2007
Jason looked at the marriage certificate, then back at Mari. “Gene and Vera Stanek are my grandparents’ names.”
“Jason,” Mari said, but she was at a loss for words.
He crossed his arm over his chest, and then put one hand to his mouth, staring at the ground. “They got married in Cook County, Illinois. How old did you say Vera Stanek would be?”
“Eighty-seven.”
Jason stared at Mari, and then shook his head. “My grandmother lives in Naperville, Illinois. She’s eighty-seven years old.”
“But your last name is Doyle. Jason Doyle.” Mari realized how stupid she sounded, but she couldn’t process what was happening.
“Stanek is my mom’s maiden name.”
“Have you seen pictures of your grandmother when she was young?”
“She hates to take pictures. We hardly have any.”
“Here,” Mari said, taking the laptop from him. She typed “Violet Harcourt, 1940” into the search engine and waited for Violet’s beauty pageant image to load. Gently pushing the computer toward Jason, she pointed to the screen. “That’s Violet.”
Jason squinted at the screen. “I can’t be sure. It could be her. Wait . . . no, those are definitely her eyes.” He dropped his head into his hands. “Are you telling me that my grandma was an abused woman? That she had a secret life?”
“I don’t know. You’d have to ask her.”
“She said she grew up on a farm in Oregon.” He once again covered his mouth with his hand. “But . . . she was pregnant. No, that means if it’s her, she was pregnant with . . . my mother.”
He pushed the laptop away. “I can’t—this is too much.”
Mari’s throat was so tight she could barely breathe. It all made sense. Jason grew up in Chicago. He said his grandmother never talked about her life before the war.
“Jason, wait.”
“What?”
She looked at him, wishing she could touch his unruly brown waves. Suddenly she became aware of how much she cared for him.
“Listen, I’m so sorry for dumping this on you. You don’t have to speak to your grandma about this—especially if it would upset her.”
His eyes narrowed. “So you didn’t tell anyone?”
“Not yet. I wanted to tell Carol at the museum, but I haven’t emailed her.”
“Would you mind keeping it to yourself for now?” Jason rubbed his hands through his hair. “Jesus . . . what if Gene isn’t really my grandpa? Am I related to the Harcourts?”
Mari tried to swallow. “I don’t know.”
“That would mean Travis is . . . is what, my cousin or something?” Jason grimaced. “I can’t take this.”
“Jason,” Mari said, her voice wavering. “I’m sorry. I had no idea. Hey, where are you going?”
But he had already wandered out of the room in a confused daze, muttering something about his grandmother.
“Jason,” Mari called after him. The front door slammed shut and she drew her elbows in, pressing them against her ribs. She’d told Jason about his beloved grandmother’s painful past—a past Violet had gone to great lengths to keep hidden—and dropped the bomb that could decimate his family. It was no wonder Violet’s words had shaken Jason. Mari looked again at Violet’s note, her desperate plea for help.
Dear Ricky,
You once told me that if I was in trouble, you were here to help. I am ashamed to admit this, but my life is in danger. As you might have guessed, my husband Charles is a violent man. I fear that he will kill me.
If you’ve found this note inside the jacket pocket of the ladies’ suit I’ve asked Evie to give you, then you are my last hope of survival. Charles will never stop searching for me until I am dead. I’m begging you to help me, so he thinks I have taken my own life.
I’ve sewn this jacket and skirt in your size. There’s a cave just beneath the yellow warning sign at the cliff’s edge on West Cliff Drive (near the intersection of Auburn Avenue). On Friday, September 24th, meet me there at seven PM. Wear these garments and wrap this white scarf around your head. Don’t let anyone see you.
At sunset, I shall jump from the cliff wearing an identical outfit. The moment I land on the ledge below, you must jump the remainder of the way. I recognize I’m asking too much—it’s a thirty-foot drop and the water is dangerous, but you’re the only person I know who can survive the fall.
