Chapter 2 – Shay
Chapter Two
Shay
A few months later
A small town in the Southwestern United States
I’m scared. I hold Caleb against my chest and say nothing.
Talking always lands me in more trouble.
Everything I do to protect my son ends up being the wrong thing to do.
He’s so small, getting bigger every day, but more and more I feel guilty about the situation we ended up in.
I’m lucky I met this Indian girl a while back – like the Native American kind – because without her, I wouldn’t even have this 125 square foot apartment.
The one currently being invaded by three men searching for my ex-husband.
The taller ICE agent has eyes so blue they’re almost clear.
He’s a head taller than me and looks at me with that look which I grew familiar with after a couple months in this country.
I should have known that my time would run out and eventually it would come to this – face to face with a racist fully empowered to send me back to where I came from. A worse hell than this place, somehow.
And a place I can’t imagine returning to with Caleb.
Not when he’s so small and vulnerable. Not when a better life for him has been just within reach.
I know by now they can split us apart and send us away even if he was born in America.
That makes me hold onto him tighter, with the primal need to protect my son that I don’t imagine any of my caregivers felt over me.
“Can you tell us where to find Renshaw Presley?” They ask. I shake my head. He hasn’t been here in a while. Frankly, I thought they already got him. I can’t tell if I’m under arrest and it seems like a better idea not to say anything at all. I just don’t want Caleb to start crying and set them off.
“Are you sure?” they ask me. “You’re listed as his wife on his immigration forms.”
“I signed the divorce papers two months ago,” I respond. “My lawyer said that because I’m Canadian, my case will–”
“Enough,” the blue-eyed officer says sternly. I freeze. I don’t think I said anything wrong, but maybe I should be exercising my right to remain silent. Do they even know what’s going on? “It’s illegal to lie to us, did you know that?”
I don’t know that. Caleb moves a little bit and I get nervous that he’s going to wake up. I’m glad that I don’t know where Renshaw went, that I genuinely couldn’t give them information about him if I wanted to, but I resent the fact that they view my ignorance as some kind of involvement…
“We’re divorced. I spend all my time looking after Caleb. There’s nowhere for him to hide.”
“Save the attitude, ma’am,” the shorter one says, glaring at me from behind an olive green ski mask that obscures all his features except for cold, dark eyes.
Both men have eyes that are such different colors, but both chillingly empty.
Either this is just a routine job for them and they’re so detached or…
they somehow, really don’t see us as people just like them.
“Where are your papers, Shay?” Blue-eyes asks, the corners of his lips fighting against a smirk.
I’m Canadian. My ex-husband, Renshaw Presley, was a Jamaican-born Canadian who fostered a desperate obsession with moving to the United States that I tolerated and then agreed to without realizing the quagmire of paperwork this would force us both into.
You agree to a lot of things when you’re young and in love with a light-skinned green-eyed man built like that guy who got famous for being “prison bae”.
I fell for my ex-husband totally. Like jumping off a cliff.
I never had a guy who looked like that pay me any attention before.
I’ve always been overweight and always been bullied for it.
I’m not like the sexy, confident plus-sized women on social media.
I just felt big and awkward all the time, so back then, I was willing to do anything for a man who made me feel beautiful – even leaving my Canadian healthcare to move to America.
Ren promised me this would be just a few documents and a couple thousand dollars.
Even back then I wasn’t completely stupid and had my doubts.
Right when I wanted to back out, I got pregnant.
At twenty-two years old, I thought my pregnancy was a sign that we were meant to be and if I could just help Renshaw make it to a place with better jobs, all the crap in our relationship would stop.
He convinced me that Canada only had opportunities for people who wanted to work in oil or lumber – and he wanted better than that.
I believed him. I nodded along to everything he said.
It took my son and all of what came after to wake me up.
Anyone else who has been young and stupid in a relationship knows how this story ends without me having to drag out all the details.
I’m happy I have Caleb. I’m happy I escaped with my life.
I’m not happy that my bad romantic decisions in my early twenties have followed me here – when it was too late for me to get out.
I answer the immigration agent’s question. “I’m Canadian. I went home recently, so I didn’t overstay or anything.”
My heart pounds even if I know I’ve done nothing wrong. Unconsciously, my hand cups the back of Caleb’s head for comfort. And it’s not fair to that sweet little boy that I use him to comfort me.
“Passport?” Blue-eyes asks, his tone instantly accusatory in a way that I definitely take offense to. I haven’t done anything wrong. I’m Canadian. This is a total abuse of power, and I can’t even say a word because they have guns and I don’t. I have to stay calm for my son.
But this is unbelievable. I look down at my son and throw the agent a dirty look before walking over to my kitchen and pulling my passport out of its hiding spot inside of an empty box of Barilla bowtie pasta.
Caleb is going to wake up soon, I can sense it.
I hand my passport to the agent who hands it over to his buddy, like he’s too dumb to see the crest on the outside.
“So you never changed your last name to Shay Presley?” the one with the dark eyes asks.
I have to bite my tongue to avoid a sassy response.
I ignore his question and let him follow me as I go set Caleb down in his crib.
If he wakes up, I at least want him lying down so I can give him a stuffie and spin the mobile above his crib until these officers leave us alone.
“No. It’s on my passport – Shay Beaumont. My family is from Montreal.” I try to keep my voice as steady as possible. Caleb’s hands and feet wriggle a little bit.
“Yet your husband is from Jamaica?”
These men must be slow.
“Yes.”
“How did you meet?”
“In Canada.”
What is the point of all of this?
I know it’s not a real answer, but the last time I checked, these men weren’t here to gossip and Renshaw isn’t here.
He shuts my passport and looks at his friend. I stick my hand out like I’m coaxing a horse, hoping they give it back and get out of here.
“If I knew where Renshaw was, I would tell you. We ended on bad terms and he pays nothing to support his son.”
“We have reason to believe you might be misleading us.”
“What?” I respond. Panic shoots through me.
It’s an instinctive burst of energy that spews forward when your body knows something terrible is about to happen.
I can’t suppress it. The entire room seems brighter and smaller at the same time.
My vision becomes singularly focused on Caleb.
The adrenaline bursts through me first, but the panicked thought comes after – and comes quickly. They’re going to separate us.
“We haven’t been able to find Renshaw and our software puts him at a cell tower within a one mile radius of this address.”
“I haven’t done anything wrong.”
“I’m sorry, ma’am,” Blue-eyes says. And there’s that smirk again. “We’re going to have to take you and your son with us for additional questioning.”