The Vanishing by Bentley Little Read Free Book Online

such a . . . monster. Carrie hated herself for even thinking such a word, but it was the one that came to her mind. In her job, she was trained to deal with abuse, with poverty, with all of the ordinary social ills that befell people in the lower economic strata, but physical deformity was not really her purview.
    She tried not to look at him.
    But she kept stealing glances at the darkened bedroom.
    The mother, Rosalia, was a beautiful woman: tall, thin, with perfectly formed features and smooth, unblemished skin. Were it not for the cast-off clothes she wore and the circumstances of her living conditions, she could have passed for a model or an actress. Her English, while not perfect, was delivered in a voice that was soft and clear, with a musical accent that paved over the fractured syntax. As she helped the woman fill out forms, Carrie wondered how such a beauty could have ended up an unmarried garment worker living in this overcrowded tenement.
    Juan.
    Of course. It was the only explanation that made sense. Rosalia had probably been with someone and gotten pregnant, and when the father saw what the boy looked like, he’d bailed. This backstory wasn’t in her file, but it seemed the most likely possibility, and though Carrie had developed an immunity from emotion over the past several years, she felt a sadness for both mother and son that she had not felt for any other clients.
    She continued talking to Rosalia, keeping her eyes averted from Juan, looking at either the other woman’s face or the stack of forms in her lap, not allowing herself to glance toward the doorway, though she wanted more than anything to do just that.
    Rosalia had been turned down for medical treatment at one of the county’s urgent care clinics, which was why she’d called Social Services, and Carrie had been sent over to deliver the bad news that Rosalia’s meager health benefits had been slashed by the governor to finance tax cuts for his wealthy contributors. She’d been spending the past twenty minutes going over Rosalia’s file, writing down additional information, looking for loopholes, trying in vain to find some way to get the woman’s coverage reinstated or enroll her in an alternate program. Now that she thought about it, though, Carrie wondered if Juan’s . . . condition . . . made the two of them eligible for some sort of disability benefits. She’d have to research that when she returned to the office.
    Was there a tactful way to broach this subject, to ask about Juan’s . . . deformity? Infirmity? Handicap? Affliction? Impairment?
    She didn’t even know what to call it.
    No, Carrie decided. Best not to even bring up the idea of additional benefits until she knew for sure. She didn’t want to give the woman false hope.
    And she didn’t want to talk to Rosalia about her son. Not yet. She wasn’t ready.
    Downtown, back at the office, she asked Sanchez, her supervisor, if he knew anything about the boy.
    The bald man sighed heavily. ‘‘I knew this would come up.’’
    ‘‘Well?’’ Carrie prodded after no explanation seemed forthcoming.
    Sanchez leaned back in his chair, met her eyes for the first time. ‘‘Okay. I didn’t hear this from Rosalia, so it’s all secondhand, but I was told by Linda Yee, the woman who owns that building, that in order to get the money to come to America, Rosalia worked in a mule show, or I guess, a llama show, back in Mexico. She had sex with animals while people watched, and . . . and she got pregnant by one.’’
    ‘‘That’s impossible!’’ Carrie exploded. She felt her face redden. She was outraged that someone would even say such a thing. ‘‘First of all, I don’t believe Rosalia would ever do anything like that.’’ She thought of the woman’s soft musical voice and gentle beauty. ‘‘I know I only just met her, but you can tell a lot about a person by talking to them, especially if they’re the type of person who . . . if they’re capable of . . . something