Chapter 17
Celia was asleep in her bed at the Women’s Shelter when the sound of American pop music woke her. Realizing the music came from André’s phone, she startled. With trembling hands, she picked it up. She’d been in the shelter for two days, but her nose and mouth still hurt, reminding her why she wasn’t going to answer any calls from André. But this call came from Brockton, Massachusetts.
“Hello?”
“Hello, Celia?” The man spoke in a deep Creole.
“This is Celia.”
“This is your cousin, Theo, up in Brockton. How’s it going this morning?”
Her cousin Theo? She sat up in bed, wondering what this man was talking about, when she remembered that Toon had promised to contact his cousin for her. Now he was calling, and relief flooded through her that Toon’s connection had come through. Someone cared. She wasn’t entirely on her own here in America. She returned his greeting in the Creole way. “My body’s all good.” At least, except for her missing tooth and broken nose, but speaking in Creole made her feel optimistic about her trials. She was still alive, after all, and healing.
“How would you like to come see Brockton? You can come stay with my family.” She could barely draw a breath before he went on, explaining his plan. “Do you think you could get a ride to the train station in Raleigh? I can pick you up in Boston, and it’s easy enough for me to buy you a ticket.”
She didn’t know this cousin Theo at all, she’d never ridden on a train before, and she didn’t know how she’d get a ride to Raleigh. But she was going to do it anyway. “Yes. Thank you. That’s exactly what I would prefer.” The people at the shelter could help her, and she still had the money in André’s wallet.
“When can you be ready to travel?”
She looked at her bag, already packed and sitting at the end of her bed. Though she felt safe here, she’d already spent enough time with no privacy and no long-lost cousins. Today, she would be getting permanent crowns on her teeth. After that, she could go any time. “I can come tomorrow.”
∞∞∞
André’s phone was dead by the time Celia arrived in Boston. It had taken her a day of travel, a day filled with looks of pity from other passengers. She could tell they were wondering about the bruises across her cheeks and her broken nose. A few of them asked her about them, and she explained as best she could, in her halting English, what had happened. Each time, they nodded and wished her luck, seeming relieved to hear that she was moving on to a better life. One sweet old woman gave her half a sandwich, a man in a suit handed her a twenty-dollar bill, and several women put their numbers into her phone, so she could call them if she needed anything. “Thank you,” she said to each of them, fighting back the tears that came more easily now that she was on her own. She felt both embarrassed and grateful to be treated this way. It was so different from the respectful glances she’d received in the past.
Her mother had been right. Her beauty had been a sort of passport, allowing her to mingle with the higher classes as if she belonged. Now, she most certainly did not belong. She could see it in the bathroom mirror. The greenish bruise below her eye looked like it belonged on the face of a boxer, and the gash on her cheek wasn’t fading at all. It was transforming into a large, purple scar. A lump remained on the left side of her lip, and she still wore the splint on her nose. Adding that all to the fact that she was four months pregnant and that her belly was beginning to show, it was no wonder people looked at her the way they did.
As ashamed as she was to be in this position, she was touched by how many people cared. André had been wrong about Americans. He’d said they looked down on her because of her color, but all around her, she saw proof of their concern, and she had the feeling that if André had stepped onto that train at any moment, that they would have all stood up to defend her against him.
But that wouldn’t be necessary. It was over. She would be okay.
As she got off the train, a tall, brown-skinned man in a blue polo shirt and jeans waved at her. He seemed well groomed with a clean shaved face and a short haircut. “Celia?”
“Yes.”
“I’m your Cousin Theo.” He spread his arms wide. She dropped her bag to the floor and stepped into his embrace. As she stepped away, he watched her face, taking in her missing tooth and swollen nose. “How was your trip?” He had the same animated tone to his voice as Toon.
“It went well.” She passed her hand over her belly, grateful that she hadn’t been sick at all.
He picked up her bag, and she noticed he wore a wedding ring. “You hungry? We could go out to eat on the way home.”
