CHAPTER 16
Silvia stepped out of her truck and smoothed down a navy blue blazer paired with slacks of the same color, both borrowed from her mother, who wore them on special occasions. The outfit was uncomfortable, but if it helped her get what she wanted…
Directly ahead of Silvia was a narrow building, second to last at the end of the block, the neighboring businesses each sharing a wall.
The law firm stood between a seedy-looking bar and a photo development lab.
She had been here once before, two months ago, after her mother had been pulled over by a traffic cop and was told to report to court with a driver’s license she didn’t possess.
Some finagling had allowed Silvia to go in her place, but she wouldn’t have had the confidence—or gotten away with it—without the help of Sharon Weintraub, attorney at law.
The same name and title were printed on a piece of paper taped to the front door, along with office hours that had been crossed out and rewritten.
Silvia steeled herself and went inside. The wood-paneled waiting room was occupied by an older Hispanic man with droopy eyes. She nodded at him and approached the front desk, where a frazzled-looking woman had a phone pressed to her ear while scribbling with her free hand.
“Friday at six o’clock,” she was saying. “No, next Friday, the eleventh. Eleven. Three one one. Got it?”
The receptionist slammed down the phone and continued to ignore her while taking notes. When she finally looked up, she did so with a sigh. “Yes?”
“I’d like to speak with Ms. Weintraub,” Silvia said.
“Do you have an appointment?”
“No.”
“You’ll have to make one.” The receptionist picked up a pen and clicked it. “How about the fifteenth?”
That was almost two weeks from now! “I only need five minutes of her time.” Silvia had made sure to show up shortly before the business was due to close, expecting Sharon to be less busy then.
The receptionist sighed again. “What exactly do you want?”
“I’d like to volunteer.”
“To do what?”
Silvia shrugged, feeling foolish. “Whatever needs to be done.”
“You mean like an intern?”
“Yes!” That was the perfect word. It sounded so professional!
The receptionist glanced around, as if trying to imagine why anyone would willingly subject themselves to such an environment. “Suit yourself. You’ll have to wait your turn.”
“I don’t mind. Is there an application I should fill out or—”
The phone rang again. The receptionist shook her head and waved her away. Silvia took a seat across from the older man, who smiled at her. She smiled back. Then she made herself rehearse what she would say.
“Thank you for your time, Ms. Weintraub. I don’t know if you remember me, but my name is Silvia Diaz.
You helped my parents, and I would like to return the favor.
I’m sure I can make myself useful, if given the chance.
I’m currently enrolled in Business Law. And I know how to type.
I’ve gotten really good at taking notes—as in minutes—thanks to my student government elective.
I have a part-time job after school, but I can work full-time on the weekends, for free of course, since I am completely and hopelessly unqualified. ”
Who was she kidding? Silvia nibbled her bottom lip, her anxiety increasing the longer she waited. She should leave and come back after graduation. At least then she’d have a high school diploma. That would be enough to take phone calls and make appointments.
Except that wouldn’t scratch the itch. Silvia wanted to help people, not simply corral them until someone else could.
The older man seated across from her was still staring. When she met his gaze, he leaned forward and said, in Spanish, “You look like my daughter when she was your age.”
Silvia opened her mouth to respond when the front door burst open. A heavy-set woman rushed in, clutching a jacket in both hands. She glanced at them before approaching the desk.
“I sorry!” she said with a thick accent. “My husband!” She held up the jacket, her hands trembling. “The police!”
“What happened?” the receptionist asked.
“He no fight. Two men. My husband. Please!”
“What’s your name?”
“Fernanda Reyes. My husband, he Iván Reyes.”
“Do you have an appointment?”
“Qué? No. Sorry.”
The receptionist nodded toward the waiting room. “Take a seat.”
Fernanda didn’t budge. “It is Emergencia! Ah… Emergency! My husband. Policía!”
“Yes, but Ms. Weintraub is with another client right now—”
Fernanda gave up and launched into Spanish, her voice trembling with panic. “If you don’t do something now, they’re going to deport him!”
The words hit Silvia hard. That was her worst fear. The man seated across from her looked uneasy too, but with the practiced reservation that came from a lifetime of avoiding unwanted attention.
“You’ll have to wait,” the receptionist said.
“We have to do something before it’s too late!”
