A Dispersed Family

 

A Dispersed Family
by Dave Wright

Jeremy Espero drove with his eyes flickering on the rear-view mirror as he drove south of Socorro, New Mexico on Highway 85. A tornado had left his hometown of Helton, Minnesota, in shambles, but also laid bare his fears for the future. His young wife Maria, an undocumented immigrant, clung to the door of their rusty Ford pickup. Their eight-month-old son, Toby was strapped in the car seat between them. A refurbished ‘65 KenCraft camper trailer, a wedding gift from Jeremy’s Uncle Bill, trailed behind them.

The young family fled Helton after the tornado leveled the packing plant where Jeremy’s father, Juan had been working. The city had applied for federal disaster relief, but officials from Immigration and Customs Enforcement arrived in town before FEMA. Juan was certain that ICE would track down immigrants and send them back to Mexico.

Jeremy was also on the run from his former employer, Harvey Bull who had publicly accused Jeremy of arson. Harvey’s auto repair shop had been spared the devastation from the tornado—only to have been looted and burned to the ground in the chaos that followed. Harvey claimed to have seen Jeremy at the arson site in a grainy security video.

Jeremy was one of those guys who let life happen to him. He was as compliant as a teacher’s pet, but a firm believer in the shortcut. In high school, when he was assigned Great Expectations, rather than reading the Dickens classic, he made casual acquaintances with Pip, Estella, and Miss Havisham by skimming SparkNotes.

Jeremy was a free spirit content to allow fate to have its way with him. Planning ahead was not his forte. Rather than plotting their escape ahead of time, he drove south on the only major highway out of town and bought a Rand McNally the first time the gas gauge plunged to E.

Maria liked this about Jeremy, who she had met a couple of years before the tornado turned their lives upside down.

Maria had the shimmering black hair of a raven and eyes as observant. She had a bronze complexion and a slight build—barely topping five feet. Her striking beauty was marred only by a dime-sized mole on her left cheek and a crooked scar on her upper lip.

The scar had been with her since she was a toddler. She had fallen against an end table after running from her mother, Valencia, a short-tempered but hard-working Latina who had threatened her with a fly swatter for not eating her peas. Valencia was reluctant to take her to the emergency room for fear that their questions could lead to her being considered an unfit mother. Her neighbor was a veterinarian who offered to stitch up the laceration. Before he injected the local anesthetic to the stoic child, he warned, “Remember, Valencia. You get what you pay for.” The result of the free surgery was a perfectly functional mouth, but one that left Maria with a self-conscious habit of holding her left hand over her mouth whenever she smiled.

Like Jeremy, Maria believed in serendipity. What would be, would be. She imagined herself as a Bohemian artist who rejected convention and believed that in order to produce fine art, she first needed to experience the joys, sadness, and challenges of life. Jeremy became a perfect companion to satisfy her wants and needs. He was never demanding, never manipulative, and was always willing to allow her to explore her passion for art—and he happily overlooked her unshaved armpits and facial imperfections.

In return for Jeremy’s nearsighted generosity, Maria encouraged him to explore the mysteries and natural urges of the human body. As often happens with the unprepared—and the serendipitous—Maria lost track of two consecutive monthlies. When she shared the news with Valencia, the two of them beat a path to Jeremy’s doorstep to demand a proposal.

Jeremy answered the door with a deer-in-the-headlights expression.

“Yes. Of course.”

A hastily arranged wedding was planned. Had Maria’s father, Manuel, been present, he would have been guarding the foyer of the Catholic Church with a loaded Remington. Alas, Manuel was absent from the celebration because eighteen years earlier when Maria was four years old—the same year of Maria’s run-in with the end table—he became a victim of the ICE raid at Grinders Meat Packing plant. Federal agents burst into the plant, gathered all the workers in the cafeteria, and sent Manuel to Mexico without being able to say goodbye to Maria or Valencia. They hadn’t seen him since.

Jeremy’s father, Juan, attended the wedding, but he shared Valencia’s disappointment with their children. “I scrimped and saved for that kid,” he told Valencia. “I set aside a small fortune so he could get an education. I wanted him to go to college, to make something of himself. Now look at them—their future side-tracked by what? Lust? Passion? Love?”

Juan understood their situation, but that didn’t mean he approved. As he sat sweating in his ill-fitting suit, he thought of how he had gotten himself into a similar predicament that led to Jeremy’s birth years ago when he worked at a turkey farm in Central, Minnesota.

Juan, like Valencia, was an undocumented immigrant from Mexico. He fell in love with a fair-skinned local and asked the young lady to marry him. She accepted but they kept their engagement secret. Several months later, Juan’s fiancé found herself in Maria’s situation. They wanted to get married quickly, but her father forbade it. Juan was Latino, and his daughter was not. Jeremy’s mother—never having been named in Jeremy’s presence—offered to have an abortion, but Juan begged her not to. He said he would take care of the child. The woman’s parents—devout Catholics—sent her away for several months. When she returned with Jeremy in her arms, she tearfully turned the baby over to Juan. As part of the arrangement for Juan to take custody of Jeremy, his mother’s father insisted that Juan leave town with Jeremy and never return.