“No. I spent the money from my husband’s wallet on some food along the way.”
His expression grew serious. “Your husband’s wallet? You don’t have your own?”
She shook her head. “No. I worked with his grandmother, and she gave him all the money I earned.”
“Ahh. Toon told me a little about your husband, and how he abused you. I’m sorry.”
He took her out to his shiny black van with leather seats. She’d seen vans like that at some of the houses she’d cleaned with Teresa.
The inside of the van was clean, but she noticed a few pieces of trash on the floor and couldn’t resist the urge to pick them up, stowing them neatly in a fast food bag she found. “You don’t have to do that. That’s my kid’s job,” he said. “You’re my guest. Sit back and enjoy yourself.”
Celia rolled the bag shut and placed it at her feet.
“Sorry my wife couldn’t be here to meet you. We’re having a party at the house tonight, so she stayed home to welcome our guests.”
“That sounds fun.” At least normally, it would have been fun. She hadn’t been to a party since the day they left Fogo, and she longed to be around people who spoke her own language, to sing and dance with them. But today, her face was still too much of a mess.
“We’ve been very blessed here in America, and we like to spread our blessings around. It’s gotten so people just expect us to throw a party every weekend.” He told her about their family business as he drove. When he and his wife had arrived in Brockton, twenty years earlier, they saw a need for a place that specialized in African hair and skin care. He had helped his wife start a small business, doing hair out of their home, and over the years, it had grown into two beauty salons. They planned to open a third within the next year.
Celia gazed out the window as they chatted. It was seven o’clock at night, and the sun was starting its descent, tinting the buildings and foliage with a golden hue. The leaves had all been green when she left North Carolina, but up here in Massachusetts, the leaves were changing colors, and she felt a chill in the air. The town of Brockton, where Theo lived, had taller buildings than she’d seen in North Carolina, and outside the city, the houses stood closer together.
She felt the music throbbing through her as they turned into the driveway of Theo’s big, white house with vines climbing up its sides. She had cleaned homes like this one—with two stories and a front porch, but this one seemed more like a home. The paint had turned gray in places. Cars crowded along the streets, and people gathered outside on the lawn, swaying to the music. Others stood on the porch and in the entryway, drinks in their hands.
The guests’ stares lingered on her face as Theo led her up the front steps and onto the porch. Raising his voice to speak over the music, he introduced her to his friends as they squeezed past them. They expressed concern over the bruises on her face instead of registering that she’d once lived on Fogo Island too, right beneath the volcano. Even among her own people, she had become an oddity, someone to be pitied.
Their reactions made her uneasy, so she was glad to escape up the stairs to a large pink bedroom that had two twin-size beds pushed against opposite walls. Clothes lay scattered across the floor, along with the same sort of trash she’d picked up in his car. “I would offer you a room in the basement, but my cousins are living there right now. You don’t mind sharing a room with my daughter, do you?” Theo asked, as he placed her bag on one of the beds. “She’s sixteen.”
Celia swallowed hard. She couldn’t help wondering if his daughter would react the same way as the guests at his party. “I’m just so grateful to have a place to stay.”
“You’re always welcome here. Help yourself to any food in the kitchen, and please let me know if you need anything to feel more comfortable.”
As soon as he excused himself to check on his guests, Celia set to work cleaning up his daughter’s mess on the floor. Perhaps a few favors could pave the way to a friendship with the girl.
She had just finished straightening up the room and was lying down to rest when a knock sounded on the door. She got up to answer it, and there stood a smiling woman with Theo. “This is my wife, Yvonne.” She wore her hair in a big, red afro, and the camouflage pattern on her top matched the funky vibe of her hair.
Yvonne kissed Celia lightly on each cheek and embraced her. “I’d love for you to come down and have tea with me in the kitchen.”
