, he would surely be going with you today.”

Even though he had said it was for family, he told Mrs. Newell to come along.

“She needs to hear everything, just in case there is a problem,” he told me.

It was then that I became nervous. I wanted to ask Mrs. Newell what sort of problems could be determined, if any, but I didn’t want to hear her doom and gloom. Whenever she warned me about anything happening to my baby, she always made it sound as if it would be the direct result of something I had done, some way I had lived, or simply something genetic in my family. Nothing could ever be the fault of Adan’s family line.

Dr. Denardo had a very modern office with a plush waiting room. There was a small area off to the side for the children of the mothers and prospective mothers. In it was a television, toys, and even a sandbox. The lobby itself had three soft-cushion sofas and a half-dozen comfortable chairs, shelves of magazines, mostly about raising children but a good variety of others, a machine for hot water to make tea, all decaffeinated, and a refrigerator with juices and soft drinks. Light, soft music was piped through two speakers.

He had two nurses and a receptionist. There were four examination rooms just past the reception desk.
Almost the moment we arrived, we were brought into the room that contained the ultrasound equipment. One of the nurses, Betty Rosen, apparently knew Mrs. Newell, but I sensed she was not very fond of her. They eyed each other like two gunslingers, with Mrs. Newell looking as if she was evaluating everything Betty Rosen did. I could feel the tension and was happier when Dr. Denardo entered.

“Okay,” he said, “let’s get right to it. This is going to give us an even more accurate idea of gestational age,” he explained.

Everyone’s attention went to the screen as Dr. Denardo pointed out my developing baby’s head and spine, chest and heart, abdomen, liver, stomach, and kidneys, as well as the arms and legs and hands and feet. He announced that everything looked perfect.

“And,” he said, turning to Señor Bovio, “she is carrying a boy.”

Señor Bovio’s eyes lit up with such joy it nearly made me cry. He surprised me by putting his hand on my stomach and closing his eyes as if he could communicate with my developing child. No one spoke. Even Dr. Denardo looked moved.

“It is truly a resurrection,” Señor Bovio whispered.

“Well, Millicent,” Dr. Denardo said after completing his evaluation of my health, “continue to do what you’re doing. She’s in perfect shape.”

Mrs. Newell gloated and eyed Betty Rosen, who busied herself with other preparations.

Afterward, Señor Bovio was so pleased he decided to take us to lunch. The prospect of eating something other than the bland, so-called perfect foods Mrs. Newell had prepared for me daily cheered me, but
when we sat in the booth at the restaurant, she was highly critical of almost everything on the menu. Señor Bovio could see my displeasure growing.

“Oh, I think we can loosen the reins a bit today, Millicent. Go on, Delia, order whatever you like.”

Even with this permission, Mrs. Newell’s disapproving and critical eyes intimidated me. I ordered and ate less than half of what I wanted.

But Señor Bovio’s joy at discovering I was carrying his grandson and not a granddaughter spilled over in many different ways once we returned to the
hacienda.
He showered me with more gifts. Every day following, either Mr. Blumgarten or Mark Corbet appeared with something new. My protests were useless, even when I pointed out that I couldn’t possibly wear everything enough times before I gave birth, after which I would have no use for it.

“Unless, of course, you have another child relatively soon after,” Mrs. Newell couldn’t help but point out. She always managed to hear our conversations. “But perhaps you’ve learned something about birth control now.”

“If it would mean having to go through every day like this, I think I’d become celibate,” I responded. Instead of being upset by my remark, she smiled that self-confident, know-it-all smile that was longer than her usual blink.

“I doubt you would have that concern, Delia. You wouldn’t have another Bovio.”

It was as if her words went directly to my heart and not through my ears and brain. I felt the pain under my breast, a pain that was so sharp it pierced on through to my spine. For a moment, I lost my breath.

“That comment was unnecessary, Mrs. Newell,” I said.

She shrugged, unremorseful. “It’s always better to face reality, Delia. If young women did that, for example, there would be fewer unwed mothers.”

She gave me one of her blink smiles before walking off full of self-satisfaction.

After that, I finally expressed my dissatisfaction with her to Señor Bovio.

“She’s making everything very unpleasant for me,” I told him.

“What? You saw how pleased Dr. Denardo is with her. You mustn’t take her too personally,” he said. “She’s here in one capacity only and is the best at what she does. Pay no attention to anything else she says or does.”

“That is not easy to do most of the time,
señor.
She hovers over me so much, I feel as if she’s attached herself to my shadow.”

“Please, please, do it for me. I promise you, she’ll be gone as soon as she is no longer necessary.”

I said nothing more. I had no one else to talk to, really, no one else to confide in. To my disappointment, Fani had not called or returned since the day she had met me at the pool. I waited each day for some word from her or about her but heard nothing. Señor Bovio did not mention her parents breaking up, either, nor did he mention her. Finally, I asked him about her, and he told me he hadn’t heard from her or her parents.

“Everyone’s busy. I’m sure Fani has many friends. You know she is a very popular girl at school. Maybe she no longer feels she has anything in common with you because you are pregnant.”

He might very well be right, I thought. I was disappointed but said nothing. Of course, there was no word from or about Edward, either, since the day he had been turned away at the gate. I attributed that to
mi tía
Isabela, who had yet to stop by even to threaten something new since the first day I had come to the Bovio
hacienda
. Still, I hoped that Edward might at least call me, but the phone never rang.

I always asked Teresa if any messages had been left for me when I was out of the house, but she never said there had been any. I became suspicious about it and for the first time used the phone in my room to call out. I was just testing, so I called the telephone number of a nursing school I was considering. I couldn’t get an outside line. The phone kept going back to the dial tone.

