Behind Her Smile

by Luck, Olivia

  “Thank you, Stan,” Adriana tells the man sincerely once she is in the seat next to me.

  The hum of the engine soothes me into another round of sleep. Some time later, I wake to find the car parked in a tree-lined brick driveway. I push the sunglasses through my hair and study the surroundings. An enormous white villa stands proudly among the lush greenery. “Where are we?” I ask Adriana sleepily.

  “Our home on Star Island. There is plenty of privacy here for you to think and decide what to do next.” Adriana opens the door and climbs out. Then she reaches a hand back to me. “Come on.”

  Tentatively, I place my hand in hers. With a loose tug, Adriana pulls me from the car. She links our arms together, and we walk underneath a covered walkway to the front door of the home.

  “Let me show you where you’ll be staying and then there are some things we should discuss,” Adriana says. We walk through the immaculate home. Unlike the place I lived with David, warmth infuses this home. Family photos hang on the walls. The color scheme is warm and inviting. The home is palatial but somehow not daunting, likely because the woman of the house doesn’t carry an air of arrogance or superiority. For the most part, the house is quiet, only the occasional sound of soft footsteps, a cabinet shutting, or water running. There is no sign of Adriana and Hector’s two children.

  “Where are Valencia and Manuel?”

  “They are visiting with their cousins. The house will be quiet. For today.” Adriana's eyes light up at the mention of her children. How I envy that light.

  “Oh. That’s good. Family is good,” I mumble more to myself than her. “What time is it?” I glance around for a clock and find out it’s a little after noon. When I left the house last night, it was in an ambulance. I don’t have my cell phone or a watch. As if last night’s harrowing discoveries didn’t disorientate me enough, I hardly remember what day it is. Saturday. The gala yesterday was a Friday.

  Adriana takes me to a bedroom overlooking the back of the home. Decorated in soothing shades of taupe and mauve, I can see myself resting soundly in the expansive bed. Large windows flank either side of the bed, allowing natural light to stream inside the room.

  Another wave of gratitude coasts through me. “This is lovely,” I murmur through a tight throat. “Thank you.”

  “Don’t mention it,” Adriana insists. “Do you need a minute to yourself? We can sit outside when you are ready.”

  At the hospital, all I wanted was to be alone with my thoughts. Faced with the prospect of sorting through the disaster that is my life in solitude makes my panic level rise. “Outside works.”

  As expertly designed as the rest of the house, the backyard is laid out with lush greenery and pristine furniture. I curl into an overstuffed white sofa, and Adriana sits adjacent to me in a white loveseat. An overflowing lilac floral arrangement sits in the center of a glass-topped coffee table. Everything has a place here—except for me.

  “Make yourself at home.” A housekeeper appears with a tray of tea and small sandwiches. Adriana thanks her profusely and the woman nods politely with a demure smile. “Since you will be staying with us for a bit, I want to send someone to Coral Gables to pick up your things. With your permission, I’d be happy to go over there and pack up your things.”

  “Why are you being so nice to me?” I can’t hold the impolite question back any longer. Immediately, I cringe. “That was rude. I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be ungrateful. It’s just that we don’t know each that well. And while I am incredibly thankful to be here at your lovely home, I can’t help but wonder why you are doing this.”

  Adriana listens closely, and when I am finished babbling, her glossed lips turn up. “Even though we aren’t extremely close friends, I’ll admit I’ve always wanted to have a better relationship with you. I didn’t want to impose on your life, and at times, it felt like I was projecting my own past on you. Whenever I saw you, I found myself thinking that we have gone through similar experiences.”

  I listen to her, transfixed.

  “It felt too intrusive to lay my story on your shoulders until I finally realized that it was more than just seeing similarities between us. I wanted to befriend you because kindness has a magnetic pull. That’s why I asked if you would design a gown for me yesterday.” Adriana busies herself with preparing tea by pouring hot water into the delicate china. The saucers clink against the rattling cups while I gather my thoughts.

  “I started sketching last night.”

  Adriana’s eyes meet mine. She smiles tentatively. “I’d love to see what you’ve come up with.”

