1Finding My Son, Finding Myself

Chapter Five

Bobby awoke from his nap, forcing one eyelid open to check the clock on the night stand; it was 5:10 p.m. – he had been sleeping for almost three hours. The awareness that consciousness brings slowly overtook him. Alex had, obviously, checked on him at some point, covering him with the cozy, blue blanket under which he remained snuggled. He laid motionless, allowing his eyes to slowly adjust to the afternoon sunlight filtering through the blinds. It reflected off her dresser mirror, onto the wall, in a colorful prism. The sight instantly brought back the memory of Maria Elena. After their night of passion twelve years earlier, they had awakened to find a similar rainbow of color dancing on the wall of their hotel room; the result of the sun reflecting off the pool water outside their room. She told him that seeing a rainbow was good luck – that it was a sign of their beautiful life to come. The emotional escape afforded by his sleep was gone; the pain of reality and his loss was back – almost palpable – knotting his stomach and breaking his heart. He laid, staring at the prism, as the tears rolled from his eyes onto the pillow.

Alex appeared in the doorway some twenty minutes later. Bobby quickly wiped his eyes and was glad for the twilight dimness of the room. He hoped that Alex wouldn't flip on the light switch, revealing the redness of his teary eyes.

"You awake?" she quietly asked.

He turned, rubbing his hands over his face, "Yeah, I umm, I just woke up," he lied.

"How're you feeling?"

"Okay," he lied a second time.

"Well, feel free to join me in the kitchen, if you like. I'm making stuffed pork chops for dinner."

"I will – I'll just freshen up and I'll, I'll be right there."

Alex swung the dishtowel over her shoulder and headed back to the kitchen, thinking to herself, "Poor baby – I wonder how long he's been laying there crying." Nothing got by her.

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Bobby entered the kitchen and snatched a piece of cucumber from the bowl of salad that Alex had on the counter top. He was now wearing his sweatshirt, having gotten a chill when coming out from under the warmth of the blanket.

Alex turned to him, "You mind melting this butter in the saucepan for me?" she asked, pretending not to notice the telltale signs of his emotional upset.

"I don't mind, what's it for?"

"The stuffing," she answered. "Try not to burn it," she teased him, as she exited the kitchen, "I'll be right back."

Alex returned to find Bobby dutifully stirring the pot. "I'll take over," she said, handing him a pair of tube socks, "put these on, you'll feel warmer."

"Thanks."

"So," Alex said, "You wanna' pick up where you left off?"

Bobby sighed, "I, I don't really feel like talking any more today, Eames."

"Well, keeping it in all this time hasn't helped, has it? Talking makes you feel better," Alex said, trying her best to convince him.

Bobby stood leaning against the counter, silently chewing the olives he had now picked out of the salad. Alex couldn't tell if he just taking a moment to think before he spoke, or if he wasn't going to answer, at all.

"Well, I'm not gonna' pester you, Bobby. If you really don't want to talk, that's up to you. I'm just trying to understand how it got to this point – how did you lose touch with her? Was there a big blow up? A fight? Something like that?"

He knew Alex's persistence and, as usual, it was going to pay off for her. "No," he sighed, "Nothing like that – it was – – it was nothing."

Alex had moved on to preparing the potatoes. "She just vanished?"

"I guess you're not gonna' take 'no' for an answer, are you?" Bobby asked, getting his hand slapped in the process of reaching for a cherry tomato.

"You're gonna' spoil your dinner if you keep picking – and no, I'm not," Alex smiled.

Bobby grabbed a kitchen chair, as usual, turning it backwards so he could straddle it. "Well," he began, "It's like I told you, we were cooling things off for a while – just until all the media attention from the bust cooled down. One day, I tried calling her and got no answer. The next day, I tried and a recording came on saying that the number had been disconnected at the customer's request."

Alex shot him a glance.

"I figured maybe the family was getting a lot of phone calls from reporters, or something, s-s-so I drove over to see her. The house was dark. I saw their neighbor, umm, Mrs. Ruiz, I think, walking her dog, so I got out of the car and asked her if she'd seen Maria Elena or her parents and, it-it-it was strange – – it was like she didn't want to talk to me– like she was afraid to be seen talking to me – so I, I left."

Alex continued preparing their dinner and, while the pork chops were in the oven cooking, she and Bobby retreated to the living room to continue their talk. He told her about his futile efforts to track down Maria Elena; how his inquiries to her nearby relatives – the ones he knew of, anyway, fell on deaf ears; how he had hoped that the family had left a forwarding address on file with the post office and written her countless letters – all of which were ultimately returned as "undeliverable."

Alex listened intently and sympathetically but, in the end, she was just as perplexed as Bobby as to what it was that actually drove Maria Elena away. "I'm thinking it's gotta' have something to do with her parents, Bobby," Alex offered. "Maybe she told them the truth about the two of you– maybe they didn't approve of the age difference – maybe they were angry that you were the one who brought their son down – I dunno' - it could be a dozen different things, I suppose."

