Chapter 4

Back home, I took the trailer directly to my cargo's destination dock, had it unloaded, and headed for home. Margarita again took refuge in the sleeper compartment. Her presence in the truck wouldn't have been so remarkable as to draw the attention of the truck terminal's crew, but Margarita and I were both still behaving with some caution.

At the house, I parked the rig and called the girl out. We went directly to the house, where I unlocked the door and showed her inside.

"You have a nice house," she said, still speaking to me in Spanish. "Do you have a family?"

"No family," I said. "Just me."

"A nice place."

"Thank you."

"What do you want me to do?" she asked.

"I don't know," I told her. I didn't know. What the hell do you do with a 17-year-old orphan who doesn't speak English?

"Perhaps I could find work?" she said.

"Without English, you will have trouble finding work here. Maybe in a sweatshop somewhere, working for someone who hires illegals."

"Well. I will do what I must."

"I will take you to see my friends, Earl and Carol Turner," I said. "I will ask them what they think you should do. But they have no Spanish. You will need to speak to them in English, if you can."

I called ahead and talked to Carol, who was home with their little pre-school-aged kid, Chrissie. The other two would still be in school at that hour. I told Carol I was bringing someone over with me -- a young girl.

"New main squeeze?" she wanted to know.

"No, no. A young girl. I'll tell you about it when I get there."

It was only two blocks to the Turner house, so we walked. I noticed Margarita's shoes, though, were in pretty bad shape. If we were going to be doing much walking, that would need to change.

And she'd likely need some new clothes, too. Her skirt and blouse were OK, but that was it, for her wardrobe. There hadn't been anything extra around when I'd located those scraps of clothing at the little adobe house in Juarez. As far as I knew, the child wasn't even wearing underwear. I hadn't thought about it, until now. Poor kid. There were a lot of things I hadn't thought about.

Well, Carol would help.

"Carol, this is Margarita Arguello. Margarita, this is Carol Turner, the wife of my partner, Earl Turner."

"Hello, Margarita," Carol said.

"'aye lo," Margarita said, in very basic English.

"Margarita has very little English," I explained. "She has just come here, from Mexico."

"From Mexico! --With you, Jeremiah?"

"Uh. Yes. It's a long story."

Carol looked at the girl with new interest. "I'm sure it is!" she said. "Stay for supper. Earl will be back soon, and you can tell us both your long story at the same time."

"Uh, Carol, do you suppose you might have -- y'know -- a couple of outfits Margarita might borrow? Maybe some old jeans? A pullover shirt or something? Maybe some underwear?"

Margarita wasn't picking up on too much of what was being said, but she seemed a little nervous at the looks she was getting from Carol. I explained to the girl a little of what I had said, in English, to Carol.

Margarita blushed.

With gestures, Carol asked the girl to follow her into the back of the house, to the master bedroom. "You stay here and keep an eye on Chrissie," she told me.

That wasn't difficult. Chrissie knew me, and liked me, well enough, and she was at least past the age of peeing on me while I held her in my lap or bounced her on my knee.

After almost a half-hour, Carol and Margarita emerged from the bedroom. The young girl had showered and a bit of Carol's makeup had been applied, and there was a little beret in her hair. She looked quite lovely -- but younger than ever.

"I'm looking forward to this long story of yours," Carol said. "Starting with how you showed up here with a teen-aged Mexican girl wearing nothing -- and I mean nothing -- but a skirt and blouse!"

"I have no secrets from you," I told her, meaning it. "But, like you said, it would be better to tell you and Earl, together."

"I'll start getting our supper," Carol said.

When Earl showed up, he, too, was intrigued by our unexpected visitor. But by that time, the whole family was there, and the two boys occupied their parents' time and attention. Until the adults -- all three and a half of us -- had a chance to be alone, explanations would have to wait.

Carol (who, God love her, is an excellent cook as well as near-perfect in most other ways) served us a first-class dinner. Leaving it to the boys, Albert and Roy, to clean up the after-dinner dishes, we adjourned with Chrissie to the front room, got comfortable, and, over beers for Earl and me and iced teas for Carol and Margarita, I told the whole story.

I didn't leave anything out, including how and why I had ended up meeting Margarita in the first place. As I knew they would, Carol and Earl sat and listened, without interruption, as the whole story unfolded.

"I didn't know you were paying for it, these days," Earl said when I had finally wound down.

"We didn't have sex," I said.