Delia's Crossing by V. C. Andrews
“He came crashing through that window just like in the movies or something,” Delores said.
“Shut up about it, already,” Sophia said. “The more you talk about it, the more chance you’ll screw up and we’ll be accused of something.”
“She’s right,” Alisha said. “Let’s not talk about it, especially at the Roadhouse. Someone might overhear.”
“He got what he deserved,” Sophia added. “End of story.”
“Can you imagine the look on Jana’s face, though?” Trudy asked.
They all laughed.
“Especially if they were right in the middle of it,” Delores said. “This might ruin her love life for some time,” she added, and they laughed harder.
I looked out the window. How could they laugh? How quickly my wonderful night had turned sour. What happened to the fiesta? What happened to my visit home?
We pulled into the parking lot of the restaurant. I did not want to get out and go in, but they insisted.
“Remember, we stick together,” Sophia told me. “If any one of us gets into trouble, you get into trouble, get it, mi prima?” she said, poking me in the chest with her right forefinger. “C’mon. I’m hungry.”
I followed them in. The excitement did seem to stimulate their appetites. They all ordered sundaes. I didn’t want anything, but they made me order some coffee.
“And don’t look so glum,” Sophia warned.
“She means don’t look triste,” Alisha said.
Don’t look sad?
My aunt had forced me to do something so provocative with my cousin Edward that he no longer liked me and even thought I was deceitful and promiscuous. He now believed that he might have lost his eye defending someone who didn’t deserve it, which made him feel worse and made me feel absolutely horrible.
My cousin Sophia had tricked me, lied to me, used me to get revenge on her old boyfriend and might very well have gotten a very nice young man and his family into trouble. At the very least, they surely would not want me around them anymore.
Who knew what had happened to the girl they called Jana?
All of these things were directly or indirectly caused by my arrival, and I was not to look sad?
“You’d better keep her locked up for a while,” Trudy told Sophia, eyeing me. “I don’t like the way she’s acting.”
“Don’t worry about it. She knows if she does anything stupid and gets us into trouble, my mother would make life so miserable for her she would wish she were dead,” Sophia said.
I stared at the cup of coffee and said nothing. As if they had already forgotten about what had just happened, they started to talk about an upcoming Sweet Sixteen party a girl named Ashley Piper was having in one of the big hotels. They went on and on about their clothes and the boys they hoped to see there.
They devoured their ice cream sundaes, Sophia eating all of hers first and then dipping her spoon into everyone else’s. When they were finished and had paid the bill, we got back into Trudy’s car. Delores suggested we drive by the house to see if there were any police or anything, but Sophia told her that would be very stupid.
“Besides,” she added, “what house? I have no idea what you’re talking about, Delores.”
Everyone but me laughed nervously. Sophia decided she and I should go home. The plan they set was that if anyone heard anything, she was to call the others right away. Trudy made a turn and headed for my aunt’s hacienda.
“Okay, here’s the story we’ll use right now,” Sophia said when we drove onto the property. “We went to the Mexican house to rescue Delia from what we knew would be a boring party. We spoke to the boys, who were already angry about what Bradley had done. As far as we know, Delia told them everything. We saw them take off in their car, followed them for a while, lost them, and went for ice cream. The waitress will verify it. We don’t know anything else, got it?”
“You’re so wicked, Sophia,” Trudy said, and they all laughed.
“Not as wicked as Bradley Whitfield,” Sophia said. “Or maybe just not as stupid.”
That brought more laughter. I was happy to get out of the car and head into the house.
“Just go to your room,” Sophia ordered after grabbing my arm at the door. “Don’t stop to talk to Jesse if he’s here, and especially not Edward. I’ll let you know what’s going on later if I hear anything tonight.”
I said nothing. I was too numb and tired. I hurried in and up the stairs to my room, where I sat staring out the window into the night. My window looked out onto the front of the hacienda. I saw the lit driveway, the lights on the gates, and some headlights of automobiles passing along the street that ran in front of my aunt’s property. It had become partly cloudy, but there were still stars and some moonlight to warm the dark sky.
I couldn’t stop myself from trembling, even after I was alone in my room. I didn’t know how long I sat there. I did fall asleep for a few moments, because when I opened my eyes, I was confused at first. It was late, and except for the sound of my own deep breathing, I heard nothing.
Just before I was about to rise to prepare for bed, I saw a pair of headlights turn toward the main gate. I watched and then heard a phone ringing. It rang a few times before it stopped, and the gate swung open for the automobile to start up the driveway. Without knowing who it was, I felt my heart begin to race. As the car drew closer to the house, I knew why.
It was a police car.
Doors opened and closed, and I heard footsteps in the hallway. I went to my door and opened it slightly to listen. The front door opened, and I heard the murmur of people talking below. I recognized Señor Garman’s gruff voice. I heard him speak with Jesse, who had apparently spent another night with Edward while Tía Isabela was away and had gone downstairs to see what was happening.
Sophia surprised me. I was looking in the opposite direction and did not hear her approach my door. She pushed it open and shoved me back, closing it quickly behind her. She was in her nightgown and a robe.