  “It was only a first idea. Vibrant red was my initial thought. Patriotic and would look lovely with your coloring,” I say almost shyly. I want Adriana’s approval.

  “Brilliant. Red is my color,” she says.

  A tiny sliver of pride snakes through me. For the first time in a long time, a genuine smile tilts my lips upward. Adriana returns the gesture, her eyes warm. She lifts the teacup and takes a dainty sip.

  Willing myself to be bold, I sit up straighter. “If it’s not too personal to share, I’m very curious to know what similarities you see between us.”

  A shadow darkens her features. “You are a lovely woman, Karolina. You know how to dress to complement your figure, and you never cake on excessive makeup or jewels to prove a point. No matter how well put together you are, I saw the weight you carry. Behind that smile was an incurable sadness. I didn’t know what made you sad, and I still don’t fully know. I hope that one day you’ll trust me enough to share your story. The other people in our social circle didn’t notice anything amiss with you because they are all caught up in their own selfishness. I see you, Karolina, because I carry that same unhappiness with me.”

  Surprise sends me reeling back into the couch. “What do you mean?”

  “I’m not from Miami originally. I was born in Columbia and lived there until I escaped at eighteen.” She shakes her head ruefully. “My story isn’t a unique one in a country overrun by drug lords. Nevertheless, it is my story and not one I can or will forget. Papa was a low-level dealer. My mama worked as a cleaner when she could, but it was nearly impossible to hold down a steady job and raise five children. Mama worked less and less, but that didn’t stop the needs of our family. Whether it was greed or an altruistic gesture to care for his family, I’ll never know, but my father decided to skim money from the cartel. At first, all was well and then he got caught. The cartel was ruthless and wanted to make an example out of him.” Adriana grimaces. “They came into our house with guns and . . . To this day, I don’t know how I survived. My sister, Valencia, the namesake of my daughter, and I were hiding in a closet. She protected me from the bullets with her own body. I was the only one who lived.”

  My vision goes blurry at the harrowing tale. “Oh, Adriana. That is catastrophic. I can’t begin to imagine how awful that must have been—and still be for you to live with.”

  Adriana smiles, and it’s a sad, remorseful gesture. “It is a lonely cross to bear. Perhaps, I was mistaken when I thought you experienced your own personal tragedies.”

  I swallow thickly. “Nothing of that caliber.” A sharp pang knots my stomach. My son. The endless cycle of abuse. A gilded prison. All of that torture at the hands of the man I loved. “Yes, I carry a deep sadness in me,” I whisper. “You were right.”

  We fall into an easy silence. I let my thoughts wander around Adriana’s story. What happened to her wasn’t her fault. She was just a child. Her father was the one who made awful decisions that resulted in catastrophic consequences. I can’t say the same about what happened to me. I knew how awful David was from early on and I stayed. For that, I’ll never forgive myself because in staying, I lost the most important part of me—my son.

  “Hector and I have an attorney on retainer.” I refocus on Adriana. “That means we’re paying him whether we need legal services or not. Not to be presumptuous, but I’m guessing you’ll want legal advice to wade through whatever mess Da
vid created.”

  “That’s too generous of you, Adriana. I can’t accept that kind of favor. It’s one thing for me to stay with you while I get back on my feet, but I’m sure your lawyer is extremely well paid and I couldn’t take advantage like that.”

  Adriana shakes her head resolutely. “You would absolutely not take advantage of anything. Jared gets money from us no matter what. And this month we’re low on legal battles.” She smiles wryly. “If you won’t say yes to me, okay, but Hector won’t take no for an answer. He’ll have you meeting with Jared if he has to drive you there himself.”

  “My wife is right.” We both turn to find Hector stepping outside, holding an iced beverage in one hand and a lit cigar in his other hand. “When you divorce the bastard, you’ll need the best representation and I employ nothing short of the best.”

  “You’ve already done too much for me,” I say softly.