Juan left Central and got a job at Grinders Meat Packing plant in Helton. Since Juan was a single father, he had to find someone to care for Jeremy. Juan befriended Bill Knock, an imposing but kind brick of a man with tightly kinked gray hair who had just retired from the plant as a custodian and maintenance engineer. Bill liked kids and offered to assume the role of Uncle by taking care of Jeremy while Juan was at work.

Bill sat by himself in the back of the church during the wedding. He thought of how Juan had barely escaped the ICE roundup that sent Maria’s father back to Mexico. In a rare stroke of good luck, Juan had called in sick that day. Bill needed to run to Sioux Falls to pick up parts for a car repair, so Juan was responsible for day care and was not at the plant. Some days are luckier than others, he thought, but sometimes it’s up to us to make our own luck.

As one of the few Black men in Helton, Bill found it useful to have taken up jujitsu as a young man. He offered community ed classes to local youngsters, which was particularly popular with kids who had been bullied in school.

Bill’s Pride and Joy was his vintage, cherry red ‘59 Cadillac Eldorado, a vehicle he had resurrected from a heap of rusted metal during the first two years of his retirement.

Bill was well aware of the stereotype of a Black man who drove a Caddy, so he usually drove around town in a Ford Fiesta. But he still wanted to be able to take his Pride and Joy for an occasional spin around town without fear of harassment. He needed to make a powerful statement—a message that this car was not to be tinkered with.

The first Friday night after he had completed the renovation of his car, he drove it slowly and conspicuously along Helton’s Main Street drag. He rolled down the windows and was not surprised to hear the catcalls of “Pimpmobile,” “Ghetto Cruiser,” and other derogatory racist slurs. He parked in front of the county courthouse, locked the doors, took a stroll around the block, then hid behind a clump of lilacs next to the front steps. He pulled his phone from his pocket and set it to video-record…and waited.

It wasn’t long before the expected group of hoodlums arrived and surrounded the car. One of the shaggy-haired kids removed a key from his torn jeans. The moment the first tiny scratch appeared on the door, Bill was on top of the kid. He held him in a crushing guillotine chokehold with one arm, and with the other he dialed 911. The poor kid who Bill set up as an example to the community was the mayor’s son. He wheezed and struggled for about ten minutes until the black and white police car arrived.

Bill released his grip on the lad, turned him over to the police, and showed them the video. Bill demanded a public apology that would appear on the front page of the local newspaper in return for not pressing charges. Bill left the nick on the side of the passenger door as a deterrent to other potential vandals.

Jeremy spent most of his formative years with Bill who tried to teach Jeremy the basic moves of jujitsu, but as it required practice and discipline, Jeremy was not a receptive student. He appeared to be a far more receptive groom.

“I do,” said Jeremy.

“I do,” said Maria.

“May your marriage be blessed with children,” said the priest.

Seven months after the wedding, Toby forced himself into their world like a nine-pound bowling ball. When Maria’s pelvic-numbing pain had eased and her sense of humor returned, she nicknamed her son Gordito (Little Fatty).

Up until the time Toby was born, Jeremy had enjoyed sole proprietorship of Maria’s supple breasts. However, once Gordito had gotten the hang of dining in, he attacked Maria’s engorged and sensitive breasts with the vengeance of Attila the Hun. Suddenly, Jeremy was relegated to the steward of the feast, a goblet of Merlot in one hand and a hot towel in the other.

Jeremy turned off New Mexico State Highway 85 and onto a single-lane gravel road surrounded by sagebrush. It was almost dusk. The San Mateo Mountain Range loomed in the distance. No one can find us here, thought Jeremy.

He glanced at the map next to him and said to Maria, “Springtime Campground should be at the end of this road.”

Springtime is a tiny campground in the Cibola National Forest, which lies in the middle of the Apache Kid Wilderness. No cell service. Four-wheel drive recommended to get there. A long way from anywhere.

Maria surveyed the bleak landscape surrounding them. “You wanted to find someplace remote,” she said, “and it looks like you’ve found it.”

“We’re out here for you—to protect you from ICE,” said Jeremy defensively.

“Not only me,” she replied. “We’re also out here because Harvey Bull and his gang of thugs are after you. We both watched the newscast where Harvey accused you of arson.”

Harvey Bull, a self-righteous man with the disposition and physical features of his surname, had taken refuge from the tornado in his concrete fortress—Bull’s Auto Repair Shop. When the torrential rain let up, Harvey stepped outside to survey the damage. He was surprised and excited to proclaim, “Now, ain’t I a lucky bastard!” His shop was one of the few buildings that had escaped the destruction of the tornado.

It only took a few hours for his luck to hit a pothole, and the looting started. Somebody broke into the shop, stole most of his tools, and set the place on fire.

Being a sour, spoiled lemon himself, and always one to squeeze circumstances to favor the making of his lemonade, Harvey used the grainy video to his advantage.

This disaster may as well settle a score or two, thought Harvey. He never liked Jeremy, but he had been blackmailed into hiring him.

It was all because Jeremy’s father had overheard a stupid conversation while sitting on the toilet in the plant. One of Juan’s co-workers said that he needed a hit of cocaine. A guy in the stall next to Juan whispered that Harvey Bull peddled crack in the back of Bull’s Auto Repair Shop.

Harvey didn’t give a crap about who knew about his lucrative side business. All the people who needed to know, knew, and all those who were not supposed to know, knew enough to keep their mouths shut.