“But your guests…”
She tossed the question aside with the wave of her hand. “I can see them anytime. I’ve been wanting to get to know you.” She looked straight into her eyes in such a loving way that Celia hoped they might become friends.
She followed her down the stairs and toward the back of the house to a kitchen that was about the size of the kitchen in Teresa’s apartment, but wasn’t quite as pristine. The countertops showed wear at the edges and the linoleum was faded in the center, which put Celia at ease. She knew she could be herself here. There was no need for perfection.
Yvonne invited her to sit down at a small wooden table and poured her a cup of tea.
“Theo said you’re from Fogo,” Yvonne said. It was quieter here at the back of the house, so they spoke at a normal volume. “I grew up on Fogo too, but I came from the other side of the island. I was so sorry to hear that the volcano destroyed your mother’s house.”
“Yes. It was a hard time for us, especially for my mother. I don’t know that she ever would have recovered if it hadn’t been for Toon.”
They chatted a bit about the volcano and all the things they missed about their home. Then Yvonne paused, setting down her teacup. “Toon’s concerned about you and the baby. He sure loves your mama.”
Celia smiled, remembering how Toon hobbled along the street, bragging to the other men about her mother’s cooking, her mother’s beauty, her mother’s gardening, anything and everything about her mother.
Yvonne smiled, but there was still sadness in her eyes. “Theo’s tried to convince Toon to come to America many times to see if the doctors here could do anything for him. You know what happened to his leg, don’t you?”
Celia shook her head. She’d assumed he’d been born with his disability.
“He was helping a neighbor build a big house—two stories—and Toon fell off the roof. He was just a little guy at the time, and the bones healed incorrectly. The doctors here could fix him up, but you know how he is. He’ll never leave the island,” Yvonne picked up the teacups and saucers, carrying them to a sink that was overflowing with dirty dishes. “But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t want better for his daughter and grandchild.”
Celia gripped the front of her blouse and bowed her head. “I’m blessed to have him for my father.”
Yvonne went to work, stacking the dishes to the side of the sink, and Celia rose to help her, grabbing a broom from the corner to sweep the floor. “He’s a good man, that Toon,” Yvonne said. “Stubborn too. He made Theo promise he’d get you a good divorce, and if anyone can do it, it’s Theo’s lawyer.”
Celia sighed as she swept. “I can’t get divorced. I was married in the church.”
Yvonne turned from her place at the sink. “What do you mean?”
“I got married in the Catholic Church. They don’t allow divorce.”
Yvonne tilted her head to the side. “Oh, honey. Just because the church might not give you a divorce doesn’t mean you can’t get one. You can get a divorce from the government.”
Celia blinked a few times. “I can?”
“Of course,” Yvonne said, calmly setting a washed plate in the dish drying rack. She sounded so sure.
Celia rubbed her hand over her belly, feeling the weight lifting from her. Teresa had been wrong. Either that, or she’d been lying. It also meant Celia could start over—perhaps try to get in touch with Manny after the divorce. But as soon as she thought of him, she pushed her tongue against the empty spot where her tooth was missing. That wouldn’t work, not with the way she looked now.
Yvonne hugged her. “I think that’s what would be best for you and your baby. We can also talk to the priest about it. They might grant you an annulment since André became abusive, but whatever they say, you can’t stay married to that beast. We’ve gotta get you a divorce so he can pay some child support.”
She huffed out a laugh. “Nothing could make André pay for this child.”
“Then let him go to jail for a while. That might change his mind.”
André going to jail. It was exactly what would have happened if they still lived on the islands. At this point, though, she didn’t want anything more to do with André. As long as he didn’t hurt anyone else, she was happy enough for him to go his own way.
She was gathering paper cups into a trash bag when three teenage girls came through the door. “Do you have any more cake, Mom?” a pretty girl with a long black braid asked. She wore a pink top over leggings.
Yvonne gestured toward Celia. “First, I want you to meet Celia. She’s the one who’ll be sharing your room.”