  “As far as I’m concerned, we haven’t done enough,” Hector says gruffly. He sits in a chair next to his wife and puffs a breath around his cigar. “There are some things I know about David that I want to share with you.” Hector doesn’t ask me if I want to tell him what happened. In fact, I realize belatedly, neither Adriana nor her husband push me to relieve the sordid details of my marriage. That makes me want to tell them all the more. Unload a little of my burden with the people who genuinely care about my well-being.

  “How much do you know about the well-being of Morgan Financial?”

  “From what David told me, everything was going decently. Some nights he’d come home from the office in a foul mood, but he never said things were trouble. But,” I add wryly, “clearly I knew very little about David, so it’s not much of a stretch to think he was hiding the demise of the family business. Now that I’m thinking more clearly, I vaguely remember Chandler saying that David had trouble at work at a dinner. And yesterday, David went so far as to say his father didn’t want to give him the business when he retired, he wanted Chandler to run it.” And that’s why David killed them, I add silently. I can’t say the words out loud. Repeating them would make it too real and I’m not sure I am ready to stomach my husband the murderer. “David wanted me to befriend you, Adriana, to get more business.”

  Hector smirks. “David Morgan had none of our money. He was known to be an unsuccessful investor from his early days in the business—that’s why his younger brother was to inherit the major responsibilities for the firm. Chandler was extremely bright and well-liked. David, on the other hand, has always forced his politeness and intelligence. Neither one was genuine with him.”

  “Everyone saw through him except for me,” I mumble. “God, how could I have been so trusting?”

  “Matters of the heart are never cut and dry. When someone wants to fulfill our dreams, who are we to turn them down?” Adriana says wisely. “My darling girl, David offered you love and care. Of course, you wanted to believe it was real.”

  “He nearly killed me last night!” I cry, suddenly irate with myself all over again.

  “That’s where you are wrong. I’m sure the threat felt real to you, but it was much less than that.”

  My lips part in shock. “What do you mean?” I direct my question to Hector who revealed the confusing statement. “I was tied to a chair, there were guns involved, and look at me! My right eye is nearly swollen shut.”

  “David caught the attention of the federal government several months ago for what looked like the beginning of illegal trading activities. They’ve been watching him, and they had even planted a camera in David’s office. An inside source who does business with Victor Esposina and Trey Cox snitched on David. They knew he was planning on . . .” Even brave, unaffected Hector can’t say it aloud.

  “Killing me?”

  Adriana flinches, covering her breast with a hand while mumbling a prayer.

  “This is why you must get an attorney, Karolina. I don’t know exactly why David had those plans, but with Jared’s connections, you’ll get the whole story. What I can tell you is many of my colleagues and peers were pulling their money out of Morgan Financial. The returns were not nearly as strong as when David’s father and brother ran the company.”

  “Okay, I will meet with Jared,” I say quietly. “I don’t know how I will ever repay you for your generosity.”

  “Be our friend, Karolina. That’s all we ask,” Adriana replies.

  I brighten a little. “That’s easy to do. And don’t forget your dress. That’s part of the package of my friendship.”

  Adriana smiles. “Deal. But I’m paying for the materials.”

  For the first time in as far back as I can remember, I’m cheery enough to make a joke. “You may have to because apparently I’m broke.” Frowning, I chew on my lower lip. “I’ll need to go back to the house and pick up my things. And Carlo and Miranda are probably wondering what in the world happened.” Pounding throbs between my eyebrows. “Would you come with me?” I direct the tentative question to Adriana. I’m not used to asking others for help. Going it on my own has become second nature.

  “It would be my pleasure.”

  An hour later, Adriana pulls an SUV into the driveway of the place I used to live. From the outside, the two-story home looks exactly the same, but I know better. This structure never truly felt like my home, and now it’s merely a building of dreary memories for me.

  Adriana can’t hold back a gasp when I unlock the front door. Couches lie on their side. Paintings sit on the floor. The police must have looked through every inch of the building with their search warrant. “They’re looking for more evidence against David,” I explain.

  “Still. This place looks like a hurricane ran through it,” she murmurs.