“I’m sorry, but I don’t understand you. Sit down. Ms. Weintraub will be with you as soon as possible.”
Fernanda turned to them, her expression pleading. Silvia stood up. The door on the far side of the room opened. Sharon Weintraub led a young couple out. As soon as Fernanda saw her, she rushed over, speaking in rapid-fire Spanish.
“Oh thank goodness! Ms. Weintraub, I’m so sorry, but my husband was arrested for fighting.
Except he didn’t really. He wanted to break up a fight between two drunk men.
He got in the middle of it and— He was only trying to help!
One of the men hit him, and there must have been police there already, because they saw what happened and arrested him. My poor man!”
“Slow down!” Sharon said, raising her palms. Okay. “Lenta, lenta! En inglés, por favor.”
“My husband!” Fernanda said, brandishing the jacket again. She seemed unable to get out any other words.
“He was arrested for trying to break up a fight,” Silvia clarified. “She’s worried he’ll be deported.”
The woman spun around. “Yes!”
Sharon eyed her with a glimmer of recognition. Then she turned to the young couple. “Call me if you have any questions. Have a good night.”
The young couple filed out.
Sharon turned her attention to Fernanda. “Tell me about this fight.”
The agitated woman looked right at Silvia while explaining, in her native tongue, what had happened. She did her best to translate. Sharon gestured for her to come closer.
“These other men were drunk?” Sharon asked.
“Yes,” Silvia conveyed. “At a sports bar on Main Street.”
“Was her husband sober?”
Silvia translated back and forth. “Yes. He never drinks.”
“Good. Did her husband throw any punches or resist arrest?”
Silvia checked before confirming that he hadn’t.
Sharon nodded. “Okay. With any luck, they all got thrown in the drunk tank to sober up. The police might not have booked him yet. Or maybe they’ll let them all go, if they decide it isn’t worth the paperwork.
Doesn’t sound like anything got damaged, so I can’t imagine the bar pressing charges.
This sort of thing happens all the time. ”
Silvia shared this information with Fernanda. While she did so, Sharon turned her attention to the man in the waiting room.
“Mr. Torres, you’re here to begin the naturalization process, correct? Ready to become a United States citizen?”
“Yes, please,” he said with a nod.
“Wonderful! My associate here will guide you through the paperwork and uh… lock up once you’re done?”
“Sure thing,” the receptionist—or more likely a paralegal—replied.
“Okay!” Sharon put her arm around Fernanda and guided her toward the exit. “Let’s go spring your husband out of jail. Oh. Would you mind tagging along?”
“Me?” Silvia asked, even pointing at herself to be sure. Then she stood up straighter. “Yes! Of course. Whatever you need.”
“Excellent.”
They piled into an old Lincoln Towncar, Silvia leaning forward from the backseat so she could continue to translate. Sharon had detailed questions. Fernanda was happy to provide the answers. The police station wasn’t far away.
“Should we wait here?” Silvia asked as they parked.
“Nope! We’re all going inside.”
“But she’s undocumented too.”
“I’m aware of that. Trust me.”
They went inside as a group. Sharon approached a police officer at the reception desk who seemed exceedingly bored.
“Sharon Weintraub,” she said, offering her card. “I’m here to collect Mr. Iván Reyes.”
The officer eyed her before retreating to the back room. He reappeared again soon after. “He hasn’t been processed yet.”
“Good! Then this won’t take all night.”
The officer shook his head. “We still have to book him.”
“For attempting to break up a fight?”
The officer raised his hands. “Hey, I don’t know what happened. I wasn’t there.”
“Then why don’t you ask the other men involved why they were fighting with him?
That’s a simple enough question. You’ll find that my client doesn’t have an opinion about who qualifies as the worst quarterback of the season.
He wasn’t involved in the argument or the altercation that followed.
He was simply trying to stop two idiots from hurting each other.
So if anything, you’re on the same side.
Now then…” Sharon turned and gestured. “His loving family would like him back so they can go home to bed.”
Silvia smiled and waved.
“Thank you, please!” Fernanda said.
“I would like to catch some shut-eye myself,” Sharon continued, “so you either need to book my client on formal charges and let me see him so we can get this show on the road, or you can pull him out of the drunk tank and give him a breathalyzer. That should help clear this up. Chop chop! Time is wasting.”