“Why are you still dressed?” she asked, her face twisting in pain. “You look like you just got home. Quickly,” she said, turning me around. “Take off those clothes, and put on a nightgown. Hurry!”
I rushed to do what she said while she stood guard at the slightly opened door, listening.
“Someone’s coming up here,” she told me as I slipped into my bathrobe and then my slippers. “You didn’t even wash off your makeup, you fool!”
She grabbed a washcloth and roughly scrubbed at my face.
There was a knock at my door. We both froze.
“Who the hell is it?” she cried.
“Jesse. You’d better come downstairs with Delia right now,” he said. “The Palm Springs police are here.”
“Why?”
“Just come downstairs, Sophia. Bring her. This is very serious.”
She went to the door and opened it to face him. “Why are the police here?”
“They want to speak with Delia,” he said. “And you.”
“Why?” she demanded, putting her hands on her hips.
Jesse looked past her at me. “It’s what they want.”
“I don’t care what they want. My mother’s not home. Tell them to come back when my mother’s home.”
“Don’t be stupid, Sophia. You’d better come downstairs right now.”
“Why? Why is it so important to talk to them now? It’s late. We were both about to go to sleep.”
“Sophia…”
“Tell them that, Jesse.”
“They won’t go away, Sophia.”
“Why not?”
Jesse looked at me. “Because Bradley Whitfield está muerto.”
My heart had already stopped, and the blood had drained from my face. It felt as if the air had been baked around me. For a moment, I couldn’t breathe.
“What the hell does that mean?”
“It means he’s dead,” Jesse said.
Sophia stepped back as if he had spit at her. She looked at
“How could he be? Apparently, someone threw him through a window, and the glass severed an artery. He bled to death before the ambulance arrived.”
“Bled to death?”
“The girl he was with, Jana Lawler, was too hysterical to get to a phone in time.”
“He’s really dead?”
“Yes.”
“Well…”
Sophia looked at me. I was sobbing softly, my tears seeming to pop out of my cheeks instead of my eyes.
“Well…why did the police come here?”
“Jana said four Mexican boys burst in on her and Bradley. She knew one of them. They went to the boy’s home and found out Delia was there and you came with some of your friends. You all left with the boy and his friends. That’s what they know. That’s what the police just told us. Satisfied? I’ll tell them you’re coming right down,” he added, and left us.
“Damn,” Sophia said. She backed herself into the chair at the vanity table.
I leaned against the bedpost to keep myself from falling.
“That Jana is such a moron. Why couldn’t she get to a phone if she saw he was bleeding so badly?” Sophia muttered. Then she looked at me quickly and stood up. “Stop crying like that. You can’t fall apart now, Delia. You have to stick with our story, understand? You remember our story? Don’t say anything else. Make believe you don’t understand anything. I’ll tell them we won’t talk until my mother gets home, understand? Don’t tell them too much.
“Delia!” she said, grabbing my arms and shaking me hard. “Are you listening to me?”
I nodded, but her words were like marbles rolling around in a can.
“You’d better, or you’ll be in very big trouble, very big. You’re not even an American citizen yet. You’ll go to jail, a terrible jail just for Mexicans,” she said.
Could that be so?
“All right. C’mon,” she said, taking my hand. “I’ll be right there with you. Just look at me before you answer anything. Let me do most of the talking. I’ll keep holding your hand. If I squeeze it, don’t answer. I hope you understand, Delia, for your sake more than mine,” she said, her eyes riveted on me and full of threats.
We started down the stairs. As we descended, I saw the two policemen waiting with Señor Garman at the entryway. Jesse had gone back to Edward to tell him what was happening. Señor Garman was in a pair of old pants and an undershirt. He glared at us with such anger I was afraid to get too close to him. Sophia took my hand as soon as we stepped off the stairway.
“What’s going on?” she asked with remarkable aggressiveness toward the police. “My mother is away, and she wouldn’t want us talking to police without first talking to a lawyer, I’m sure.”
“Why, do you think we’re here to arrest you for something?” the taller of the two policemen asked her sharply.
“No,” she said, but she hesitated to step forward.
The shorter policeman, a younger, better-looking man with a quiet smile, nodded at me. “Usted es Delia?” he asked me.
“Sí,” I said. Having him speak to me in Spanish relaxed me a little, but Sophia was shocked.
“I don’t understand Spanish, so…”
“He wasn’t speaking to you. This girl is recently here, correct?”
“This girl is my cousin,” Sophia said.
We heard Jesse and Edward coming down the stairway behind us.
“Oh, crap,” Sophia muttered. “My brother.”
“What’s happening here, Mr. Garman?” Edward asked, halfway down the stairs.
“A young man has been killed,” he said. “The police are here to question your sister and Delia.” He turned to the policemen. “Mr. Dallas was in a bad car accident, and…”
“Yes, we know about that accident,” the taller policeman said.
“What exactly do my sister and Delia have to do with this?” Edward asked. Jesse brought him right up to us.
