chapter
29
This had been my nightmare for decades. The spotlight that had made me live in the shadows since I set foot on American soil. The fear of deportation had hung over me for nineteen years. I’d even skipped the photo shoot when I’d made employee of the year for the Markham because I didn’t want my picture and name to go on their corporate website. I didn’t want anything that would draw attention to me. All I wanted was a better life for my children. Was that too much to ask?
I had a frightening thought. What if they deported me without letting me see my kids? What if they shipped me back to Hidalgo without even letting me say goodbye? The thought turned my stomach upside down and brought fresh tears to my eyes.
I pulled my sweater tightly around me, a shiver sifting through me even though the room had to be at least eighty degrees.
I didn’t know where I was, but it looked like some kind of holding center. I assumed for immigration since everyone in here was like me, Latino and terrified. I had been here at least six hours, and they’d been the longest six hours of my life.
“You okay?” a lady asked as she sat down next to me. I’d noticed her earlier. She was the only one here who didn’t look scared. Maybe it was the tattoos across her neck or her stringy blond hair and dark roots, but she looked like this place was her second home.
“I said, are you okay?” she repeated.
I didn’t answer, just shook my head.
“This must be your first time,” she said.
I nodded.
“Yeah, you looking all clean-cut, like J.Lo. It’s my third time,” she casually said, “so I know they will personally take me and drop me on the other side of the border.” She laughed. “As if that’s gonna stop me. I’ll risk coming back again and again rather than going back to what I came from.”
Now my stomach wasn’t just in knots. I felt like I was actually going to be sick.
The woman continued. “Have you had your one call?”
“I get a call?”
“Don’t you watch Law & Order?” she said.
“No. I don’t watch much TV. But I thought, I mean, since I’m not a U.S. citizen . . .”
“You thought what? That they would treat us like crap?” She shrugged. “They do, but that’s the beauty of America. We still have some rights. You get a free call, so make sure you ask for it.”
She leaned back and closed her eyes, signaling that this conversation was over. I couldn’t believe how calm she was. But I was grateful for her knowledge of the system.
I stood and gripped the bars as I called out to one of the ICE officers.
“Excuse me, I’ve been here a long time. May I please have my one call?”
The female agent first flashed a look of indifference at me. I don’t know if she saw the terror in my eyes, but she came over and opened the gate.
“Come on,” she said.
“Thank you,” I replied. Immediately, others started yelling and pleading. But she ignored them and quickly locked the gate.
She directed me toward a phone hanging on a back wall. I picked up the handset and gave the operator who came on Rosa’s home number, grateful that it was one of the few I knew by heart.
“Rosa,” I said as soon as she accepted the collect call. “Thank God you answered.”
“Oh, Anna. How are you?”
“Not good,” I said, struggling not to cry. “I don’t have much time. Are my babies okay?”
“Yes, they’re scared, but they’re okay.”
“What about Alejandro’s asthma?” I asked.
“It’s under control. Thank God for Miguel. He got him calmed down and taken care of.”
That gave me a small sense of relief.
“Tell them I love them.”
“They know that,” she replied. “So what’s going on? Where are you?”
I glanced around the room. With the dirty brown walls, steel tables, and raggedy wooden desks, it looked like an old school that had been renovated to house criminals. My God, I was a criminal.
I noticed a sign on the wall and rattled the information off for Rosa. “It says I’m at the Smith Detention Center.”
“I know where that is,” she replied.
“Do you think you can come see me?”
“Of course. I will come as soon as I can.”
+ + +
Back in the cell, I mumbled the Lord’s Prayer until I dozed off. I was awakened by the sound of someone shouting my name.
“Anna Rodríguez?” an officer called out.
“Yes, yes.” I jumped up. I don’t know why, but I was praying that some miracle had happened and they were telling me I was going home. Unfortunately, all the deputy said was, “Someone is here to see you.”
I sighed as I made my way to the door. As I waited for the bars to open, I looked back over my shoulder and desperately wished that I would never see these people again.
The third-timer had told me that from here, we would go before an immigration judge who would decide our fate. I was dreading the thought of being sent back to my native land.