If it hadn’t been for Juan’s friend at the Helton Daily, one of the few people in town who was not on Harvey’s payroll, Harvey would have squashed Juan like a pesky mosquito. At the time however, it had been easier to hire Jeremy than to deal with the inconvenience of Juan’s threats to expose his business publicly.

There was also the matter of Jeremy’s Uncle Bill, a stubbornly honest competitor who undercut Harvey’s prices. What did Bill need the money for anyway? thought Harvey. He’s getting fat on social security and a Grinders Meat Packing pension.

Bill Knock repaired cars at little to no cost—particularly if he knew the people were in tough shape. He’d only charge for parts, and even then, he’d give them credit. Who gives credit nowadays, anyway? All Harvey’s business was COD.

Harvey gleefully discovered that the fire could extinguish the three hot embers that burned his butt like a hemorrhoid—Jeremy, Juan, and Bill.

“Neither of us were safe after that newscast,” said Jeremy as his knuckles whitened on the steering wheel.

“I know you weren’t anywhere near the auto shop that night,” said Maria, “You were with me.”

Jeremy gritted his teeth and shook his head. “Yeah, but would anyone believe you?”

“Exactly,” said Maria bitterly. “Why would anyone believe me?”

A shallow ravine with a trickle of running water cut the road in half. A poured concrete pad in the streambed served as an alternative to a bridge. “If I take it slow,” said Jeremy, “I think we can make it through that stream.”

He put the truck in four-wheel-drive and eased down the slope. As he started to climb the other side, the trailer hitch bottomed out with a foreboding scrape.

Maria gripped the door tighter. “Are you sure?”

Jeremy said nothing but drove ahead. As he pulled the trailer through the gulley, the trailer hitch left a deep scar in the concrete.

“Maybe we should turn around,” said Maria.

“Aw, we’ve made it this far. Let’s keep going.”

Two miles farther, another trough cut through the winding road—this one deeper and steeper than the last. Jeremy got out of the truck and Maria rolled down her window.

“I wonder if there’s another way around this ravine,” said Jeremy. “I don’t dare try to drive through. I’m afraid the camper will get hung up halfway across.”

“Told you,” said Maria.

He stared at the road on the other side of the gulley. He pointed to a grove of trees across the way. “That’s Springtime Campground.” He kicked a stone in disgust. “We’ll never make it.”

“We passed another little road earlier,” said Maria. “Maybe that leads to another crossing.”

“May as well give it a try but I’ve got to back up.”

Toby woke up and started to whimper.

“Can you take him out and watch while I turn around?” said Jeremy. “I don’t want to hit any rocks.”

“Toby needs to be changed anyway,” said Maria. “I’ll spread his baby blanket on that rock while you start to back out of here. Then I can direct you.”

After snaking along the narrow road in reverse, Jeremy found an open area where he could turn around. Maria and Toby joined him in the cab, and they retraced their route for about a half mile. “There,” said Maria pointing to a large boulder on the east side of the road and couple of ruts running in a westerly direction. “That’s the road I saw.”

Jeremy turned left and followed the dusty path for about a mile. “This should do,” he said. “We’re off the main track, and the river’s not too far away to get water.”

“Is it legal to camp out here?” said Maria, “Or is someone going to come by and kick us off the land?”

“It’s legal,” said Jeremy. “It’s called dispersed camping. Anyone can camp for free in national forests or on Bureau of Land Management land. Unless there is a sign specifically forbidding it, you just have to pick a spot that’s more than a mile from a conventional campground.”

“It’s not like you to research something like that ahead of time,” chided Maria.

Jeremy blushed. “I didn’t…Uncle Bill explained it to me as soon as he handed me the keys to the camper and told us we’d better leave town. He thought we might need a camping spot that’s off the grid.”

Jeremy parked the trailer on a level piece of ground, set out the solar panel to recharge their batteries, and placed a couple of collapsible lawn chairs next to the door of their 25-foot KenCraft. The door of the trailer opened into a kitchen area. A table with bench seats was to the right of the door. Directly in front of the door was a two-burner gas range and a counter with a built-in sink. Below the range was a gas/electric-powered refrigerator, and above it was a microwave. A compact bathroom was to the left of the door, and to the far left beyond the kitchen was a queen-sized bed.

The exterior was made of white aluminum with a splash of blue on the lower half. On the front of the trailer, above tandem propane tanks, a window opened to light the kitchen table. Another couple of windows in the rear of the trailer lit the bedroom area.

For the next several weeks, the camp became an idyllic respite from the fears that plagued them in Helton. Maria had taken plenty of art supplies. She filled her sketch books with drawings and spent her days playing with Toby. She painted desert landscapes while studying composition and light as the sun shifted over the mountains. Jeremy took Toby on long walks to search for pebbles, sticks, and other treasures or carried him on his back in his kid-carrier. Every couple of days he drove the Ford to the river to collect drinking water, and once a week he pulled the trailer away from their camping area to empty their holding tanks. Life was good.

By the end of the third week, they were running short of supplies. Jeremy invited Maria to ride along to Socorro, but she declined, saying she preferred to take Toby into the hills and practice her plein air painting. Jeremy left early in the morning with the shopping list, their bags of garbage, and an empty propane tank. Toby had been up early as well, so Maria packed a lunch and her art supplies, and traipsed up the foothills to catch the sunrise.

