Page 69 of There Once was a Dancer
I frowned. “They’re waitin’ for somethin’ to happen, boss.”
“That’s what we think too.”
“Maybe someone’s comin’ to the States from Peru,” I postulated, yawning again.
“That’s one possibility we’re looking into.” Candy glanced at Mickey before nodding toward the door. “We should get going and let Rex get some sleep.”
“Yeah.” Mickey stepped forward and held out his hand. “We’ll let you rest, Rex.”
“I’m sorry, guys. These pills knock me on my ass.”
“No problem, Rex. We understand,” Candy said, shaking my hand. He looked awkward for a second. “Do you…uh…do you want me to help you into bed?”
I shook my head. “I gotta learn how to do it on my own but if you would stand next to the chair, that’d help.”
He gave a sharp nod. “Of course.”
I rolled the table out of the way and moved the chair to the bed where Candy moved into place. He stood close as I pushed myself up and held my arm as I transferred to the bed. Afterward, he helped position my legs and then pulled the covers over me.
“Thanks, Candy.” I looked at Mickey. “Thanks for the food, buddy.”
Mickey smiled. “Anything for you.”
I watched Candy tuck the file folder under his arm and waved to them as they left the room. I glanced up at the ceiling tiles I now knew better than the back of my own hand and sighed. When I closed my eyes, I pictured Cachi’s face the way I always did, just before falling asleep.
Chapter Seventeen
CACHI
The days spent in the FBI’s safehouse passed slowly. Since I’d always worked two jobs, it was difficult to do nothing. I was used to being active, and being faced with idleness took a lot of getting used to. I threw myself into working in the garden outside, slowly but surely making the overgrown space into a place where my family could sit and enjoy the summer evenings. Camarillo, California had a mild climate and the backyard of the house was high in the hills and north facing, meaning that it had a nice view of the rolling hillsides planted with rows and rows of crops.
I set up hummingbird feeders and went to work on an old redwood table and chairs, sanding, staining, and varnishing them so they’d be useful. When it cooled down, my tio would cook carne asada on the grill and we’d eat outside. After finishing my hard work each night, I’d go outside, usually with a strong cup of coffee, and gaze out over the hills while I thought of Rex.
I missed him like crazy and no matter how I tried to put him out of my mind, it was not possible. Every time I got a visit from one of the FBI guys, I asked how his recovery was going. I just couldn’t help myself. I hung on every word, wanting to know if he was starting to get feeling to the lower half of his body back. The longer time went on, the more I fretted that the paralysis would be permanent but felt better that everyone was still hopeful Rex would fully recover.
I spent a lot of time with my mamá on those summer evenings, listening to her chatter about her favorite characters from the telenovelas that she and Carlotta watched every day. They worked side by side in the kitchen, always preparing extra food just in case someone from Rex’s team came to visit. They often sent them back with containers of leftovers which I prayed would make it to Rex. I really wanted to send messages to him, but Mamá told me I shouldn’t. She said Rex was trying to concentrate on his recovery, and when I took the time to examine that truth, I knew she was right about not being a distraction.
The secure laptop the FBI had given us, was a lifeline. I spent time looking up everything I could about recovering from bullet wounds and paralysis. It was torture, but in my opinion, very necessary to know.
I prayed a lot as well, though, before Rex’s attack, I’d only spent time in church when I took Mamá to Mass. It wasn’t something I needed after I’d realized I was gay, since most organized religions looked down on homosexuality. The Catholic church was more tolerant of gay people now, but I still never felt completely at home when I went to Mass. Much to my mamá’s dismay, I gave up going to confession too, years ago. But every Sunday, we attended an online service in Spanish which appealed to my family. It wasn’t the same but it was for our protection.
One evening, almost eight weeks into our stay at the safehouse, Marcello came to visit us. I hadn’t seen him since that last day in the hospital when Rex had sent me away, so I was very happy to see him. I’d just gotten out of the shower and walked down the hallway when I heard him talking to Mamá and my heart sped up. I raced into the living room as he hugged her. They broke apart and Marcello wore one of his broad smiles.
“Hey, Cachi. It’s so good to see you.” He opened his arms, and I rushed into them, hugging him back, comforted by the solid feel of my friend.
“Is good to see you too, Marcello.”
“Long time no see,” he said as he looked me up and down. He reached up and tousled my damp curls. “You look good.” I nodded and for a few seconds, we just looked at each other. We’d been friends a long time, so the drawn out silence of simply staring at each other felt strange. Somehow, knowing that he was an FBI agent, made me feel almost timid around him. We hadn’t talked about how he’d become an agent.
“You look good too, Marcello.”
“Cachi, I make coffee,” Mamá said, wearing a wide smile. “Marcello, he bring you present.”
I looked over my shoulder and smiled at her. “Gracias, Mamá.” I watched her disappear into the kitchen and glanced back at Marcello. “You bring me present?” I was so hopeful it was a letter or a message from Rex, but when my friend didn’t reach into his pocket and pull out an envelope, all hope of that faded. Instead, he nodded and turned, walking back to the foyer where a square object sat on the tile floor. It was covered by a drape of some sort. I followed him, stopping as he bent to pick it up. I realized there was some sort of handle beneath the drape. He held it out to me.
“Here you go. I thought you might like them.”
I took the object, noticing it weighed almost nothing. “What it is?”