You once told me you could hold your breath underwater for two minutes. It’s enough time to convince the world I’ve drowned. I can never repay you for my life, but I hope the diamond and sapphire earrings from my grandmother will bring you luck.
Ricky, I admire you so much for following your dreams, and for helping me when I left for Hollywood. My only dream now is to live. I am pregnant with Charles’s child, and I want nothing more than to bring her into the world, safe and sound. I know I’m asking too much, but I pray in my heart you will help me again. Thank you for listening, and for being there, always.
Your friend,
Violet Harcourt
“WHAT TIME IS Jason coming over?” Paulina asked.
Mari sighed. “He’s not coming.”
Paulina set down her tray of enchiladas. “Why not?”
Mari looked at the dinner table, set with their best china. Ma had put so much effort into making a nice family meal.
“I told him something upsetting.”
Jason had texted her after his abrupt exit, to tell her he was flying home to Chicago for a few days. Mari’s stomach knotted at the thought of him confronting his grandmother, but he said he wanted to talk to her in person.
Paulina dropped her voice to a whisper. “Are you guys okay?”
“Yeah,” Mari said, thinking back to the text exchange. Jason had assured her he wasn’t mad, only shaken. “He had to fly back home last minute. He’s really sorry he couldn’t make it tonight.”
Lily came skipping into the kitchen. “Smells yummy! When can we eat?”
Mari smiled at her daughter. “As soon as we say grace.”
Ernesto walked into the room. Her father looked out of sorts. He ran a hand through his hair until it stuck up at all angles, and his eyes had dark circles underneath them. Something was upsetting him—Mari could tell.
“Well, this looks wonderful,” he said, smiling at Lily. But the smile didn’t reach his eyes.
Mari took her daughter’s hand on one side and her mother’s on the other. She closed her eyes.
“Bendícenos Señor, bless this food which through you in your goodness we receive. Bless the hands that prepare bread for the hungry. Amen.”
“Amen,” Lily said. “Yummy, yummy in my tummy.”
As Mari ate, she watched her father. Normally he’d be scooping up extra helpings of enchiladas, flirting with her mom and making Lily laugh. But he was silent at the dinner table, slowly eating the food as if it tasted like cement.
“Where’s Jason?” Lily asked, as if on cue.
“He’s in Chicago.”
“Why’d he go there?”
“He went to see his family.”
“But why?”
“Because that’s where he’s from,” Mari said. “Sometimes people visit their families.”
“We don’t,” Lily said, chewing loudly. “Our family lives here.”
Mari smiled. “That’s right. Aren’t we lucky?”
Paulina had noticed Ernesto’s strange behavior as well, and she reached for her husband’s hand. “Mi amor, is everything all right?”
He looked up, surprised. “Yeah. Fine.”
Now Lily was interested too. “What is it, Abuelo?”
“Nothing,” he said, standing up from the table and taking his plate. “Work stuff.”
Mari watched her father walk into the kitchen. She bit her bottom lip.
“I’m done,” Lily said, pushing her plate away. “Can I play?”
Mari nodded. “Sure. Go ahead.”
As Lily skipped down the hallway toward the living room, Mari picked up her family’s plates and carried them over to the sink. Paulina followed her. Ernesto sat at the kitchen table, his head in his hands.
Paulina placed a hand on his back. “What’s wrong?”
He looked up with bloodshot eyes. “Immigration authorities came by my office today. They asked to see my papers.”
Mari scoffed, heat rising under her skin. “What? But you were born here!”
“Si. They realized they’d received a bad tip. But you know, some of my guys, they’re undocumented.”
Paulina rubbed her husband’s back. “You think ICE will come back?”
He rubbed his face with both hands. “I don’t know.”
Mari swallowed, her heart plummeting into her stomach. What if there was an ICE raid on one of her father’s construction sites? Those workers had families—children to support who’d have no one to take care of them if their parents were arrested.