About mid-morning, Maria noticed a car approaching on the dusty road leading to Springtime Campground. But instead of continuing toward the campground, it veered right toward their remote campsite. Why was the car going in that direction? It was impossible to see their camper from the road, but it was easily visible from where Maria stood. She looked closely and saw that it was a maroon sheriff’s car. What do they want? Would ICE show up in a sheriff’s car? She had heard about ICE recruiting local law enforcement.

She grabbed Toby who had been playing with a stick near her and hid behind a small shrub. She had taken her phone along hoping to find a signal and to collect ideas for painting. No luck finding a signal, but she had taken a number of colorful sunrise images. She zoomed in and pressed the red video-record button.

The squad car stopped in front of their trailer and an obese man in a tan uniform squeezed from behind the steering wheel. He inspected his surroundings and removed a pair of sunglasses before stepping up to the door. He knocked, waited a moment, lifted his leg as if he were about to kick in the door, thought a moment longer, and lowered his leg. He turned the doorknob and walked into their home.

Maria felt violated. Who was this guy? How did he have the right to break into her home? How would she be able to sleep again? What would she have done if she had been home alone? If she had locked the door, the cheap aluminum frame could have been forced open with a simple crowbar—much less the sheriff’s number nine boot. Her chest tightened as she clutched Toby closer to her. Why did this visitor have to arrive on the only day Jeremy had been gone?

Fifteen minutes later, the man stepped out of the trailer. Maria snapped several more shots as the man looked directly in her direction. He didn’t appear to notice her, and Toby remained mercifully quiet.

Maria waited until well after noon to return to the camper. The sheriff had trashed the place. Every drawer had been opened. Clothes had been scattered over the bed, and the few remaining groceries had been left on the table and counter. Maria snapped pictures of the mess before she put everything back in place.

Jeremy didn’t return until after dark that evening. She tucked Toby into their bed in the back of the camper instead of his usual sleeping place on one of the bench seats next to the table. A cup of tea was getting cold in her hand as she rotated the cup nervously on the table. Finally, she heard the familiar sound of the pickup and saw headlights flash against the window. She peeked through the drawn shades just to be sure.

Jeremy saw the look of fear on Maria’s face—the same expression she had worn when Harvey Bull had publicly accused Jeremy of arson on the evening news.

“What’s wrong?” said Jeremy as he entered the camper holding two bags of groceries.

“We can’t stay here anymore, Jeremy. The sheriff was here and broke into our camper. He ransacked the place.”

She was on the verge of tears when Jeremy sat next to her and said, “Slow down, Maria. What happened?”

Maria explained what she had seen as she sat hidden on the hilltop above their campsite. Then she showed him the pictures she had taken.

“He must have been looking for something,” said Jeremy. “This might explain why he was here.” He pulled a copy of the Albuquerque Press from one of the grocery bags and opened a front-page advertisement:

Sheriff Garth Bellows for Congress:
Stamp out drugs and the Illegals who brought them here.

“Simple platform,” scoffed Maria, “but one that would play well in any redneck community.” She gazed at the picture. “I think that’s him.” She pulled out her phone and opened the shot she had taken of his face, then expanded it for a closer look. “Same fat face. Same scowl. Same pair of aviator sunglasses.”

“The SOB could have been looking for drugs,” said Jeremy. “This desert would be a perfect location for a coke lab.”

“Did he find our cash and ID’s?” asked Jeremy as he transferred the milk, fruit, and frozen goods into the refrigerator.

Maria wiped a tear from her cheek, smiled, and held her hand over her mouth. “No. It was the one place he didn’t dare to look. I’ve been hiding our money and important papers in the diaper pail—wrapped in plastic, of course.”

Jeremy laughed with her. “Well done.”

“I suppose,” reflected Maria, “that it is more likely that he was looking for drugs than for me…but if I’d have been home and answered the door, I’m sure he would have figured out I was undocumented.”

Jeremy hugged her reassuringly but said, “I’m afraid there’s more bad news to report. A headline in the back of the newspaper read, Helton ICE Raid Rounds up Busload of Migrants for One-Way Trip to Mexico.

“Oh no. Not again. Do you suppose Juan was on that bus?”

“I hope not, unless he returned from wherever he had been hiding.”

“He might have been worried about you and returned early,” said Maria.

“I don’t know. He’s probably as concerned about retribution from Harvey as he is about ICE. We’ll find a new place to camp tomorrow. I found a spot a couple of miles west of here that’s closer to the river and farther from the road.”

They could no longer see an approaching car from their new campsite, but every so often a vehicle made a wisp of dust appear on the road to Springtime Campground, Jeremy held his breath hoping it would continue on and not turn west toward their dispersed encampment. One of these days, he thought, their luck would run out.

Their luck held for another couple of months.

“Your art is really improving,” said Jeremy as he flipped through Maria’s growing portfolio of portrait sketches, colorful landscapes, and eerie nightscapes of mountains silhouetted against a starry sky.

“When it’s all you have to do,” said Maria modestly, “I guess you can’t help but get better.”

“I know you wanted to attend the art program at the junior college,” said Jeremy. “I’m sorry that Toby’s arrival stopped all that from happening.”

Maria’s silence told him that she was sorry too.

“I need to know from someone else if my art is any good,” said Maria. “Teachers can do that.”

