She nods and wipes some of the tears. “I—” She clears her throat. “I didn’t know. I found out the night they died.”
“You didn’t know what?”
“That they were—that I was . . . am . . .”
“Undocumented?”
She nods again.
“That’s why you couldn’t go to college?”
Another nod. “Dad had been saving, hoping to be able to pay out of pocket. I had plans to turn him down and use financial aid and some savings, but I couldn’t because of my status. I just didn’t know it.”
“And you found out that night?” I ask her.
Her tears well in endless streams. “Yeah. That’s why we fought. They were out in the rain looking for me. They’re dead because of me.”
“Oh, come here, Lo. It’s not your fault.” I pull her into my arms and let her sob into my sweater for several minutes. “It’s okay, love. I’ve got you.”
“I’m so sorry,” she whimpers.
“Why are you sorry?”
“To drag you into this.”
“It’s me who’s sorry. If it weren’t for me, no one would be trying to dig up shit about you. Is this why you’re moving to Mexico?”
Lola nods in my arms. “I don’t want to be where I’m not wanted,” she croaks.
“Shit, Iggy.” I sigh, my own tears threatening to spill over. Talk about the ultimate rejection. I know how much she loves this city and the people she’s come to think of as family, but this country doesn’t want her here. No wonder she used to be so sad all the time. I can’t imagine walking through life knowing that the very place that made you, the place you love, wants you out. “They’re so stupid for not wanting you. Do you hear me?” I tighten my grip around her.
She laughs, a wet, teary laugh.
“I mean it. You’re so talented. One day, you’re going to be in your own famous rock band. And if these idiots here don’t want you or your talent or your money, Mexico does.”
She nods again, her sobs lessening. “And so does Germany,” I say, teasing her. “We’d take you in a heartbeat, Iggy.”
She laughs and pulls away from me, dabbing her tears on her shirt collar. “Thanks, Karl. And thanks for not being mad.”
“Of course I’m not mad.”
After leading her to bed, I make her a cup of tea and set it on her nightstand. She takes a few sips, and I sit on the side of her bed and run my fingers through her hair gently until she nods off to sleep. Once she’s out, I text Roger the statement he should give the press. I really don’t want to talk to him, so I shut off my phone after sending the text.
* * *
I’m notsurprised when Sofia shows up unannounced. I smile when I see her step off the elevator. She really is like her over-protective older sister. “Hey, Sofia.”
She takes the sunglasses off, and I don’t miss her swollen eyes from recent crying. “Where is she?”
“Asleep.”
Makeup-free, wearing jeans and a grey t-shirt, Sofia sits next to me and pats my leg. “How bad was it?”
“She’s heartbroken,” I admit. And somehow, Sofia’s strength is enough to let myself go for one moment, to let her carry some of this weight with me, and I let a tear fall. A single tear for my beautiful Lola, so precious, so talented, and so damned unwanted. “And so am I,” I say.
“Me too,” Sofia says.
We stay like that for a long while, Sofia not commenting on my tears. “Is there anything we could do to help her stay?” I ask, grasping at anything to make this better.