Delia’s Gift Read Free Page A

smiled. “You even joked about flying me in a helicopter.”
    He nodded. “ Sí. I’ll look into it, but first, let’s be sure the doctor thinks it’s okay.”
    “Why shouldn’t it be okay, señor ? I’m not a fragile person, even though I’m pregnant. Mi madre worked in the soybean fields until she was into her ninth month.”
    He took a step toward me. “That’s true, Delia. Women did do that and still do that now back there. They have to in order to put food on the table, but we don’t have to do that. And no one ever talks about the miscarriages and the babies born dead or sick. I’m sure you’re not fragile, but why not be cautious, Delia? You have to look after the welfare of more than yourself now, no? You wouldn’t want to do anything that could result in a disaster, would you? You would never forgive yourself. Besides, it won’t be that much longer. What are a few more months in your life? You’re young. Am I right, Delia? Well?” he insisted when I didn’t immediately acquiesce.
    “ Sí, señor. ”
    “Good,” he said. “Then we agree.” He flashed another smile and was gone before I could say another word.
    Maybe he was right, I thought. Maybe I was being selfish to think otherwise. And besides, I was certainly not suffering. I laughed at my good fortune. I was sure mi tía Isabela wouldn’t have sent me home first class. At this moment, if Señor Bovio hadn’t come to see me, I would be traveling and bouncing on some smelly, old bus on a dirt road in Mexico, working my way back to who knew what.
    Look where you are instead, Delia Yebarra, I told myself.
    I gazed about at the beautiful furnishings, the velvet drapes, the thick, soft carpet, and the enormous vanity table with wall mirrors. Actually, there were mirrors everywhere, even on the ceiling. It was the suite of someone who was in love with her own beauty, I thought, keeping in mind that Señor Bovio’s wife had been a movie actress.
    I rose and looked into the walk-in closet. There was a wall of mirrors in there as well. It looked as if there were acres and acres of clothing hanging on the racks. I could see tags dangling from garments she had never worn. I had never seen so many shoes in one person’s possession. Shelves filled with them went up to the ceiling. There was surely double the number that Tía Isabela had, and there were wigs, all lengths and colors and styles, neatly hanging on a wall. Perhaps Adan’s mother had needed all of this to attend so many celebrity functions and public-relations events.
    Yet there was another consideration. As beautiful as all of this was, and as convenient as Señor Bovio would make everything for me, I couldn’t help wondering whether or not I would do more harm than good by staying. In my heart of hearts, I still believed that the evil eye had attached itself to my destiny ever since I had first left Mexico. The ojo malvado was always there to work a curse just when things looked good. I remained convinced that everyone who got too close to me suffered. My cousin Edward had lost an eye in a car accident when he rushed out to get Bradley Whitfield for attacking me. Ignacio was now languishing in a prison, sentenced to six years. Adan had been killed on the boat. Perhaps I was better off returning to the poor village in Mexico and accepting my fate. Perhapsit would be better for everyone if I just slipped away and made my way home.
    As I gazed out the window at the gardens, the tennis courts, and the pool, I heard my poor Mexican village call to me. I could hear the whispered pleading, Come back, Delia. Come home, and accept who you are. Stop trying to fight fate. You cannot hold back the tide.
    But then I remembered the terrible pain in Señor Bovio’s face at the hospital when he learned that his son had died. He was a shell of a person whose soul had gone off to be with his son’s. The realization that his son’s child was growing inside me brought his soul back to him and filled