Jeremy shuffled his feet despondently. “How about taking a hike into the mountains tomorrow? I’ll bet the view will inspire you to make another painting. We can pack a lunch, and I’ll carry Toby on my back.”

“I suppose…” said Maria. “Maybe a diversion will do us some good.”

Jeremy drove their truck toward Springtime Campground. They passed a neglected corral made of steel pipes that was overgrown with weeds. In the middle of the corral was a dried-up water trough. A hundred yards beyond the corral, they crossed a cattle grate, then parked at the first campsite. It was situated on a flat spot beneath a sparse grove of red pines. A picnic table made of poured concrete overlooked another dry creek bed.

Jeremy pulled a map from his pocket and pointed to San Mateo Peak. “This is the hike I was thinking of. It’s close to nine miles, round trip, but I’ve heard there’s a place to rest at the top.”

One campsite appeared to be occupied on their way to the trail head at the end of the small campground. No one was home but a light blue Honda Civic was parked next to a nylon tent, and there had been a recent fire in the fire pit.

Maria and Jeremy, with Toby on his back, began the trek up the mountain on a narrow path strewn with broken shale. On either side of the path were patches of blue-stem grass, scraggly shrubs, and an occasional yucca plant. A couple miles into their walk, they met a young man who was sitting on a log gazing at the view of the valley below. He had dark, wavy hair, a two-day-old beard, and a rugged complexion.

“Hi there,” greeted Jeremy. “You must be the person with the Honda.”

The young man smiled and offered them a seat next to him. “Yes, I’m Gary,” he said. “I like coming out here to get out of the city.” He turned his face away from them. “Look at that view. Isn’t that spectacular?”

Jeremy and Maria followed his gaze and were greeted with a vista of rolling, pine-covered hills and sharp mountains lost in the mist. Jeremy strained his eyes. “Is that the Bosque Del Apache bird refuge in the far distance? It looks like a river.”

“That’s right,” said Gary. “The place is loaded with waterfowl during the winter months. The migration from the north will begin in a couple of months.”

“Jeremy,” said Maria. “Do you mind if we stop to rest while I paint? It’s a beautiful panorama.”

“You’re an artist?” said Gary. “I was just about to have my trail lunch. Do you mind if I watch you paint?”

“Not at all,” said Maria as she pulled her suppies from her bag.

Jeremy and Gary ate sandwiches, and Toby gummed a Graham cracker while Maria painted. Jeremy wiped the crumbs from his mouth and opened his phone to a collection of Maria’s earlier work. He proudly showed them to Gary. “Isn’t she something?”

“You’re very good,” said Gary to Maria. “Do you have a place where you show your paintings?”

“No,” laughed Maria modestly as she held her hand over her lip. “I don’t know if anyone besides Jeremy would like to see them.”

Gary flipped through the photos of the paintings, then looked over Maria’s shoulder. “You have an amazing knack of capturing emotion in a landscape. Not everyone has that ability.”

“Thanks,” said Maria. “I appreciate your kind words.”

“Do you have a card?”

“Ha!” laughed Maria. “I don’t even have a credit card.”

Gary pulled a spiral notebook and a ballpoint from his shirt pocket. He handed it to Jeremy. “Here. Write down your address and phone number. I may have a contact for you.”

Jeremy paused and gave Maria a nearly imperceptible nod—No! It wouldn’t be safe to share any information with a total stranger.

“We’re vacationing and a long way from home,” said Jeremy, “so our address won’t do you much good.” Then he quickly changed the subject. “Do you know what the path is like if we continue up the mountain?”

“You’ll like it up there,” said Gary. “There’s an abandoned fire tower and an old cabin where the crew stayed while they were on duty.” Then he looked at Maria’s painting again. “Well done,” he said. “I look forward to seeing your work in a gallery sometime. So long.” The young man headed down the path while Jeremy and Maria continued up.

“Bye,” said Maria reluctantly. She jammed her sketch book into her bag, grabbed an apple from the lunch bag, and took a vicious bite. There goes a missed opportunity.

The weather had turned hot and humid overnight, and they started up the trail in shirtsleeves. They walked with a light step thinking of the compliments that Gary had given Maria.

“See what I told you, Maria? You’re a good painter. You were looking for someone else to judge your work, and here he was in the middle of the wilderness!”

“Yeah?” said Maria. “Then, why wouldn’t give him our contact information?”

“I don’t trust anyone, Maria.”

Maria sulked as they worked their way up the eastern face of the mountain where the trees had become charred from a forest fire several years earlier. The fire had scorched the earth with so much intensity that the soil was sterilized to where the trail was no longer visible.

Maria had become as weary from walking as she was with Jeremy. “Why do you always have to be so…spineless?”

“Spineless! I’m just trying to…”

“Did you marry me because it was the easiest thing to do at the moment?” interrupted Maria, “or did you do it because you love me?”

“Come on, Maria. Why would you say such a thing?"

“I know it wasn’t the best circumstances—me being pregnant and all—and you gallantly offering to take care of me and Toby.”

“I’ve told you a million times that I love you.”

“It’s just…you know, you always do what’s easiest at the time.”

“After you told me you were pregnant,” said Jeremy, the irritation rising in his voice, “I knew that the baby would be my responsibility. I’ve seen too many kids from single parents who spend their lives missing a parent who isn’t there for them.”

