Dalila
We didn’t sleep much for the second night in a row, but I don’t care. It’s nice to see Ryan’s face in such a peaceful slumber. Last night I gave him everything I have—my heart, my soul, and my body.
I hold him tight against me, never wanting to let him go. I’m nervous about what’ll happen when I get home. I know Papá will be beyond angry. I’ll just have to make him listen to me and let him know that I needed to go see Abuela Carmela even though he forbade it.
I have more questions now than I did before, though.
I don’t know where my father’s loyalties lie. Is he like those highway officers, putting on a facade?
There are so many more good people in Mexico than bad. If we all rise up against the violence, we can fight it. I know some people are manipulated and forced to join gangs with the threat of their lives being taken away. Or worse, their families’ lives. Would I join a gang to protect my sisters’ lives? I don’t know. I’d let someone kill me before I’d take another life. But if I had to kill someone to save Margarita’s life . . . or the twins . . .
I can’t even think about it.
Truth is, I’d die for my family. I look over at Ryan. I’d die for him, too.
But would I kill to protect them? Tears stain my eyes because so many unfortunate people in my country are faced with that very scenario. It’s not a show on TV; it’s reality. For some it’s life or death. It’s kill or be killed.
I shiver just thinking about it.
“You cold?” Ryan asks as he pulls me closer to him, his voice all deep and groggy from sleep.
“I’m okay.” I kiss him and watch as his lips turn into a sleepy grin.
I lay my head on his chest and watch the sun starting to rise. I know we were just joking last night about living here, having kids and a future together. But I could see us being happy without the added stress of the outside world.
“What’re you thinkin’ about?”
“Nothing.” I sink into the warmth of his palm. “Just wishing things were different.”
A worried look crosses his face. “Last night?”
“No! Not that!” I remember the look of adoration on his face as we explored and loved each other. It was special and beautiful. I’ll cherish the memory forever.
“I want you to know somethin’, Dalila.” He looks across the horizon. “I don’t know what I did to deserve you, and maybe I’m a fool, but I don’t even care. Whatever you ask of me, if it’s in my power I’ll do it.”
“And whatever you ask of me, if it’s in my power I’ll do it.”
The sun is coming up now. “We should head out,” he says, sitting up. “Let me just lock the truck, get our bags, and then we can go. I’ll try the car one more time and see if the engine cooled off enough to go or if it’s completely dead. If it’s dead, are you ready to do some major trekking today?”
Not really, but it’s the only way we’re going to get home and face my papá. From the ground I pick up a black rock that resembles a heart. “Here,” I say, handing him the rock. “It’s for good luck.” He climbs into the truck.
“Pray for a miracle!” Ryan calls out from the front seat. He kisses the rock, then turns on the ignition. It hums perfectly as if nothing was ever wrong with it.
“No way!” I hug him through the window. “It works!”
His mouth is open in shock. “I can’t believe it.” He puts the heart-shaped rock in the glove compartment. “We’re keeping that rock with us. It’s definitely good luck!”
Running around to the passenger side, I hop in. “Let’s go before it decides to overheat again.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Ryan puts the truck in gear and we drive off. It’s not long before we reach the main highway again. I breathe a sigh of relief. This time we don’t come across any barrier or patrolmen acting shady.
“Try your cell,” Ryan says when we pass a cell tower. “Call your parents and tell them we’re on the way.”
I wince at the thought of Papá and Mamá mad at me. And the thought of confronting them with the information Abuela Carmela gave me. “I can’t.”
“You have to. They’re for sure worried and need to know you’re safe. They probably think you got killed or kidnapped. It’s not cool.”
I take a deep breath. “I know. You’re right.”
He takes my hand in his and rubs it gently. “Call them and listen to them scream at you and threaten to take away all your freedom for a little bit. Take it like a champ.”
I’m feeling nauseous and don’t want to take it like a champ. If the truck hadn’t broken down last night, I would have been home and nobody would know I had visited Abuela Carmela.
It’s the truck’s fault, not mine.
Of course I’d like to think that’s true, but it’s not. It’s my fault. And like Ryan said, I have to face the consequences. I turn on my phone. As I suspect, I have about a hundred texts and messages from my parents and Demi.
