A Waiting Game
A flash of light pops through the sky and distant drumming crescendos just outside the back window, shaking the glass and startling the baby. Her little body shudders and settles back into sleep in the travel bed that has become a permanent fixture in the living room.
The front door flies open and Andy and Danny stomp in with Roger and Father Mike at their heels. The noise level rises with the testosterone. I place a finger to my lips, shift my eyes toward the little hand that has shot up out of the baby bed and glare a warning at the horde of Huns advancing toward the living room.
“I got through to Mom.” Danny peels off his dripping jacket and tosses it through the door to his bedroom where it lands on a pile of laundry.
Still in their coats, Father Mike reaches out and pats my arm as he follows Roger to the coffee pot.
Andy slips out of his rain gear and arranges it neatly on the coat tree. He joins Valerie by the baby bed, circles his arm around her waist and pulls her to him to kiss her cheek.
“We got a lot done this morning.” Andy grabs a hold of the little hand waving in the air. “I started the paperwork for both boys to apply for citizenship. It’s a long process, so best to get moving.”
This is chaos. My eyes meet Valerie’s. We are like two referees trying to agree on how to call a play. She holds up her hand.
“Whoa, gentlemen; one at a time, please. Let’s sit down and take turns. Mom goes first.”
Valerie scoops Miren out of her bed and settles into her rocker, adjusting clothing and blankets so she can nurse her squirmy child. Roger and Mike take the cue, remove their coats and sit on the couch, scooting forward in the deep cushioned seat. I perch myself on the arm of the sofa while Andy turns up the gas in the fireplace and takes a seat by Danny on the low tiled hearth.
“Okay, it appears that the Dolds brought Lukas home about an hour ago. A TV news truck was parked in front of their house, waiting for them but we managed to avoid talking to them.”
“We?” Andy raises an eyebrow.
I explain what I saw and the diversion I created that allowed the Dolds to slip into the house without a confrontation.
Roger pats my knee.
“Why haven’t we heard from the police?” Valerie shifts Miren to her other breast. “Wouldn’t you think they owe us some sort of explanation?”
Father Mike clears his throat. “I think you will hear something very soon. A detective has already been to see Councilman Schwartz.”
I frown and ask him how he knows that. Only then does Father Mike tell us he has been meeting with Walter for a number of weeks.
“You never mentioned that. Why?” Father Mike drops his chin and cocks his head at me and then I get it. “You’ve been counseling Walter?”
All eyes are on Father Mike. He sits up straight and sighs. “I had hoped that the events surrounding Scott’s death would have been sorted out by now. I think they have, but that information has to come from the police. Walter has asked me to arrange a meeting between him and all of you. He wants to talk to you.”
The hairs on my arms stand up. I shift position on the rough fabric arm of the chair and sparks literally fly. “He knows what happened, doesn’t he.”
Father Mike gives a slight nod of his head. “Most of it, yes, but you need to hear the truth from the police or from Walter. I’d like to bring him by the house this afternoon.”
R
My stomach is in knots. Father Mike has gone back home, promising to return later in the afternoon with Walter. Is this a good idea? And where is home for Father Mike these days? On semester break from the seminary, he plays golf with Roger, canoodles with Laura, and now it seems he’s been getting cozy with Walter. My world is like dice in a cup. I shake the cup, drop the dice, and one set of numbers comes up. The next round a whole different set of numbers come up. Too much is happening all at once.
Andy and Valerie have slipped down the hallway to their room with Miren. Roger is in the kitchen making sandwiches. I slide off the sofa arm into the seat, brace my back against the back cushion, and stretch out my legs. Only Danny is left in the room with me. Danny! I never asked him what Alaya said. I look over at my nephew.
Puffy has sneaked into the room and flopped over in front of Danny, her prodigious stomach on display. Danny pokes at her gently while the cat twitches from side to side in a mock attempt to snag his finger.
“Danny, I’m so sorry. What did your mother say?”
“About?” A teasing grin spreads across his face. I meet his expression with a contrite smile and fold my hands in my lap, a promise to listen.
“Well...,” he stands up and comes over to sit beside me. I turn and look into a face bright with hope. Maybe we’ve rolled a seven come eleven at last.
“It’s mostly good news, I think. I honestly thought Dom was going to spend the rest of his life in jail. Ever since the ETA declared their mission was independence from Spain at their first assembly, which was a couple of years ago, there has been dissension over strategy and tactics. Even though support for independence is high, the support for violence is low. But when the Spanish government came down so harshly on the movement they stirred things up. I’m not making excuses for what my brother did, but his motivation was a deep love for our land.”
“I believe that.” I put my hand over Danny’s. “But how is it that he is free?”
Danny shrugs. “My dad paid someone. That’s all I know.”
I let this sink in for a minute. “What happens now?”
“Dad is taking Domeka to somewhere in South America where he has friends. Then he will come back. Alone.”
A stab of pain pierces my heart. My sister is losing both her boys. “How is your mother taking this, Danny?”
“Bravely.”
“Should you go back? Should I go with you?”
Danny swallows. “No, Aunt Dee. Mom and I agreed that my life is here now. Jobs are scarce in Navarra. The opportunities are here.”
History repeats itself. Danny’s grandfather Alonso, my father, fled the United States back to Navarra because he was at the scene of a murder caused by a deadly conflict between oilmen, cattlemen and sheep herders. The sins of the father... But Alonso was guiltless. Not entirely. Iban and Alonso were profiting from an activity that caused economic chaos, driving up the price of real estate so the oil companies could hold the land until they were ready to drill. Alonso took the fall, went home, and ultimately profited. Iban stayed in the United States, and profited. What did it profit my sister and me? We were torn apart when our parents split us up. Still, we have both done well.
“Will your connection to this situation stand in your way?”
“It shouldn’t. The ETA is strictly a local movement. No Basques in this country support this kind of violence. Americans aren’t the kind of people who believe a person should be condemned for his family’s activities. I learned that in my citizenship classes.”
My eyes widen.
“I started classes six months ago.”