Los Angeles, Nogales, June 1928
Changes
Lola had made her decision.
“Please come with me, Mara,” she begged.
“I can’t, Lola. I can’t travel right now.” I was debating whether or not to tell her. Her only pregnancy had ended tragically, and I didn’t want to bring back bad memories.
“Please, Mara!” She sounded miserable. “I can’t do this alone.”
“You won’t be alone. Your mother is going with you.”
“But I need you, Mara. You’re like a sister to me.”
Sooner or later, she’ll have to know, I thought. I took a deep breath. “I haven’t told Gabe yet, but I’m expecting,” I said simply. “I can’t travel.”
She put down the sweater she was holding and looked at me. The color had drained from her cheeks. “Ex-expecting?” she stammered. “A baby?”
“What else would I be expecting, Lola? The trolley?”
She hesitated a moment. Then she burst into smiles and pulled me close. “Congratulations, mi amor! That’s wonderful! Finally, I’ll be an aunt!”
“Not only an aunt, but a godmother!”
She hugged me again, but I could tell she was struggling to contain the tears. I’m sure it wasn’t that she resented my pregnancy, not at all. I believe she was truly happy for me. But it must have hurt. This was the one area of her life where she felt she’d failed. After all, back then, a Mexican woman—especially a woman of Lola’s background—was expected to marry and have children, not nurture a career. Doña Antonia had made it very clear that she wanted to be a grandmother, but Lola hadn’t been able to make that particular dream come true. And now her marriage...
I watched her fold each piece of clothing carefully and place it in the suitcase. A black-and-tan Egyptian-patterned knit suit with a pleated navy skirt, a silk Georgette dress with embroidered sleeves, an ankle-length chemise dress, assorted shoes, gloves, and cloches.
“I tried, Mara. Truly I did. We took a vacation, the way Mami suggested. We went to Hawaii. But then, Jaime insisted on bringing back three ‘houseguests’—men half his age who hung around the pool with him during the day and at night...who knows? At least he was in a better mood than before. As soon as they were gone, he left for New York. He needed some space, he said, at least, for a while. That’s the last time I saw him.”
I understood. I didn’t judge Lola harshly anymore. Doña Antonia had grasped the reality of her situation long before I had.
“They’ll be here any minute!” called Doña Antonia.
“I’m all packed, Mamá.”
“Está bien. I’ll have Alfredo get the bags.”
Poor Lola, I thought. Despite all her success... She was staring at the wedding ring lying on the dresser. She gathered it up and wrapped it in a handkerchief, then tied it with a ribbon and put it in a drawer. She bit her lip to steady her chin. Soon they’d be on the road to Nogales, a border town part in Arizona and part in Mexico, known for divorces. She and Doña Antonia would go in one car, driven by Alfredo. Harry Wilson, her press agent, and Gunther Lessing, Edwin Carewe’s crackerjack lawyer, would ride in another. Lessing would plead “incompatibility.” She wouldn’t stay to hear the final declaration.
Within a week, she would be a different person. She would no longer be a married woman, and the dream that had blossomed in the breast of a sixteen-year-old bride less than seven years before would be shattered for good.