“See?” she said as the scar on her lip turned an angry purple. “It’s all about being responsible. That’s not love. That’s guilt.”

Cinders puffed beneath his boots as Jeremy stomped ahead. The trees overhead resembled scorched skeletons. Toby, having slumped to sleep, bobbed his head with each forceful step.

Over his shoulder, Jeremy said, “I don’t know what more I can do to prove that I love you, Maria. I can’t change who I am.”

Jeremy wandered among the burnt tree stumps, looking for evidence of the lost trail. Maria stumbled after him. Not far ahead, someone had placed a cairn of rocks at the opening to a small meadow.

The fire tower that Gary had mentioned stood in the middle of the meadow. A rectangular look-out shelter at the top of the tower was connected to the ground with a series of zig-zag ladders. To the left of the tower was a small cabin with a rusty corrugated roof. An eves trough, once used to collect fresh water for the rangers, clung precariously to the roof with bent wires. The windows were shuttered but the door was left ajar.

“It like the previous residents had left in the fall and simply hadn’t returned,” said Jeremy. The room smelled of mice and mildew. A nonfunctional woodstove was tucked into the corner. A short table covered with an oily gingham tablecloth was littered with acorns. Rickety cabinets chipped with yellow paint sat next to the stove. Two sets of bunk beds lined the walls, a couple of which still held moldy mattresses folded on tarnished springs.

“Must have been a couple of bachelors living here,” observed Maria dryly.

They stepped outside to inhale a breath of fresh air. While they were in the cabin the wind had shifted and taken on a chill. In the west, a bank of dark clouds moved swiftly in their direction. The clouds had been hidden from view as they were hiking up the eastern side of the mountain, but now they bared down on them with flashing lightning and booming thunder. Toby woke and began to scream.

“Let me take him,” said Maria. She lifted him from the kid-carrier on Jeremy’s back as fat raindrops poured from the sky, sending the family back into the protection of the cabin. Jeremy kicked away a small mound of acorns on the floor in a futile attempt to tidy the room. As he spread out one of the mattresses, a mouse scurried from behind the stove and sat on its haunches as if waiting for a treat. Toby stopped crying as he stared at the mouse.

Trying to lighten the tension, Jeremy quipped, “The place comes with its own pet.”

Maria did not even smile.

The rain pelted the metal roof through the afternoon and into the night as the family huddled on the filthy mattress.

“I don’t want to spend the night here,” said Maria. “You’ve put Toby and me in danger…again.”

“I’m trying my best, Maria,” growled Jeremy as he checked his watch. “It’s getting late. I don’t want to spend the night here either, but I don’t think we have a choice. It wouldn’t be safe to walk the path in the dark—especially if it’s muddy.”

Jeremy wiped off the gingham tablecloth with his handkerchief as if that might sanitize the table to Maria’s liking.

Maria rolled her eyes. “Is there any food left?”

Jeremy rummaged through the pack. “Looks like your sandwich, a couple of oranges, three Oreos, and a package of Grahams.”

“I’ll take the sandwich and a cracker for Toby.”

“I’m not hungry,” said Jeremy miserably. He unfolded the moldy mattress from the upper bunk, swept off the dust, and pulled out rain ponchos to use as bedding.

Maria stretched out onto the lower bunk, nursed Toby, and snuggled with him until he fell asleep. Jeremy leaned over to give her a kiss, but she turned her back to him. “I’m tired of your adventures, Jeremy. Next time, go on your own.”

Jeremy climbed to the top bunk and listened to the rain pound on the metal roof. A drip landed on his face. When he shifted to a new position, another drip found its mark. He pulled the poncho over his head. Goddamn water torture.

As he struggled to get to sleep, he imagined the rangers who had occupied the bed before him—those rugged, muscular, and confident young men donned in sharp forest service uniforms. How different they must have been from him. They had a plan for their lives. Here he was—inadequate, indifferent, and wandering—a gutless boy with a wife and son who had begun to despise him.

The next morning the rain had stopped, and the family began the slippery walk down the mountain. No one spoke until they reached the overview. Far below was Springtime Campground. Jeremy’s pickup was still there, but the creek had flooded. The water was at the edge of its tires. Gary’s Honda had been replaced with a black Humvee. Two men leaned against the door smoking cigarettes.

“Gary must have left the campground before the storm,” said Jeremy, “but I don’t like the look of that Humvee.”

Maria followed his gaze. “I’ll bet they’re ICE officials.” She looked closer. “I think they’ve got guns!”

“You wait here with Toby,” said Jeremy. “I’ll go ahead and see who they are. I’ll wave if the coast is clear.”

Jeremy hurried down the path as Maria watched from the rocky outcropping.

When Jeremy approached the Humvee, one of the men, a lean, dark-complexioned man with slick-backed hair looked at a photograph from his pocket. “You’re Jeremy Espero.”

“Yes. So?”

“Harvey Bull sent us. You set fire to his repair shop.”

“That’s a lie,” said Jeremy, “and he knows it.”

The other man, much shorter but with the look and hardness of an anvil laughed. “That’s a matter of opinion, and Harvey’s opinion is the one that counts.”

“How did you find me?” demanded Jeremy.

“Harvey knows that your daddy set aside a tidy sum of money for your college education,” said The Anvil with the gravelly voice of a smoker, “and he is close friends with the president of the bank where the funds are being held. He called Harvey with a tip, letting him know when and where you made a withdrawal. That led us to Socorro, New Mexico.”