“Why now?” Paulina asked, her brows drawing together. “Who would tip off Immigration? You’ve been running your firm for ten years.”
He shook his head. “I don’t know.”
“This happened today?” Mari asked.
Ernesto nodded. “I’m going to get all my I-9 forms in order, just in case. But some of my guys, you know, they provide false information.”
“It’s okay,” Mari said, her stomach knotting with the knowledge that it could mean thousands of dollars in fines for her father, and devastating consequences for his undocumented workers. “We’ll contact an immigration attorney. There are nonprofits that your workers can go to and get help.”
Paulina squeezed her husband’s shoulder. “We’ll get through this.”
After finishing up the dinner dishes, Mari gave Lily a bath, read her a bedtime story and tucked her in bed. Then she lay awake, tossing and turning, too anxious to sleep. Her phone pinged with a text.
She smiled, hoping it was Jason, texting her good night. Her stomach clenched when she saw the unfamiliar number—then realized it wasn’t entirely unfamiliar; she had it stored in her phone once, a long time ago.
I told you not to mess with me. Looks like daddy is going back to Mexico.
Mari clenched her phone so hard, she thought it might break. Travis Harcourt had gone too far. Angry tears sprung to her eyes. She wasn’t going to take any more of his crap. Two could play at this game.
“I’M HERE TO meet with Mayor Harcourt,” Mari said, straightening her shoulders as she spoke to the mayor’s secretary. She’d put on her best blouse and a pair of gray slacks and black flats—the closest thing to business attire she had.
Like the days when she functioned on less than three hours of sleep during Lily’s first year, Mari had woken up this morning with superhuman strength. She would channel her hurt and anger into action.
“Do you have an appointment?”
“No,” Mari said. “But this is urgent.”
The woman disappeared down the hall, and then returned, a smile on her face. “He has fifteen minutes before his next meeting starts.”
Mari followed the woman down the hall, grateful Santa Cruz was small and community-oriented enough that she had the opportunity to speak with the mayor in person. Taking a deep breath, she followed the secretary through a glass door into Mayor Harcourt’s light-filled office.
“Good morning,” he said, standing up from his chair.
Mari shook his hand firmly. “Good morning.”
“So,” he said, smiling. “How can I help you?”
“Do you remember me, from the museum booth at the Beach Boardwalk Centennial Celebration?”
“Yes,” Mayor Harcourt said, his eyes twinkling. “I knew you looked familiar. You sold a record number of raffle tickets.”
“Right,” Mari answered. “I’m a resident of Beach Hill, and I’ve collected signatures from over forty neighbors opposing the Cowell Beach condominium development. Not only will the condos change the character of the beach, but also the historic gazebo will be destroyed. We’re not okay with this.”
Mayor Harcourt nodded. “I understand your concerns. But the developers have agreed to shorten the condominium construction from eight stories to five, so views won’t be obstructed. Beach access will remain public. And the building will be in compliance with all of our green building standards—one hundred percent eco-friendly.”
“That’s great,” Mari said, looking down at her hands. “And I appreciate all the effort the developers have put into meeting our community needs, but you see, the gazebo has a special significance to me.”
Mari reached into her purse, removing a drawing of the gazebo that Lily had made. In pink and purple crayon, it showed a couple holding hands underneath the gazebo roof. Up above, she’d drawn stars in blue, and thanks to Jason’s story, a flying unicorn.
“My daughter is four. She drew this picture of her great-grandparents dancing at the gazebo. Their names were Ricardo and Maria Cruz. It was where they met, and where they had their wedding reception. It’s a special place to our family.”
Mayor Harcourt smiled as he stared at the drawing. Then his brown eyes met hers. He waited silently, listening—really listening.
Mari took a deep breath, and then let it out.