Celia tried her best to smile without showing her missing tooth.
The girl extended her hand and looked Celia in the eyes, not seeming to notice her broken nose. “Pleased to meet you. I’m Vicki. My mom named me after Vick’s Vapor Rub.” Vicki and her mom both giggled.
Yvonne threw her head back, covering her mouth with her hand. “I was new in the country. I didn’t know a lot of American names. The cake’s in the cabinet beside the refrigerator.”
The girl turned toward the cabinet, got the cake out, and left. But her friend, a pretty girl with cocoa skin, still stood there, watching Celia. Her shy smile seemed familiar. “I knew a Celia once,” she said, her words hesitant, and Celia immediately recognized her voice.
“Flora!” Forgetting all about her missing teeth and her smashed-up nose, she leaped across the room to envelop Flora in a hug. “I’ve missed you so much.”
Flora hugged her back, long and hard. She seemed unwilling to ever let go.
For the second time that week, tears rushed down Celia’s cheeks, but this time, they were tears of joy. She couldn’t believe this was happening. It was like she’d regained a sister, and from the tight grip around her waist, she could tell that Flora felt the same way.
Flora reached to wipe her tears away, sliding her finger under the purple gash on Celia’s cheek. “You look like you’ve been through hell. What happened?”
She didn’t know what to say. She couldn’t stand to think that Manny and Joana might find out that she had been stupid enough to marry a man who beat her, and that she’d stayed with him long enough for him to destroy her face. How could they ever understand why she let it all happen?
“Come sit down, Flora,” Yvonne said. “Tell us how you know each other.”
Flora perched on the edge of a chair as Yvonne poured her a cup of tea. “We lived next door to each other on Fogo island before the volcano erupted.”
“Yes,” Yvonne said. “Celia and I were just talking about the volcano. It’s so sad what happened.”
Flora smiled at Celia. “Those were good times—before the volcano erupted.” She raised her eyebrows in a teasing way. “Celia used to be the prettiest girl in the village.” The words used to be stung, but they were the truth. Celia could never make her scars disappear, and it would cost way too much to ever fix her nose and missing tooth. “Then the volcano erupted and my mom dragged me to Santiago, and we lost touch with each other.”
Celia cleared her throat. Flora hadn’t said anything about Manny. “How is your family?” She wasn’t sure she was ready to know what had happened to Manny. Surely, by now he would have found another woman to love.
“They’re fine,” Flora said. “I can give you their address. Right now, we’re not getting along, so I haven’t talked to them for a few days. I’m living with my boyfriend.”
Yvonne and Celia exchanged glances at this revelation. Flora hadn’t been so disrespectful to her family when they lived together on Fogo.
“Your family doesn’t know where you are?” Yvonne asked, her tone serious.
“I’m fine. My boyfriend’s a nice guy, and he has more money than everyone in my family put together. He’s funny and—” Flora’s words broke off, and she stared at Celia, who ran her hand over her belly. She opened her mouth wide. “Are you pregnant?”
Celia giggled and nodded.
“Oh, I’m so jealous,” Flora said. “I want a baby so bad.”
Celia froze. Then she quickly masked her worry. Flora may have wanted a baby, but what she needed was a mother. Celia couldn’t tell her that, though, and apparently neither could Manny or Joana. She wasn’t even living with them. It was up to her and Yvonne to help fix this problem, and with Flora having a boyfriend, it was better to fix it now. Celia forced a closed-lip smile. “You’ll be a great mother some day.”
“Yes, you will,” Yvonne echoed. “Hopefully, five or more years from now . . . after you’ve gone to college.”
It probably seemed that Yvonne and Celia were ganging up on her because Flora got up from the table in a huff. Celia reached for her arm. She took a deep breath, wishing she could tell Flora that all men weren’t like Manny, but she knew Flora would never understand. The best she could do was to be her friend.
“What happened after you left the island?” Celia asked with a smile. “Tell me everything.”