Between Love and Duty Read Free

one Lupe Salgado, whose address this was. Eventually Jane would talk to Tito’s father, of course, Tito himself and perhaps even teachers. His report card suggested he wasn’t doing well in school.
     
    The stairwell and hall were shabby but surprisingly clean. Upstairs she rapped firmly on the door displaying an upright metal 2, a listing 0 and a 3 that hung upside down.
     
    “Venga,” a voice called, and after only a momentary hesitation Jane opened the door to find herself in a cramped living room.
     
    Two young, black-haired children sat in front of the television, on which a small green dragon seemed to be trying to puff dandelion seeds but was, to his frustration, setting them on fire. Both children turned to stare at Jane. The girl stuck her thumb in her mouth. An ironing board was set up in the narrow space between a stained sofa and the wall. A Formica table with four chairs and a high chair was wedged into the remaining space. The spicy smell of cooking issued from the kitchen.
     
    Jane raised her voice enough to be heard in the kitchen. “Hola. Me llamo Jane Brooks.”
     
    A woman appeared, wiping her hands on a dish towel and looking flustered. “ Sí, sí. I forgot you were coming. Perdone. ” In a flurry of Spanish too fast for Jane, she spoke to the children, then gestured Jane into the kitchen. She was cooking, she explained, and couldn’t leave dinner unattended.
     
    She did speak English, but not well; Jane made a mental note that living in a non-English-speaking household probably wasn’t helping Tito’s school performance. Jane and the boy’s sister continued to speak in Spanish.
     
    Jane was urged to sit at a very small table with two chairs while her hostess continued to bustle around the kitchen.
     
    “You’re Lupe?” she asked, for confirmation, and the young woman nodded.
     
    Like the pregnant teenager downstairs, she had warm brown skin, long black hair and eyes the color of chocolate. She was pretty, but beginning to look worn. Plump around the middle, and moving as though her feet hurt.
     
    Jane knew from the paperwork that Lupe was twenty-three. There had been other children born between Lupe, the oldest, and Tito, the youngest, but they were either on their own and unable to help with Tito or were in Mexico with their mother. Tito, Lupe explained, had stayed with his father because Mama thought as a boy he needed a man.
     
    She shrugged expressively. “Then, one year after Mama returns to Mexico, Papa is arrested. So stupid! I called Mama, but she is living with an uncle and it is very crowded. So she begged me to keep Tito. Which I’ve done.”
     
    As if this household wasn’t crowded. “You have children of your own,” Jane said, with what she thought was some restraint.
     
    “ Sí, three. The little one is napping.” She stirred the black bean concoction on the stove. “My husband, he left me.” She sounded defeated.“I work at La Fiesta and a neighbor watches the children. I can’t depend on Tito. Maybe if he was a girl.” She shrugged again.
     
    “Do you visit your father at the prison?” The Monroe correctional institute was nearly an hour’s drive away.
     
    “Sometimes.” Lupe sent her a shamed glance. “The money for gas… You know how it is. And my children have to come, too. I take Tito when I can, but it upsets him, so maybe it is good that we don’t go often.”
     
    Jane nodded. Having a parent in prison was difficult for a child of any age, but for a middle schooler it must be especially traumatic. He wouldn’t be the only kid in the school with an incarcerated parent, but he probably felt like he was.
     
    “Is Tito any trouble to you?” she asked, and got a guarded response.
     
    No, no, he was such a good boy, Lupe assured her, but then admitted that she didn’t see much of him. She worked most evenings; tonight was a rare night when she was home with her children, and she didn’t know where Tito was. With a friend, she felt