  “Mrs. Morgan? Karolina?” Miranda rushes through the house, having heard our entrance. Her hair, normally combed into a neat bun, lies around her shoulder in disarray. Frown lines wrinkle her forehead. Worry creases her expression. It’s completely uncharacteristic of me, but I don’t hold myself back from rushing toward Miranda to hug her. Despite the unfamiliar embrace, we cling to each other. “What is going on? There were many men and women tearing through the house all night. They came to our home and questioned Carlo and me for an hour! Dios Mio. I called your phone and it went straight to voicemail. Look at you—bruised and battered.”

  “I’m so sorry you worried. In all the chaos at the hospital and with David, I completely forgot to call you. There’s no good excuse except I’ve been shell-shocked.” Adriana moves to stand at my side and I quickly introduce the two women.

  “Mr. David was led away in handcuffs . . . Did he do this to you?” Miranda looks at me in horror.

  Shame flushes my cheeks. Adriana threads her arm around the curve of my shoulders and saves me from responding. “He paid the men who did,” she says tautly. “Karolina is going to stay with me for the next few weeks. We’re here to pick up her things. Obviously, she can no longer stay here or remain married to that scum.”

  Is it obvious? I suppose the natural next step is to file for divorce and dissociate myself from David Morgan permanently. All this time, the answer was simple: leave the bastard. It sickens me, thinking of all the time I wasted with David when I could have been free and figuring out a new life.

  Adriana’s grip tightens around me. “Stop beating yourself up.” Her stern voice pushes the worthless self-pity to the back of my mind.

  “I’m going to meet with an attorney on Monday,” I tell Miranda. “Then I’ll get in touch with you. If I can help it, I don’t want to come back to this place. We’re here to pick up my things and the car.”

  A flash of relief dances through Miranda’s face. She probably wonders what kept me with David for five years. I hold back a grimace as I think of my weakness. “Allow me to assist you. Three sets of hands are better than two.”

  “Where is Carlo?” I ask Miranda as the three of us ascend the wide staircase. “Resting. He spent the morning with me organizing the kitchen. The policía made a disaster of
every room. Do you know what they thought Mr. David was hiding?”

  “Apparently, there were some less than legal activities going on at his business. And then–” it’s difficult to say the words through the lump in my throat “–he hired men to do . . . unspeakable things.”

  Miranda eyes me warily. “Then it is good he is in jail. He probably should have been there a long time ago.”

  A long exhale frees the building tension in my ribs. “Yes, it is good.”

  Several hours later, we’ve packed my belongings neatly into a conclave of suitcases. I leave the jewelry and lavish evening gowns behind. None of the crazy expensive designer garb ever felt like it was truly mine. We found empty plastic bins to house all my thread, fabric, and working garments. I’m thankful for the large SUV Adriana brought because, with Carlo’s help, we are able to fit everything from my small studio into the vehicle, including a dress form and my sewing machine.

  Miranda, Carlo, and I exchange hugs. I vow to call them in the coming days because I don’t want to leave them in the dark. This won’t be the last time I see them, but it will be the final time I am at the Morgan compound in Coral Gables. I’m climbing into my car when I stop short.

  “There’s something I have to do,” I call to Adriana, who is also preparing to leave.

  She shields her eyes from the streaming sunlight and assesses me carefully, as though I might do something drastic. “Do you want me to wait?”

  I force a brittle smile. “Won’t take me more than a minute then I’ll be ready. GPS can get me back to your house.”

  Adriana makes a snap decision to trust that I won’t do something rash, like refuse to leave the house, and nods. “Okay. I’ll let the security know you’ll be on your way.”

  “See you soon.”

  The path to the master bedroom is fraught with memories. I traveled to the room by myself because more times than not, I was alone in the cavernous home. Those were the good times. One particularly evening, David wrapped his hand around my arm in a vise-like grip, dragging me up the staircase as though I was nothing more than a doll. Another time, he pushed my shoulders until I fell face-first onto the hallway floor. I didn’t leave the house for a week while the visible bruises faded. This time, I bound up the steps two at a time, racing through the hallway until I reach the bedroom with renewed energy.