The train passed Hermosillo and continued north. She had to make a decision before they reached the fork in the tracks. Tijuana or Nogales?
“We’ll be in Benjamín Hill soon,” Hugo said.
“I know.”
“Are you going to toss your phone?”
“I’m going to toss myself.”
“What?”
She brought the phone out of her pocket and replied to the last message from her father:
Can’t stop at BH. Heading to Nogales. See you there.
Then she called the number to speak to him in person. It rang five times. Each ring echoed in her ears like a death toll. A generic voicemail picked up. She had to leave a message, but not one that revealed her true intentions. “I’m still on the train. I’ll be at the border soon. I can meet you at the place you wrote about in your letter.”
When she ended the call, she almost burst into tears. The only place he wrote about in his letter was the Del Mar Crematorium in Tijuana. He’d paid in advance for the services. They would ship his ashes to the cemetery where her mother was buried. He’d bought a plot for himself, and one for Sarai. Because that wasn’t creepy at all.
It struck her as bad luck to make such a macabre reference, but she didn’t know how else to communicate her plans to come west. She blinked to clear her vision and surveyed the passengers. There were two boys about Hugo’s age on the opposite end of the train. She needed someone to take her phone north in case it was being tracked.
“Ask those boys if they’re going to Nogales,” she said to Hugo, handing him her phone. “Trade this for whatever they have.”
He hopped to his feet and walked toward them in easy steps, as if he was strolling down the street instead of navigating the surface of a moving train. The boys gave him a handwoven nylon bag. They looked pretty happy about the deal. Hugo returned with the bag and sat down.
“What did you get?”
“Two oranges and a bottle of water.”
She nodded her approval. They’d entered a long, flat stretch of sage-speckled desert. She couldn’t stay on the train. If she jumped, she’d have to walk through this unforgiving terrain. He started peeling one of the oranges, unaware of her dilemma.
“I guess this is goodbye.”
He almost choked on the fruit slice. It reminded her of his surprised face as she climbed out of the river in Mazatlán.
“I have to jump off the train now.”
He chewed and swallowed. “I’ll jump with you.”
She couldn’t believe he wanted to stay with her. Didn’t he understand the danger she was in? “Why would you do that?”
“Why not?”
“I can’t give you anything.”
He offered her a slice of orange. “I didn’t ask for anything.”
She shared the fruit with him, studying the landscape. There was a cluster of hills in the west. They could walk around them and continue toward Benjamín Hill. When they reached the fork, they could board the train again.
“My sister tried to cross the border when she was eighteen. She didn’t make it through the desert. Some men stopped the group she was with. They attacked her.” He threw the orange peel off the train. “I couldn’t help her. I can help you.”
The tears she’d been fighting all day streaked down her face, unbidden. “So you think of me like a sister?”
“No,” he said, smiling.
She wiped her cheeks and got ready to go. He gathered his belongings. They climbed down the ladder together. The ground rushed by at a dizzying velocity. There was a gravel slope along the tracks that offered a hard, unsteady landing. She couldn’t even look at the wheels. The thought of getting crushed under them terrified her.
“I’ll go first, and you jump right after me,” he said. “Jump out as far as you can.”