“We’re here to make you an offer,” said the tall one who reminded Jeremy of Ichabod Crane.

“Oh? What’s that?”

“Harvey thinks that your college fund might be just enough to cover the damage to his business.”

Jeremy fumed at the indiscretion of the banker. “And what if I don’t accept his offer?”

“Harvey also knows your wife is undocumented,” said Ichabod with a sneer. “We’ve been in touch with the local sheriff who is eager to make a name for himself by turning in those people.”

“Those people?” repeated Jeremy. “Did the local sheriff tell you where we were?”

“Let’s just say he’s been very helpful,” laughed The Anvil. “By the way, where is your bride?”

Jeremy paused, then said, “She and Toby are at our camper. I came out here for a hike and got caught in the storm.”

The Anvil’s eyes softened into a bright smile. “I hope she’s ready for company.”

“All we need is access to your account,” interrupted Ichabod. “Once we transfer the money, you can be on your way.”

Jeremy’s thoughts were muddled. Juan was furious that I didn’t plan to use the money for college, but he gave me access to the funds anyway—even after he found out Maria was pregnant. He’ll be even more upset to find out that Harvey has stolen the hard-earned savings he gave to me…but what choice do I have?

He watched The Anvil flick a cigarette butt into the rushing stream.

“I’ll need to stop at our campsite for the account number so that I can make the transfer,” said Jeremy.

“I’m sure Maria will be happy to see you,” said Ichabod. He looked at the Ford, then gestured to the Humvee. “Your pickup will never make it across this river. Have a seat.”

“Let me grab a dry sweatshirt from the pickup,” said Jeremy. He ducked his head in the cab and scrawled a quick note to Maria: DRIVE HOME!

The Anvil pulled Jeremy from the front seat of the pickup and pushed him roughly into the backseat of the Humvee. Then he climbed aboard the passenger seat next to Ichabod. As soon as The Anvil slammed the door, the Humvee with its high clearance crossed the rushing stream easily.

As they approached the road leading to their dispersed campsite, Jeremy was pleasantly surprised to see a double taillight peek above the boulder that marked the intersection. It’s hard to hide a cherry red ‘59 Cadillac Eldorado in the desert, but Uncle Bill managed to disguise his Pride and Joy under a dust-colored tarp.

“Take a left here,” said Jeremy. “Our camper is about three miles down this road.” Jeremy smiled for the first time in two days as he thought about Uncle Bill driving the only vintage Caddy on earth fit with a trailer hitch. These boys are in for a surprise.

When they arrived at the dispersed campsite, a squad car was parked in front of the camper.

“Looks like Sheriff Bellows beat us here, just as we expected,” said Ichabod.

“I’ll go in first,” said The Anvil. “I expect Garth is just about finished with his interview with the lovely Maria.”

“I’ll be right behind you,” said Ichabod. “You wait here till we ask for you,” he said to Jeremy.”

When The Anvil stepped inside, he found Sheriff Bellows gagged and his hands tied behind his back, sitting on the bed at the far end of the camper.

“What the…” stammered The Anvil as Uncle Bill, who had been sitting quietly just inside the door, used his jujitsu skills to slap him into submission with a bent armlock followed by a blood chokehold.

“Hello, Vido,” said Bill. “Fancy meeting you here.” He pulled Vido’s pistol from its holster and set it on the far end of the kitchen table. “I see Larry’s here too. Tell him to come in and set his gun on the floor.”

“I…I can’t breathe,” stammered Vido.

Bill released his chokehold a fraction. “Tell him!” snarled Bill, his sense of humor no longer present. He quickly released the chokehold on Vido, replaced it with a bent armlock, and secured his wrists with a heavy-duty zip strip. “Now, move to the back of the camper and sit down next to your friend, the sheriff.”

When Larry deposited his pistol on the floor beneath Vido’s legs, Bill kicked it beneath the table and out of reach.

Jeremy watched from the back seat of the Humvee with a smirk on his face. As Ichabod stood in the doorway to the camper and stooped over to set down his gun, Jeremy got out of the car. “Are you in there, Uncle Bill?”

“I’m here, son,” called a familiar voice. “Wait outside while I restrain these outlaws.”

In the next moment, Bill grabbed the long-legged Larry by his collar and jerked him into the camper. He forced Larry to the floor, pulled both arms behind him, and cuffed him with another zip strip.

“Okay, Jeremy. It’s safe to come in.”

Jeremy peeked inside the camper door to see his uncle in command of Sheriff Bellows, The Anvil, and Ichabod. “Uncle Bill! Do you know these guys?”

“Sure do. Their names are Vido and Larry. They’re wanted in connection with smuggling cocaine.”

“I’m not surprised,” said Jeremy, “but how did you find us?”

“Never mind about that,” said Bill. “I’ll tell you later, Where’s Maria?”

“She’s over at Springtime. I left a message that she should drive home as soon as the water goes down. She can’t cross the flooded creek in our pickup.”

“You ought to go back and get her with their Humvee,” said Bill. “I’ll wait here until you return. Then I can explain.”

Maria and Toby had watched the altercation between Jeremy and Harvey’s thugs from their perch overlooking the campground. She still assumed they were ICE officials, but didn’t understand why Jeremy was forced into the Humvee and then taken away across the rushing creek.

