Tanya’s behavior should be blamed on Tanya herself, not Aurora. That had caused more strain in the family and the marriage in particular.
Finally Aurora had decided to stay away from them all, save for birthdays and holidays—and then only if she was invited. Her parents made new friends in Arizona, Dorian and Gerald closed ranks, Tanya was forbidden to associate with her aunt, and Aurora had sadly realized that her need for independence would continue to cost her dearly.
I don’t care, she told herself daily. If I had it to do over again, I would. She’d known how she wanted to spend her life since she’d first learned to swim. When opportunity came, she’d begged her parents to let her join the Florida salvage team—a group of divers she’d met at a dive site she frequented in those days. They’d refused. She knew she might never have another chance like this; she knew she was ready.
Mom and Dad saw me as a child, but even then I was an adult. I was sure what I wanted. After all these years, why can’t they understand that? Or at least forgive me? Must they spend the rest of their lives blaming me for all the family’s problems?
I love them. I always have. And now I’ll probably be blamed for Tanya’s ending up in jail. And everyone wonders why I keep to myself.
But this was one time she couldn’t run away—one time she couldn’t ignore her ties to family.
I’m the only one left to help—if I can.
Tijuana Women’s
Jail One hour later
THE RADIO STATION blared Spanish rush-hour reports as Aurora pulled into the bumpy, potholed parking lot at the women’s prison. Dirty diapers and ant-covered fast-food wrappers littered the ground, while rusting vehicles of dubious colors crowded the lot. Aurora climbed out of her shiny, late-model truck with her diving and salvage-service logo and phone number painted on the sides. She carefully locked the doors, but as added insurance held a five-dollar bill in the air. Instantly she was surrounded by a swarming horde of Mexican boys of various ages and sizes.
Aurora let the largest of the bunch push his way through, and gave him the money. “Another five if I come out and my truck is still safe,” she said in smooth, California-school Spanish.
“Sí, señora—señorita,” the boy correctly substituted, obviously noticing no wedding ring on Aurora’s finger. “Truck, tires, all safe,” he said in English.
“Antenna and windshield wipers, too,” Aurora added, pushing through the throng of clamoring children. She gave the smaller children a sad smile. Their ragged clothes, dirty bare feet and extremely thin bodies wrenched at her every time. Her heart went out to them. Still, her priority right now had to be her sister, her sister’s family, and their misfortunes—especially with her bank account emptying fast.
Her truck’s Mexican guard snapped out a curt order, and the ragtag bunch of children reluctantly moved away, their dirty, tugging hands leaving smudges on her clean jeans as well as her truck.
Authorities frisking her for weapons and other contraband left more smudges. Aurora went through what had become her Friday-afternoon routine over the past two months, and was finally shown to Dorian and Tanya’s cell. There were no fancy visiting areas to those awaiting trial—just the smell of sweat, urine and fear from both sides of the bars. In fact, Mexican prisoners weren’t allowed out of their cells to visit, the way they were at home.
“Aurora!’ Dorian called out. Aurora rushed to the cell for a hug, despite the bars between them, as her sister asked, “Have you got any news of Gerald?” Dorian ignored Rory’s outstretched arms.
“Nothing yet, but—”
Dorian began to cry, cutting her off. “You promised you’d help.”
“I’m working on it, but it takes time.”
“How much time?” Dorian demanded, her voice starting to break.
“Well…”
“Mom, knock it off,” Tanya ordered. “We can’t hear her talk if you’re bawling again.”
Aurora looked over her sister’s shoulder to her niece. Blond, blue-eyed, pretty—and ever the cynic. Full of teenage attitude. Tanya took after neither of her dark-eyed, dark-haired parents with their law-abiding ways.
“Tanya, please. How are you two holding up?” Aurora asked. She tried to stroke Dorian’s shaking shoulders through the bars, but Dorian pulled away.
“How does it look, Rory?” Tanya defiantly refused to call her aunt. “I’m dirty, my hair’s a mess, the food stinks. I need a cigarette and my mother’s a nervous wreck.” Tanya gently drew Dorian away from the bars, led her to the prison cot to sit. “Wipe your nose, Mom. You look gross.”
Aurora compared the two women as Tanya passed Dorian a piece of questionable-looking toilet tissue from a roll on the concrete floor.
Dorian was tired and far too thin, despite Aurora’s regular deliveries of Dorian’s favorite nonperishable foods. Today she’d brought a bag of trail mix, some juice boxes and chocolate bars, which Tanya grabbed eagerly. Dorian wore a defeatist attitude along with her ill-fitting prison jumpsuit. Tanya, on the other hand, seemed more than just fine. She was actually thriving amid the adversity.
Tanya’s tough—but tough enough to survive life in prison? She’s hard enough to love as it is. What would prison do to that small, remaining lovable part?
Tanya wrapped a thin gray blanket around her mother’s still-shaking shoulders and patted them before returning to the bars.
“Mom needs news about Dad, and better food. She can’t keep down the prison slop. Nerves, I guess.”
“My nerves are just fine,” Dorian said.
“And rodents get into the dry stuff you bring, and she won’t eat it. I’ve made arrangements with her—” Tanya jerked her stubborn chin in the direction of the female guard. “She’s got a sick kid at home. You give her fifty now and twenty a week—and she’ll give Mom more food, extra blankets, stuff like that.”
Aurora gazed into eyes that reminded her so much of her own. “I see that sophomore Spanish course stuck with you.”
“Despite failing it?” Tanya asked flippantly.
“Grades aren’t the only indicator of intelligence,” Aurora replied.
“And what about being in jail, Tanya?” Dorian threw in. “How smart is that?”
For just a moment, Tanya looked like a little girl, then she was herself again. “Shut up, Mom. So, what’s the deal? Any news from the lawyers? Or are they still milking you dry? You know I’ve got registration next month. It’s my junior year.”
“You hope, kid.”
Tanya swore, the ugly expletive at odds with her pretty mouth. “You don’t have everything arranged yet?”
“The lawyers can’t get you out of jail. Neither can the U.S. embassy. You have to go to trial. They’re still working on getting access to the bank funds, but I’m having problems with the power of attorney. And I’m running out of money because I’ve been making your