I went down to ask Señor Bovio about it, but he wasn’t in his office, and no one else knew anything about it. I waited for him in the living room, and the moment he entered, I asked him about my phone.

“Oh, that was shut off shortly after my wife died,” he said. “Only the intercom works.”

“Well, can you get it back on for me, please,
señor
?”

“I’ll see about it,” he said, but he didn’t, and when I reminded him, he apologized. Finally, he told me the technician was having some difficulties and would have to do some rewiring. I asked him to get me a cell phone in the meantime. He was surprised, but he always said I could ask for anything I wanted.

“If I should go somewhere, I might have to call you or Mrs. Newell,” I suggested when he looked hesitant.

“
Sí.
You’re right. I’ll see to it immediately,” he told
me, and to my surprise, the following day, a cell phone was delivered for me.

The first thing I did was call Fani. I hadn’t forgotten her private number, but I was surprised to learn that it had been changed, so I called her house, and the housekeeper told me she wasn’t home. I left my name and my new phone number, but Fani did not return my call.

During the weeks that went by, I often asked Señor Bovio about his efforts to reduce Ignacio’s prison sentence. He told me it was in the works, but it had to go through a chain of command that would take more time. Finally, a little annoyed about my frequent inquiries, he said, “You don’t have to keep asking me about it, Delia. You don’t push people who are doing you favors. I don’t mean me. We are working with bureaucrats who are quite self-important. There are egos to stroke and palms to fill, if you know what I mean. Be patient.”

I could do nothing but nod and hope. To keep myself from thinking about it too much, I put most of my energy into my schoolwork, usually doing more than was required. Mr. McCarthy’s smirk of pessimism didn’t fly off his face, but it began to dwindle as he reviewed my work every Wednesday. Just before he prepared me for my final exams, however, he did admit that he expected me to do well. He administered the finals over two days and then called Señor Bovio to tell him that I had passed everything and would be getting my high school diploma.

Although it was unusual for him to do so, Señor Bovio came up to my suite to invite me to have dinner with him the night after I had passed my exams.

“It is a very special occasion, after all,” he said. “I am proud of your accomplishment, Delia. To be honest, I didn’t think you would be able to do it so quickly.”

“
Gracias, señor.
”

“I know it was a real accomplishment. Your tutor has a reputation for being very strict.”

“He was.”

Señor Bovio nodded. “You should look special tonight,” he said. He went to the closet and sifted through my maternity dresses. “I like this one very much. It reminds me of one my wife wore.”

Dozens had been made for me and delivered, especially after the ultrasound results. Señor Bovio had Mr. Blumgarten come to do his new measurements every ten days now, instead of every three weeks. At the last session, he admitted being surprised at how quickly I was showing. He wondered if I were having twins. Mrs. Newell, who overheard, immediately assured him that I wasn’t and that I was not gaining any more weight than expected. Obviously taking it as a criticism of her, she dressed him down so sharply with her remarks that he seemed to shrink and couldn’t get his work over and leave fast enough. However, he did create beautiful clothes.

“It is very pretty,
señor
. I’ll wear it.”

“Good.”

Señor Bovio continued to look in the closet and surprised me by bringing out one of his wife’s wigs.

“Try this on tonight,” he said. “I think the color suits you.”

I stared, amazed.

He smiled. “I know you young women like to dabble in all this. Go on,” he said, holding it out.

I took it because I could see that it was important to him.

Later, dressed in the wig and the maternity dress he had chosen for me, I entered the dining room. He was already there and immediately registered delight. He stood and pulled out the chair for me.

“You look absolutely beautiful, Delia. I was right about that wig. It suits you. I knew you would soon bloom. I told you that you would be even prettier during your pregnancy. My wife never believed me. I hope you do now.”

The wig did change my look, but I didn’t think it was flattering. It wasn’t me, and I wore it only to please him.

“We don’t see ourselves the way others see us sometimes,
señor,
” I said, coming as close as I could to telling him the truth.

“Very true, very true. You are a wise young lady. More and more, I understand why Adan was so attracted to you, Delia.”

I thanked him, but he looked very thoughtful for a moment, and then, after a moment, he asked, “How would you like to attend a nursing school in California?”

“I have been considering a few,
sí,
but as I have told you,
señor,
I would first like—”

“I have an idea for you.” He put his fork down and sat back. “Why not attend the nursing school in San Bernardino, which is only about an hour away? As I told you, I am buying you a car. You could attend that
school and remain living here. To help you go to school and still care for our baby, I will hire a nanny to take care of the
muchacho
while you are at class and whenever you need to be away or work in quiet. How does that sound?”

When I was silent, he continued.

“There is no reason for someone as intelligent as you to delay her education. You’re comfortable here. Imagine a child growing up here,” he added. “Adan had a wonderful childhood.”

“With his mother being away so much?” I asked. It came through my lips so fast I didn’t have time to intercept the thought. I saw that my remark stung him and brought small white blotches of anger into his cheeks.

“We managed,” he said. “I did the best I could running a major business simultaneously. He grew up to be a fine young man, didn’t he? A father couldn’t be any prouder of a son, could he?”

“No,
señor
, of course not.”

“So? Why do you resist my offers?”

“I don’t know, Señor Bovio. Let me think about it all.”

“Think, sure, but you could start this schooling much sooner than you would if you went off on your own. Besides, it would be wonderful for a child to have a nurse, and peace of mind for a mother who was otherwise occupied with important things.”