As soon as the Humvee drove out of sight, she hiked back to the pickup and found Jeremy’s note. How am I supposed to “Go Home” if I don’t have a key? Jeremy had taught her how to hot-wire the pickup, but she may as well wait until the water went down. She sat Toby in the front seat, gave him the last Graham cracker, and closed her eyes.

She was snoozing when she heard the black Humvee approach. She was about to snatch Toby from his seat and run back into the woods when she was relieved to see that it was Jeremy in the driver’s seat.

The reunited family arrived at their campsite to find Sheriff Bellows in the passenger seat of his squad car while Vido and Larry shared the back seat.

“Uncle Bill, how did you find us?” shouted Maria as she leaped from the Humvee with Toby in her arms.

Bill hugged the two of them and replied, “I noticed that Jeremy used an ATM machine in Socorro, New Mexico. Juan gave me Jeremy’s account information, hoping that it might help me to find you. It was the first time I had any idea of where you were. We were both worried sick.”

“So, you drove from Minnesota all the way to Socorro to find us?” asked Maria.

“That’s right,” said Bill. “When I got to Socorro this afternoon, I knew you were camping, so I stopped at the post office and asked if there were remote campgrounds in the area. The woman behind the desk said that people sometimes camped at or near Springtime Campground. She let slip that she was friends with Sheriff Bellows and that he had been patrolling the area looking for illegal immigrants. I asked for directions, and she sent me here.”

“On the drive out here,” he explained, “I noticed a patrol car was following me. I hid the Caddy behind the rock at the intersection and waited to see where the sheriff was going. Instead of passing me and going toward Springtime Campground where your truck was parked, he turned right. Thinking that Maria was more likely at the campsite than with you in the truck, I left the car and followed him on foot.”

“When I got to your camper, I found the good sheriff inside digging through your things.” Bill laughed. “He was particularly surprised to see a Black man at the door. I asked him if he had a signed warrant to enter a private residence. Instead of producing the document, he made the mistake of attacking me. I felt it was my duty to exercise my jujitsu skills. I explained to him that I have evidence for illegal breaking and entry and that we were going to wait for you to return.”

Jeremy smiled broadly. “Maria has more evidence of an earlier breaking and entry offense on her phone.”

He hugged his uncle and said, “I’m sure glad you found us. I’m sorry we didn’t contact you. We thought that if we let you know where we were, ICE, or Harvey Bull, or one of his thugs, would find out where we went.”

“That’s why it was so important for me to find you,” said Bill. He turned to Jeremy. “Juan had to leave town after the ICE crackdown at the plant but found a job at a dairy farm in South Dakota. Their governor has vowed not to prosecute ag workers who have had no prior offenses.”

Jeremy laughed cynically. “Yeah. The South Dakota governor knows that his economy will fall apart without the help of immigrant workers.”

“Once Juan had secured a new job,” continued Bill, “he returned to Helton and told the police about Harvey’s cocaine business.”

“Harvey had all the police in his pocket,” said Jeremy. “They never would have believed Juan.”

“Juan and I are friends with the editor of the Helton Daily,” explained Bill. “We went to him with the story first. The police couldn’t very well ignore Juan and the front-page headline that detailed Harvey’s cocaine dealership.”

Bill nodded to the squad car holding the three men. “I explained to Sheriff Bellows that he could make a name for himself if he were to bring Vido and Larry into custody. I expect that now that he’s had a few hours to think it over, he will be more than happy to comply.”  

“Harvey still accused me of starting the fire at his service station,” complained Jeremy. “I’m still a wanted man in Helton.”

“The FBI became involved in your case,” said Bill, “and when they applied special equipment to the video, they identified a different person who was responsible for the arson.”

“All that worry for nothing,” said Jeremy.

“I don’t know if I want to return to Helton,” said Maria. “I still don’t have my legal immigration papers.”

“I’m sure it’s safe for you to return,” said Bill. “The dairy where Juan works provides housing for their employees, so he left his duplex for you if you’d like to live there for now.”

“Have you talked to my mother?” said Maria. “Does she want to get to know her grandson?”

“I think you’ll find that she has softened her attitude about your young family,” said Bill.

He paused and beamed. “I’ve saved the best news for last. Your mother’s lawyer finally found a judge who was willing to review your case. She also put in a good word on behalf of Juan.”

“You’re kidding,” said Maria. “It’s been more than twenty years. What did the judge say?”

Bill looked at his watch and checked the date. “We have exactly one week to get home,” he said. “On that day, your mother will be sworn in as a naturalized citizen and you will have a birth certificate certifying that you are now a documented citizen!”

“What about Juan?” said Jeremy.

“This judge is pretty ticked at ICE,” said Bill. “I think his case is next on the judge’s docket.”

“I can’t believe it!” screamed Maria. She grabbed Jeremy around the waist and gave him a kiss. “Our whole family is legal!”

“Oh, and by the way,” said Bill. “I found this note taped to the window of your camper.”

Maria unfolded the wrinkled paper. It said, Stop by the Albuquerque Art Gallery. I think they’d be interested in your work. Signed, Gary.

“Enough of this dispersed lifestyle,” said Jeremy. He hugged his wife. “Let’s go home to family, Maria.”

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