terrible thing to us?” He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter what you intended or didn’t intend, Delia. The result is my son is in a terrible place, and there is nothing I can do for him. Nada. ”
“All I ask, Señor Davila, is that you please, please, tell him I didn’t mean for this to happen. When you see him again, will you ask him to write to me?”
“Why?”
“Why? I’d like…to…”
“To do what? Haven’t you done enough to this family? Go back to your wealthy friends. Leave us be.”
He turned away from me. Santos had kept his head down the whole time and now lifted it and looked at me with the same anger that was in his father’s unforgiving face. Only Ignacio’s mother had any warmth for me, but she was too frightened to say or do anything. She simply shook her head.
“I’m sorry,” I said. I put a slip of paper on the small table under the picture of Jesus. “This is my address now. I am at Señor Ray Bovio’s hacienda. ”
Ignacio’s father looked up sharply. “The man whose son died on the boat?”
“ Sí. ” I imagined it wouldn’t be long before they found out why. “I am pregnant with his son’s child.”
Ignacio’s father stared coldly a moment. “Please, get out of my home,” he said.
I stood a moment and then turned and hurried out, pursued for what I feared would be the rest of my life by the terrible pain and anger in Señor Davila’s eyes.
“Where to now, Miss?” Stevens asked.
“Just back,” I said, and turned to stare out the window. I said nothing more and barely moved until we had arrived at the Bovio hacienda. Stevens hurried around to open the door for me, and I charged up the steps and entered the house.
Señor Bovio was right there, waiting. He took one look at my face and shook his head.
“Look how you have upset yourself,” he said. “Come into my office now,” he added authoritatively.
I followed him down the corridor to his large, beautifully furnished office. He had a cherrywood desk with matching paneling on the walls and a slate floor. The room was bright because of the big windows and French doors that had a western exposure. There were two walls of bookshelves, an entertainment center, and an area with computers and printers. Two dark-red leather sofas were on the right and left of the desk, and there were matching chairs in front of the desk. I saw the pictures of Señora Bovio and various political figures and celebrities on the wall, where he had also hung pictures of Adan. There was an entire section of wall covered with movie photos from the films in which Señora Bovio had starred.
“Sit, Delia,” he said, and then sat behind his desk. “Why did you go to see the Davila family?”
I was on the verge of crying, but the fact that he was aware of every move I made angered me. “Am I to bespied upon constantly, treated like a prisoner? I warned you about that when you came to see me at the clinic,” I replied.
“I am not treating you like a prisoner or spying on you. I am only watching over you. I do not take my responsibilities lightly, and for now, your health and welfare are my responsibilities. Look,” he said, taking a different, softer tone, “if you tell me what’s bothering you, I can see about helping you. If I don’t know, what can I do for you? It bothers me that you are obviously so upset.”
I shook my head and looked away. “There is nothing you can do, señor. ”
“Are you so absolutely sure? I am a man of great means, Delia.”
“You know what happened in Mexico, señor . I’m sure mi tía Isabela has cried about it on your shoulder many times, told you how I embarrassed the family and nearly ruined her good name and reputation.”
“ Sí, and…”
“And I do feel guilty and responsible, but not for her. I feel terrible for the Davilas, especially Ignacio’s parents. They are suffering so much.” Tears bubbled under my eyelids. “I will never get their faces out of my mind.
“All I ask, Señor Davila, is that you please, please, tell him I didn’t mean for this to happen. When you see him again, will you ask him to write to me?”
“Why?”
“Why? I’d like…to…”
“To do what? Haven’t you done enough to this family? Go back to your wealthy friends. Leave us be.”
He turned away from me. Santos had kept his head down the whole time and now lifted it and looked at me with the same anger that was in his father’s unforgiving face. Only Ignacio’s mother had any warmth for me, but she was too frightened to say or do anything. She simply shook her head.
“I’m sorry,” I said. I put a slip of paper on the small table under the picture of Jesus. “This is my address now. I am at Señor Ray Bovio’s hacienda. ”
Ignacio’s father looked up sharply. “The man whose son died on the boat?”
“ Sí. ” I imagined it wouldn’t be long before they found out why. “I am pregnant with his son’s child.”
Ignacio’s father stared coldly a moment. “Please, get out of my home,” he said.
I stood a moment and then turned and hurried out, pursued for what I feared would be the rest of my life by the terrible pain and anger in Señor Davila’s eyes.
“Where to now, Miss?” Stevens asked.
“Just back,” I said, and turned to stare out the window. I said nothing more and barely moved until we had arrived at the Bovio hacienda. Stevens hurried around to open the door for me, and I charged up the steps and entered the house.
Señor Bovio was right there, waiting. He took one look at my face and shook his head.
“Look how you have upset yourself,” he said. “Come into my office now,” he added authoritatively.
I followed him down the corridor to his large, beautifully furnished office. He had a cherrywood desk with matching paneling on the walls and a slate floor. The room was bright because of the big windows and French doors that had a western exposure. There were two walls of bookshelves, an entertainment center, and an area with computers and printers. Two dark-red leather sofas were on the right and left of the desk, and there were matching chairs in front of the desk. I saw the pictures of Señora Bovio and various political figures and celebrities on the wall, where he had also hung pictures of Adan. There was an entire section of wall covered with movie photos from the films in which Señora Bovio had starred.
“Sit, Delia,” he said, and then sat behind his desk. “Why did you go to see the Davila family?”
I was on the verge of crying, but the fact that he was aware of every move I made angered me. “Am I to bespied upon constantly, treated like a prisoner? I warned you about that when you came to see me at the clinic,” I replied.
“I am not treating you like a prisoner or spying on you. I am only watching over you. I do not take my responsibilities lightly, and for now, your health and welfare are my responsibilities. Look,” he said, taking a different, softer tone, “if you tell me what’s bothering you, I can see about helping you. If I don’t know, what can I do for you? It bothers me that you are obviously so upset.”
I shook my head and looked away. “There is nothing you can do, señor. ”
“Are you so absolutely sure? I am a man of great means, Delia.”
“You know what happened in Mexico, señor . I’m sure mi tía Isabela has cried about it on your shoulder many times, told you how I embarrassed the family and nearly ruined her good name and reputation.”
“ Sí, and…”
“And I do feel guilty and responsible, but not for her. I feel terrible for the Davilas, especially Ignacio’s parents. They are suffering so much.” Tears bubbled under my eyelids. “I will never get their faces out of my mind.
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