—”Claudia, tell me exactly where you are.”
Zaira’s voice had changed completely. She was no longer my friend at a party with music in the background. She was the woman who had seen me claw my way up from nothing when I first arrived in Chicago with a broken suitcase and two changes of clothes.
—”I’m in the lobby of Eleanor’s building,” I said. “Lincoln Park. Vanessa hit her.” There was a silence. —”I’m on my way.” —”Bring the moving trucks.” —”What are you moving?”
I looked at Lily, asleep against my chest with her cheek still red. —”Everything they think belongs to them.”
Zaira didn’t ask any more questions. That’s what you appreciate about a friend who understands when a woman is done crying and has started calculating.
The building’s security guard let us into a small waiting area next to the lobby. He gave me some ice wrapped in a napkin for Lily’s face. He looked at me with pity, but also with that specific fear people have when they work for the wealthy and learn not to stick their noses where the name on the door carries weight. —”Mrs. Claudia, do you want me to call someone?” —”I already did.”
I hugged my daughter. Her body was trembling, even though her eyes were dry. That was what hurt the most. My little girl was learning much too soon how to be quiet. —”Mommy,” she whispered. “Are we going to get in trouble?” I kissed her forehead. —”No, my love. No one is ever going to get in trouble for telling the truth.” —”Is Daddy mad?” I swallowed hard. —”Daddy made a very bad choice.” —”Is he coming?”
