Chapter Twenty-Three

Maggie

Since Jane has her sister in town, she asks me to help with picking the boys up from school. I welcome the chance. Ever since I was released four days ago, I’ve obsessed with what might happen. First thing Monday morning, I visited my advisor. She assured me the scholarship would not be revoked.

Still, I worry about the Green Card. I’ve had one my whole life and right now it’s sitting on the police chief’s desk. At least I hope that’s where it is. Gwen told me not to worry so much.

I pick the boys up and take them for ice cream. Their wild rambunctiousness relaxes me. Weird, but true. The sugar makes them loud, and happy and they crack me up with silly stories from school. Then Thomas complains Wes won’t let him have a dog. Michael frets about missing a catch at a game last week. Hearing about their lives and worries helps me forget about my troubles. By the time I pull into the driveway, I feel a thousand times better.

The boys spill out of the van and we head inside, just as a sedan pulls into the driveway.

“Who’s that?” Thomas asks.

“I don’t know,” I tell him.

Two men get out. They’re thirty or so, clean-shaven and dressed in suit and tie. The fine hairs on the back of my neck prickle.

“Maggie Callaghan?”

They approach the house, stopping a dozen or so steps from me.

“Go inside,” I tell the boys.

“We’d like to ask you a few questions. We’re from the Department of Homeland Security.”

I hear the boys go inside. Only Michael remains, stepping closer to me, like he’s going to protect me from these guys. His fingers lace through mine.

“We understand you were caught shoplifting.”

“No she wasn’t,” Michael blurts out.

I squeeze his hand, keeping my gaze on the men. “It was a mistake. My… aunt is going to ask them to drop the charges.”

Only one of the guys is talking, the other one is there just to give me the stink eye. All I can think of is that I’m home alone with the monkeys. If they arrest me, I’ll leave them unsupervised. I promised I’d watch them. They can’t arrest me. Not again, surely.

On Saturday night, the policeman didn’t cuff me, thankfully. If these men decide to take me where ever they take people, I’m praying I don’t get taken in cuffs. Not in front of the boys. I don’t want them to see me like that.

“You understand being charged with a misdemeanor endangers your immigration status?”

“Yes sir.”

“You’re not allowed to be here.” Michael’s voice is an octave higher than normal.

“It’s okay,” I tell him. I’m not sure how this is going to play out, but I don’t want Michael getting in the middle of things.

“You’re going to have to appear before a judge and plead your case.”

His words make me wonder if Gwen knows about this and that’s why she’s in town. She showed up Sunday afternoon and she and Wes and Jane have been talking a lot. Do they know about all this? If so, why wouldn’t they tell me?

“You should know the judge might revoke immigration privileges. In which case, you’d be sent back to Ireland.”

A huff of air escapes Michael’s lips. “I think you need to leave,” he says, in a let’s-be-reasonable tone.

Both men ignore him. “People who come to the United States need to respect our laws.”

I’ll admit I haven’t always been the best-behaved person around, but I’m not some sort of career criminal. The way they’re looking at me makes me feel like I’m a low-life. Everything inside me wants to lash out, but I have to hold it together. I’ve got to keep my cool.

“I understand and agree, but I thought your laws viewed people as innocent until proven guilty.”

The man smiles. “That right is for citizens only.”

Well… shit. I didn’t know that. The look on my face probably telegraphs that thought because both men smirk. My eyes feel warm, like I might start crying. Ireland. I always wanted to visit, but on vacation. Not because I got the big middle finger from the U.S. I can’t leave and go someplace where I know nobody. A completely new fucking country. I’d be a stranger all over again, just when I was figuring things out here.

Distantly, I hear sirens. The screech comes from police cars and I can tell they’re in the neighborhood. They draw closer.

“You should get your affairs in order,” the man says.

Jesus. Isn’t that what people say when you have some sort of terminal illness? I fight the urge to throw every expletive I know out there. Fuck them and the horse they rode in on. If Michael wasn’t here I’d tell them exactly what I thought of them and their threats and stupid fear tactics. Going down in a blaze of glory is familiar and a weird comfort, but I can’t do that. Not in front of the Michael.

The sirens split the late afternoon air and I wonder what the hell is going on in this quiet, boring neighborhood. I’m trying to figure out the answer to the question when two police cars pull up in front of the house. Two officers jump out of each car and storm the suits.

Behind me, the door opens and Thomas comes to my side. “I called 911.”

Great. This is my life. Five-year olds rescuing me by calling 911. Just perfect. The only thing that helps is the look on the agents’ faces. They’re not used to the po-po arriving to give them shit. I’d laugh if I could, but right now I’m mostly trying not to panic. Everything spins and I’m taken back to the day in ninth grade when the school counselor tells me my mother collapsed at school. Bad things always happen fast it seems. Boom.

The police officers start asking the men for ID and documentation. Their voices raise and I wonder if I should shoo Michael and Thomas back inside before things escalate. I don’t want the boys to see any of this, but I really don’t want them to witness something getting ugly.

Just as I’m about to make them go inside, Jane and Gwen get home. Jane’s car has barely come to a stop and Gwen jumps out, in full-battle-mode. It’s like she knows exactly what’s going down.

She stalks right up to the guys from Immigration. “Gentlemen, you’re trespassing.”

They both shake their heads and back up. The police officers stand by, waiting to see how or if to intervene.

“Miss Callaghan needs to appear in court.”

“I’m her lawyer. She’s aware of her obligations.”

“We think she’s a flight risk.”

“She wouldn’t have taken on a lawyer if she were a flight risk.”

“If she fails to appear in court, the judge will be very anxious to talk you.”

Gwen whips out a business card and tucks it in the agent’s breast pocket. “That won’t be a problem. If you need to discuss my client’s case, you’ll speak directly to me.”

It’s impressive how quickly Gwen sends everyone on their way. The cruisers leave first and then the two agents disappear down the street. Standing on the porch, I try to get my heartrate back to normal. Gwen comes up the walkway and stops in front of me, her brow furrowed.

“We might have a little bit of a problem,” she says.