I call my parents first. Papá answers on the first ring. “Dalila!”
“It’s me. I’m safe,” I quickly say before anything else. “Our truck broke down last night in the mountains after visiting Abuela Carmela and—”
Papá goes off on a tirade, ordering me home right away and questioning who I’m with. I contemplate lying and telling him I’m alone or with Demi, but I decide to tell him the truth. When I reveal I spent the night in a truck in the mountains with Ryan, he orders me home immediately and hangs up.
“How did it go?” Ryan asks when I set the phone in my lap.
I don’t answer. I want to cry. I am definitely not taking this like a champ.
“That good, huh?” He reaches out to hold my hand but I push him away.
“I think he might hurt you,” I tell him, my voice quivering uncontrollably.
“I’ll take it like a champ,” he jokes.
“It’s not funny.” Just the thought of Ryan being hurt makes my stomach churn.
I’m eighteen and it’s not like I’m a little kid anymore, but my life has always been dictated by my parents. The fake freedom I did have was whatever freedom they decided to give me. It’s time I have a mind of my own.
We drive for hours. My entire body stiffens when I see the sign for Panche.
The truck, which is usually filled with our endless conversations, is suddenly eerily quiet as we drive up the road to La Joya de Sandoval. It’s the first time I’ve actually been scared to go home.
Papá, Gerardo, and a half dozen other bodyguards are in front of the gate waiting for us.
“Don’t get out of the truck, Ryan,” I plead. “Please promise me you won’t get out of the truck.”
He turns to me with apology written all over his face. I know he’s going to get out. I’ve never seen Papá violent, but I’ve never spent the night with a boy before.
I hop out of the truck hoping to stop Papá from going off on Ryan. “It’s my fault,” I tell him frantically. “I lied to Ryan and told him you said it was okay. Then our truck broke down and I told him it wasn’t safe for—”
“Entra a la casa, Dalila,” Papá orders.
“But, Papá!”
He’s not even looking at me. “Get in the house,” he orders again.
He’s changed in the matter of a few weeks. He went from a warm father to a harsh, unforgiving dictator.
Papá keeps a pointed gaze on Ryan, who’s stepping out of the truck now. I know what’s going to happen. Papá hasn’t summoned his hired muscle here in full force to make sure Ryan gets a meal before he heads back to the gym.
They’re here to scare him and, possibly, hurt him.
I can’t let that happen. I vowed to myself that I would protect him. I’m not going to stand by while my lie gets him in trouble.
I rush to Ryan’s side and put my arms around him.
“It’s okay, Dalila,” Ryan says in a calm voice.
Why is he so calm? Doesn’t he care if he gets beaten up by a bunch of men?
“Don Sandoval, please accept my apologies,” he says with such dignity and respect my heart is bursting. He wraps his arm protectively around me. “Dalila just wanted to go visit her grandmother and I thought—”
“You have no right to think about anything regarding my daughter,” Papá says through gritted teeth. “Dalila, I will not ask you again.”
“Go,” Ryan urges, taking his arm off me. “I’ll be okay.”
I know the unspoken words Ryan’s thinking. I’ll take it like a champ. But I don’t want him to be hurt. If Papá would just listen to me, he’d realize it was all my fault.
“Promise me you won’t hurt him, Papá,” I cry out. “He didn’t do anything wrong. He was helping me.” I can’t let go of Ryan until I get a promise. I know I’m publicly disrespecting my father by not following his orders, but I have to take a stand and protect Ryan.
“Just go in the house,” Ryan urges. “Do what your dad says.”
“Only if he promises you won’t be touched.”
“Fine,” Papá says. “I won’t hurt him.”
I tentatively move away from Ryan and take one last look at him. At his reassuring nod, I walk through the gates and enter La Joya de Sandoval. I look around at the colorful artwork on the walls and the mosaic tiles on the floor. Its splendor used to delight me, but right now it feels fake and contrived. This isn’t a joya, a jewel. It’s a facade.
For the first time in my life La Joya de Sandoval doesn’t feel like home.