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Of course I ignore the warning look. “But you broke up with her? If you miss her, why not get her back?” What the hell did I say that for?
That did it. I pressed too hard and he looks bothered by my pestering. “Like I said, she’s gone.” His left knee bounces nervously. “Can we change the subject, please?”
Though I want to dig deeper, it’s wrong. The subject is noticeably difficult for him. “Okay, sure. Where’s your bike?” This subject is one he enjoys talking about. Brady’s parents bought him a Harley Sportster when he turned twenty-one. It’s his baby and I’ve been wondering why he’s driving this truck.
“It’s not running right now.” His voice wavers, and his knee bounces faster. “I left it in L.A.”
Something’s seriously off. Maybe he’s still thinking about Vanessa. I shouldn’t have brought up her name. “I never thought I’d see you drive anything else.” The memory of him riding makes me flush. The first time I’d seen him on a bike, I knew I had a serious crush on him, and maybe I still do.
He shrugs. “We all gotta grow up sometime.”
What? His point-blank response completely floors me. His bike and his comments about his parents are somehow related, I’m certain of it. Maybe he racked up a bunch of tickets, or worse, got into a bad accident that was his fault.
Recalling many hours in my teens spent in the Hunters’ garage watching Brady and Jesse restore a couple of old bikes, I’m definitely not buying the “it’s not running” bit. Brady can fix anything wrong with a bike. If he left it in L.A., it’s for another reason. Presumably one he’s not willing to share.
Given traffic at the border can be horrendous, I’m hoping it’s calm tonight and we’ll be back in time for my date with Harrison. I consider telling Brady I have to be back, but I don’t, deciding instead to see how things go. If it looks like we’ll be late, I’ll text Harrison and let him know I can’t make it.
Crossing into Tijuana turns out to be a breeze. We drive slowly through the busy streets. A few street vendors harass us, hawking everything from giant stuffed cartoon characters to handmade jewelry. There are a few Federales walking the streets and sitting in Jeeps with semi-automatic rifles strapped to their chests. Even though I’ve been here many times, their presence always alarms me.
Once we travel into the neighborhoods, the streets quiet down. The buildings are rundown, and most don’t look habitable. It’s tragic that people have to live like this. Clothing hangs from balconies and clotheslines, and trash litters the streets. A few children play soccer on a small patch of grass in front of an apartment building. Their clothing is too small for them, and their faces are grimy with dirt. When I’m tucked safely away in P.B, I sometimes forget how much I have to be grateful for. Being in Tijuana helps me remember.
Brady watches me curiously, and I look over at him. “This is so sad, Brady.”
His brows crease together, and he gives me a thoughtful smile. “It’s all they know. They’re happy kids who love their parents, even if they don’t have the material things we do.”
Hmm. He brought up the “parent” word. Was that intentional? I’m thinking it was, but I don’t mention it.
The truck’s tires bounce over the cracked asphalt when we pull into a parking area. In the distance behind a grouping of trees is a large tan stucco building. It looks like it used to be a mission. Brady finds a place to park and gets out of the truck. While I’m still taking in my surroundings, he opens my door and helps me out. He hops up on one of the side tires, and pulls up three large trash bags from the bed. The bags land on the ground in front of me. He jumps down, smiles at me, and picks up the three bags by their plastic handles. After slinging them over his right shoulder, he takes my hand and starts walking toward the building. I decide not to ask about the bags or his holding my hand, opting to just go with it.
“Stay close, Tor. Tijuana’s not the safest place.” He gives my hand a pull.
As we get closer to the building, I see several kids are hanging out in front. They look to be between six and fifteen in age. When I get a better look at the building, I realize we’re at some sort of youth home.
“Brady!”
One of the younger boys runs up to us. If I were to guess, I’d say he’s about six. The little guy launches himself at Brady. Brady drops the bags and releases my hand to catch the boy when he jumps into his arms. Brady hugs him with a warmth that brings a large smile to my face. This is a side of Brady I’ve never seen before and I’m more than a little intrigued. Brady sets the boy down and rubs the top of his head a few times.
The biggest brown eyes I’ve ever seen are looking up at me. His toothy smile has a large gap in front. Permanent teeth have come in, and his mouth hasn’t quite grown into them. He’s completely freaking adorable, and I melt when he smiles. “Hey, Brady’s friend.”
“Well, hello to you, cutie pie.” I smile.
He rocks back on his heels with his head down.
Brady cups the boy’s shoulder. “Paco, this is my friend, Tori. Tori this is my little buddy, Paco.”
“Hi, Paco. It’s very nice to meet you.” I extend my hand to him.
Paco takes my hand and kisses it. “It’s nice to meet you, too.”
Brady laughs. “Easy now, Paco. Tori’s way too old for you, buddy.”
“Darn.” Paco hangs his head shyly, shifting back and forth on his feet. Another boy from a group of kids gathered a few feet away calls Paco over. Paco says goodbye and then skips over to the group.
I twist my head to look at Brady. “Oh, my God, he’s too cute for words.”
“Yeah, he’s a good kid.”
Brady picks up the bags, and we climb up the stairs, entering the building through the front doors. Brady sets the bags down and appears to be looking for someone. A desk sits on the right side of the room, adjacent with the wall, and a few plants are sporadically placed. Two doors to the left side are open, and rows of cots fill both rooms. Another door to the right is lined with tables, and I assume it’s a cafeteria.