“That’s what we’re here to find out,” the taller policeman said. He turned to Sophia. “You and your cousin and some of your friends went to the home of Ignacio Davila tonight, is that correct?”
“My cousin went there with Ignacio to celebrate his sister’s birthday, yes, and then I went there with my friends to be sure she was doing all right,” Sophia said, tightening her grip on my hand.
The younger policeman asked me if I knew where Ignacio was now.
“No,” I said.
“What did he ask her? I don’t like her answering questions without an adult here. She doesn’t know anything. She’s not here that long. Her mother and father were killed in Mexico, for God sakes. She’s not over the tragedy,” Sophia rattled off.
“Do you know why those boys went after Bradley Whitfield?” the younger policeman asked her.
She lowered her head. “We don’t like talking about it,” Sophia said. “We’re ashamed of what’s happened.”
“Sophia,” Edward said, “stop it. Tell them whatever you know right now.”
“I am, Edward,” she snapped back at him, and then she turned to the policeman. “We believe Bradley Whitfield took unfair advantage of my cousin.”
“Unfair advantage? What exactly does that mean?” the taller policeman asked.
“Figure it out,” Sophia told him.
The younger policeman asked me if it was true. I looked down and said yes.
“How come no one reported such an incident?” the taller policeman asked. He looked toward Edward.
Everyone was silent for a moment, and then Sophia spoke.
“How come your nose is so long?” she shot back at him.
“Oh, you’re really a smart-ass,” he said.
“She is that,” Edward said. “What do you want to know now, officer? My mother isn’t at home, and we’re all underage, but we’ll try to help.”
“Do any of you know the whereabouts of this Ignacio Davila?”
“We don’t. Sophia, if you know, tell them.”
“I don’t know. We don’t know. Yes, we were at the party, and they were very upset about what Bradley had done to a Mexican girl, especially one so innocent and pure and religious. We heard them say it was time for Mexican justice.”
“They said that?” the taller policeman asked.
“That’s what we heard them say.”
The younger policeman asked me in Spanish if I had heard those words. I had, so I told him. I wanted to tell him more, but Sophia’s grip on my hand was so firm she was stopping the flow of blood.
“Give me the names of the girls who were with you,” the taller policeman told Sophia. She rattled them off. “They were all present when those words were spoken?”
“Yes, they were,” Sophia said, sounding more pleasant.
“And then what happened?” the taller policeman asked.
“They rushed out of the party, and I told my girlfriends we should follow them to see what they would do, but they drove so fast, we gave up and went to the Roadhouse. You can check. The waitress’s name was Christina.”
“How did the Mexican boys know where to find Bradley Whitfield?” the younger policeman asked her.
Sophia let go of my hand and put her arm around my shoulders, drawing me closer to her. “They knew where he violated my cousin,” she told them. “Delia is in an ESL class with Ignacio,” she added, which was as much as saying I had revealed it all.
The policemen were quiet.
“Is there anything else, officer?” Edward asked.
“Not for now,” the taller policeman said. “If anyone knows the whereabouts of Ignacio Davila and his friends and does not tell us, he or she could be charged with obstruction of justice. Keep that in mind.”
They thanked Señor Garman and left. The moment they did, Sophia tugged my hand and started for the stairway.
“Sophia,” Edward called to her.
“What do you want?”
“Bradley Whitfield is dead.”
&n
“If you had anything to do with it…”
“What are you, deaf as well as blind right now, Edward? You heard everything.”
“Delia,” he called to me, “is that the truth? La verdad?”
Before I could respond, Sophia tugged me back and stepped between me and Edward and Jesse.
“We’re both very upset, Edward, especially Delia. You can’t see her face, but she’s devastated. Just leave us alone,” she told him, and continued to tug me toward the stairway.
“That was good,” she whispered as we ascended. “I’ll go call the girls. We’ll be just fine. Just as long as we stick together, understand?”
I wanted to let go of her hand. She wasn’t handing me a life line, I thought. She was dragging me down into darker places along with her and her friends. She made me sit beside her in her room while she called each of them and described what had occurred with the police and what she had told them. From the way she spoke, they all sounded absolutely terrified and shocked by the news of Bradley’s death. She ended each conversation the same way: “If you don’t do and say exactly what we planned, you could get yourself and all of us into very serious trouble. We could be accessories to murder or something!”
What did she mean, could be? I thought. That was exactly what they were, and by being cooperative and going along with it all, I was no different.
How far I had fallen from the morning I stood with my parents at the altar to celebrate my quinceañera.
How much farther away would I fall?
Had I crossed too far to the dark side ever to return?
19
No More Lies
Wherever Tía Isabela had gone for the weekend, she was close enough to hear about the events immediately in the morning. She called Sophia, and Sophia came into my room to wake me and to tell me that her mother was rushing home.
“I never heard my mother so upset. She can be worse than the police,” she warned. “So be very careful about what you tell her.”
And then, as if we were participants in some big, national, exciting event, she told me that Bradley’s death was on the front page of the newspaper and on television news already. She was very excited about it.
“Of course, because we’re underage, our names aren’t mentioned,” she added, as if that were something bad.