“Where would they take them?” Ellie placed her palm to her lips.

“You need to call the Detention Center,” Harriett said. “If they’re illegal, they will be deported.”

“They were legal,” Seymour said, looking at his wife, his fists clenched. “Right, Ellie?”

“We found them through an agency. They had social security numbers and jobs,” Ellie said, though her knees were buckling. “Everything worked exactly the way the agency said it would. I’m sure there has been a misunderstanding. I just need to make a phone call.”

“If they were illegal, ICE may come back for you,” Eddie said before Harriett grabbed his arm.

“Thank you for stopping by.” Ellie ushered them towards the front door.

She shut the door behind them and picked up the phone, calling Mrs. Sanchez to clear this matter up. The number was disconnected. Ellie and Seymour clasped their hands and prayed for everyone’s safe return.

Seymour and Ellie stayed near the house for the next few days, hoping for a phone call or someone’s return. Ellie called the Detention Center in downtown Los Angeles but without their “A”, or booking number, all ICE employees would tell her was that if they hadn’t been deported already more than likely they had been transferred to the Adelanto Facility in San Bernardino to await a hearing.

Ellie couldn’t eat or sleep. Seymour’s wheezing increased. A week passed. When the phone rang, Ellie jumped up to answer it.

“Ellie?” Claudia said.

Ellie breathed a sigh of relief. “Seymour, it’s Claudia,” she shouted with her hand on the receiver. “Are you okay? And the kids? Where are you?”

“We’re fine, niños are fine.” Claudia said. “We’re in Mexico.”

“And Juan and Guillermo?”

“Don’t know,” Claudia said. “We haven’t seen them since your house.”

“Will you be able to return?” Ellie asked. “We’ve left everything just the same.”

“Not right now. Someday.” Claudia choked on her words. “Will you two be okay?”

“Us?” Ellie said. “You’re worried about us?”

“Sí, Señora,” Claudia said.

“We’ll manage,” Ellie said. “We always do. Please take care of yourselves.”

***

After Ellie hung up, they dressed. As she and Seymour walked to the synagogue, Ellie saw brown-skinned faces everywhere tending gardens and children. Did any of them need a place to stay or know someone who did? When Shabbat ended she would prepare her own cards with her phone number and pass them out in her neighborhood. After all, she had rooms to rent — rooms of all kinds.

 

Janet Schneider writes during the winter in Berkeley, CA and in Charlevoix, Michigan in the summer. Her work has appeared in Harpur Palate, Pooled Ink, Bear River Review, Traverse Magazine, Yourlifeisatrip.com, and Fishfoodmagazine.com. She received her MFA in fiction writing from Spalding University in Louisville, Kentucky. When she’s not writing, she’s riding her bike.