Bobby threw up his hands in exasperation, "I don't know – I just don't know."

"I don't know, either, Bobby," Alex said, shaking her head remorsefully. "I mean, not wanting to see you is one thing, but hiding a pregnancy from you – not to mention never telling you about a child you've had for eleven years...it doesn't make sense...that's the type of thing a woman would tell a guy – even if only to get money for child support."

Bobby spoke, seeming to follow his own train of thought, as if he didn't hear a word that Alex had said. "She never had my real home phone number or address – that would've been too risky during the final weeks of the operation. And as soon as the bust went down, my ghost phone and decoy apartment were shut down."

At that moment, the buzzer of the over timer sounded. "Dinner's ready," Alex announced.

They got up from the couch and, before going to the kitchen to fix their plates, Alex crossed the room, going to the wall unit, and turned on the stereo. "No more talking about this while we eat, okay?" Bobby asked.

"Okay."

They ate in relative silence, except for Bobby's complimenting Alex on the stuffing and glazed carrots. Alex finally broke the silence by announcing, "I forgot to tell you – Captain Deakins called this afternoon."

"What did he want?" Bobby asked, placing his fork down.

"Nothing, really. He said he called the office and Morris told him that you and I were out, so he called my cell."

"What did you tell him?"

"Oh, I just stretched the truth a bit – told him that you and I were still a little wiped out from Friday night and the weekend and that we decided to bring some files here and work on 'em."

"He was okay with that?" Bobby asked, with slight disbelief.

"For you?" Alex answered teasingly, "After last Friday, I think you've got the lifetime 'teacher's pet' award."

Bobby smiled and nodded. She saw the shift in his mood and decided to take advantage, with one more question.

"Hey, Bobby? Have you thought about, well – what if she's married? What if Roberto has a father figure in his life? What if she had other children with her husband? I mean, you can't just go down there and show up on her doorstep after all these years to claim your son."

The look on his face told Alex that his mood had shifted back to the dark side. With a controlled anger, he gently placed his utensils on the edges of his plate. He pushed back his chair from the table and, in a seething whisper, threatened: "Watch me."

He stormed towards the bedroom – Alex guessed to retrieve his clothes and head home. She jumped up from the table after him.

"Bobby! Come back here! Don't be like that!" She had caught up to him, tugging on the back of his sweatshirt. He spun around.

"Who's side are you ON?" he yelled.

"I'm on your side! — As always!" She reminded him.

He stood there, silent; his chest heaving –nostrils flaring from angry breaths. He suddenly felt foolish – embarrassed by his idle threat and outburst. Alex's head tilted to one side, a softness overtaking her face as she looked up at him. She reached for his hand. "C'mon," she said, leading him back to the center of the room. He followed, not quite sure what she was doing. When they had walked far enough, she spun towards him, one hand still holding his – the other now on his shoulder. She began to sway to the music, her smile encouraging him to do the same. He hadn't even been aware of the music in the background until that second – – and when he stopped to listen, comfort overtook his heart, as he pulled her closer and began to dance with her.

"...So, if you're mad, get mad,

don't hold it all inside

come on and talk to me, now.

Hey, what you got to hide?

I get angry too,

well, I'm a lot like you.

When you're standing at the crossroads

and don't know which path to choose,

let me come along

cause even if you're wrong:

I'll stand by you,

I'll stand by you

won't let nobody hurt you

I'll stand by you,

Take me in-to your darkest hour

and I'll never desert you

I'll stand by you..."

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Thursday, 8:30 a.m.

1229 Calle Central

Dorado, Puerto Rico

It was Sanchez' third visit to the address. He had gone on Tuesday and Wednesday afternoons, and, upon awaking today, decided he'd check out the morning routine.

He sat in a car across the street from the sun-bleached, well maintained white stucco home and took notes. He didn't want to disappoint Alex upon his return but, if truth be told, nothing too exciting was going on here.

His notes, so far, included mention of an older man and woman –grandparent types, who stayed home, keeping themselves busy with gardening or a stroll on the nearby beach. Apparently, they looked after a boy who, Sanchez assumed, was their grandson. The woman in her early-to-mid-thirties – who he also noted was absolutely gorgeous, appeared to be the mother of the boy. She was leaving the house now, apparently in a rush to get to work. He made a notation on his pad of her description, as well as the make, model and license plate of the car she drove.

"And here comes the kid with the curly hair again," Sanchez said to himself. He watched as the boy stepped off the porch; one arm full; the other hand carrying a glass of lemonade. He picked a shady spot under a small tree on the lawn and sat down. Sanchez continued making notes, guessing that the boy was about 13 – "Unless he's younger and just tall for his age," he thought to himself. Sanchez shook his head, "Poor kid, he must be bored off his ass...my third time here and all he ever does is have his nose stuck in a book."

He started the engine and drove off; "Man, this is a waste of time."

END Chapter Five

A/N: Big "thanks," as always, to the Reviewers.

Musical Credit: The Pretenders, "I'll Stand By You"