My children were American citizens, but what did that mean if I wasn’t here with them? They couldn’t stay because no one could take care of them. Paco wouldn’t go back, so I would be forced to leave him alone and take my children back to a country where they didn’t know the language, didn’t know a soul, and would be subjected to a life of destitution and crime.
“Oh, my God,” Rosa said as I slid into the seat across from her. “Are you okay?”
I was grateful that Rosa was legal—she’d gotten her papers nine years ago. Otherwise I probably would’ve been unable to see her.
“No, I’m not all right,” I cried. “This place . . . it’s just so horrible.”
“What happened?” she said.
I took a deep breath. Rosa had no idea I wasn’t legal. She had no idea about the illegal Social Security number that I’d been using for years because no one knew outside of Julio. He’d just come home with the cards one day—announced we were unofficially official and I didn’t ask any questions. We’d gone out to celebrate that night and had been working ever since.
“I . . . I’m not supposed to be working in the U.S.”
“What do you mean? You told me you had papers when you asked for this job,” she said, confused.
I looked down, ashamed of the lie I had told my friend. “I do have papers, but they don’t belong to me.”
Her hand went to her mouth. “Oh, my God. You were working under a fake Social Security number?” she said.
I could only nod. “I was desperate. I never meant to deceive you, I just . . .”
She leaned forward and immediately shhh’d me. “Okay, we’re not going to have this conversation here.” She lowered her voice. “You never know who could be recording.”
“I don’t think it matters anymore,” I said. “They obviously know. That’s why I’m here. Did Sergio set me up?” I asked.
“No. I don’t think so,” Rosa replied. “He was absolutely dumbfounded and he kept talking about losing his best worker, and then he threatened the rest of us that we all better be on the up-and-up because of how this was going to reflect on the hotel. Rumor is that Valencia called INS.”
So my guess was probably true. I sighed, then dabbed at my eyes.
“I’m so sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean to make things so difficult for you.” My heart sank at the thought that no matter what happened, my job was as good as gone.
“What are you going to do?” she asked.
“I don’t know.” I would definitely have to figure out my job situation. But right now, my focus was on something more important. “Be honest. How are my children?”
She hesitated, like she wasn’t sure how much she should tell me. Finally, she said, “Not good. Alejandro won’t stop crying. Miguel is in a state of shock. The good news is that Paco was still at your house so he knows what is going on. He’s with the children now.”
“Thank you so much.” Paco gave me grief, but he loved his siblings. I could take comfort in knowing that he and Rosa would make sure they were taken care of. Plus, the kids always enjoyed being around Rosa’s two children. “Please tell them all that I love them. And . . . and I’ll be home soon.” Even as the words left my mouth, they felt like a lie.
“Will you?” she asked. Her eyes told me she already knew the answer to that.
“I honestly don’t know,” I said, a tear trickling down my face.
“Be strong, mi hija,” she said. “We’ll figure something out. My neighbor’s cousin went through this. She said you need to get an attorney right away.” She sighed. “The problem is, I don’t have any money for an attorney. And I know you don’t, either.”
“I don’t.”
“Do we know anyone that can help?” she said. “My neighbor is trying to raise awareness about her cousin’s case. She’s doing a lot of stuff on social media. She’s even been trying to maybe get the case on the news.”
The news.
“That’s it,” I said, recalling the lady in Room 316. My hand went to my apron.
“What are you doing?” Rosa asked.
I frantically dug down in my apron pocket and pulled out the business card.
“What’s that?” Rosa asked.
“The lady. The lady that was staying in the room. She gave me her card. She is one of those TV newspeople.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Savannah Graham,” I said, reading the card before turning it to face Rosa. “She’s a reporter for Channel 26. She was staying in the room the other day when I went to clean it. She was super nice to me. Maybe . . .” I was too scared to even think of the possibilities.
“Oh, wow. You think she could help?” Rosa asked.
“I don’t know but maybe she knows an attorney who can help me.”
“Well, I say it’s worth a try. You have nothing to lose and everything to gain.”
“Here.” I slid Rosa the card. “Call her, please. Tell her I’m the housekeeper from the hotel. Explain my situation. Let her know I’m law-abiding, remind her about my kids. Tell her everything. She was nice. Maybe she can help.”
Rosa took the card. “I’ll call her the minute I step out.”
For the first time since I had arrived at the detention center, I felt a glimmer of hope.