“Back when Mexicans were characterized as gangsters—you know, with zoot suit riots and all that—the gazebo was a safe space. Oftentimes, Mexican Americans were denied entry to traditional dance halls and venues, where they wanted to hold quinceañeras or wedding receptions. The owners would make up reasons why they couldn’t rent the space, but there was no reason other than racial discrimination.”
He sighed. “Have you thought about contacting local preservation groups? They might be able to help shoulder the costs of relocating the gazebo. Of course, you’d have to purchase a new plot of land for it.”
Sure, they could go through the trouble of figuring out how to relocate the gazebo, and make everyone happy. But this was personal.
“No,” Mari said. “The gazebo belongs where it is.” Her heart began to thud again and her hands trembled as she prepared to drop the bomb. “The reason I’m here, though, isn’t the gazebo. It’s your son, Travis.”
The mayor raised his eyebrows. “You know my son?”
“I do. We shared a history class at UC Santa Cruz.”
Her hands shook as she reached into her purse, pulling out the envelope from the DNA testing center where she’d submitted Lily’s hair and Travis’s gum.
“And he’s the father of my daughter.”
The mayor laughed, then looked at her as if he’d been splashed in the face with a bucket of cold water. “I’m sorry. What did you say?”
Mari pushed the envelope toward him. “We spent the night together in college, the summer of our graduation. He had a big party at his house on West Cliff Drive. He said you purchased it for the water polo team.”
The mayor’s face drained of color as he pulled the paper from the envelope and looked over the series of letters and numbers. At the bottom of the page in bold it stated: Probability of paternity: 99.9998%
His eyes narrowed. “How did you get this?”
“Travis spat out a piece of gum and stuck it on the table at the city council meeting,” Mari said, a sharp edge to her voice. “I submitted it with some hairs from my daughter’s hairbrush. I’m sorry to go to such extremes, but, you see, I told Travis he was going to be a father four years ago. He wanted nothing to do with Lily.”
Mayor Harcourt let out a deep breath, and then rubbed his eyes. He turned to Mari, the friendliness in his voice gone. “Why should I believe your story?”
“I understand. It’s a shock. Listen, I have a year’s worth of emails that I sent to your son, with pictures of Lily attached. I begged him to meet her, told him I would take full financial responsibility, I just wanted her to know her dad.” Mari’s voice broke on the word “dad.” She covered her mouth with her hand.
The mayor reached for a box of tissues and pushed it toward her. His eyes softened. “Take one.”
Mari did. Then blew her nose. She laughed at the ridiculousness of the situation. “Honestly, I wasn’t ever going to tell you about her. But then Travis threatened my father. Immigration authorities showed up at his construction firm.” She pushed her cell phone toward the mayor. “Here, look at this text message.”
His eyes widened, and then narrowed.
Mari smirked. “Is that how you want your son treating people? By the way, my father is a U.S. citizen.”
The mayor said nothing. His jaw set in a hard line. He’d recognized his son’s phone number. Sure, she could have faked the text message, but Mari hoped the mayor could tell she being was one-hundred-percent honest.
Eventually, he cleared his throat. “Santa Cruz is proud to be a sanctuary city. We don’t want any of our residents to feel unsafe here.”
Mari stood up. “Your son has made it clear he wants no involvement in my daughter’s life. But he needs to leave me alone. If my father’s construction firm receives any more threats, or visits from ICE, I’ll be contacting you.”
As she turned to leave, Mayor Harcourt looked shell-shocked.
“Wait.”
Mari turned around. “Yes?”
“Here’s my personal email address,” he said, frowning as he scribbled on the back of a business card. “If you could forward me those emails where Travis said he wanted nothing to do with . . . his daughter . . .”
Mari nodded. “Of course.”
She took the business card from him, exhaled a deep breath and stepped away from his desk. Mayor Harcourt’s cheeks colored. “Can I keep the drawing?”
“Sure.”
The mayor might not be ready to accept that he was Lily’s grandfather, but Mari already felt lighter. She’d told the truth. And right now, that was all she could do.