The Saints of the Cross

by Michelle Figley

  “Do you mind if we take a cheek swab from one of the kids, just to make sure?” Helen says to Dad. He shakes his head.

  “That won’t be necessary.”

  “I think we should, Dad,” I say, and Emma nods in agreement. “I feel like we should be certain, and it’s the only way to accomplish that.”

  “Fine.”

  Hellen leads me back to a clinical room with stainless steel tables, where she swabs the inside of my cheek. It takes me a few minutes, but I realize we’re in the facility’s morgue, where bodies are held until they can be taken to the appropriate mortuary. Back in the reception area, she tells Dad that she’ll have the results within two weeks.

  Emma rides home with the family, while Xander and I drive back to McLean together. He holds my hand in silence the entire drive, and I think about all the reasons I should be happy that this poor woman is not my mother. But I can’t help also thinking about all the reasons I wish she were—for the knowing, for the closure, so I could finally move on with my life. We go to Xander’s house, to his bedroom, where he holds me in his arms as I cry myself to sleep.

  Two weeks later, the letter arrives informing us that my DNA does not match the woman’s in Baltimore, and I steel my heart to start all over again.

  CHAPTER 21

  It’s been weeks since we made the trip to Baltimore. Christmas came and went. None of us were feeling particularly festive, although we went through the motions of being a happy family complete with presents, caroling, and Christmas Eve Mass. Xander stayed with us for the holiday break instead of going home to Italy with his grandfather. He said he couldn’t leave me when I needed his help to find mom. I needed him for more than that. Every night I’d sneak into the guestroom and curl up in bed with him. We’d stare at each other until one of us fell asleep. I love watching Xander sleep. He always looks so peaceful, like he doesn’t have a care in the world. I know I don’t sleep like that. My dreams won’t let me.

  Over the last couple of weeks, I’ve been dreaming about Javier. In these dreams, we’re together, we were never apart, and we’re happy. When I awake, I feel stressed, angry, and vulnerable. I don’t have room enough in my heart to feel these things. I’m completely happy with Xander. We are a couple—I know this, everyone knows this—but we’ve not yet defined our relationship. It’s as if we’re too afraid of being hurt again, and if we were to make the relationship official, that’s exactly what would happen.

  I’ve been suffering through the school days at Holy Cross, trudging from class to class. I yearn for May to come, for the warmth of summer, and to finally be finished with this hell on Earth that is high school. I find my solace in Xander. I spend almost every waking minute outside of school with him, researching schizophrenia and searching for my mother. He insists that we take breaks to see ridiculous teen movies and go to his favorite video arcade. It’s in these times that I get a glimpse of the real Xander—the fun-loving, care-free guy—a hint of the many layers of the man I’m falling for.

  I’m trying to shove my organic chemistry book into my tiny locker when I feel someone standing behind me. I spin around and am face to face with the modern-day version of Helen of Troy, or Cleopatra, or whichever historical femme fatale you’d want to compare her to. She’s smirking at me, probably because she recognizes how incredibly jumpy I am. I turn back to my task. You’d think a school as expensive as Holy Cross would have some decent-sized lockers!

  “So are you and Xander going to the inaugural youth ball together?” Camilla asks nonchalantly. But there’s a strange quality to her voice. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think she’s jealous.

  “Actually, yes. He asked, and I said yes.” I cringe and turn to her, awaiting her response.

  Camilla is quiet for a moment. I know she’s not happy about it, no matter what she might say.

  “Well, that’s good,” she says, pursing her lips together and averting her eyes. “It’s time for Xander to move on after what happened with that little bitch cheerleader. You know she broke his heart, right?”

  I know it wasn’t Emily who broke his heart; it was Camilla. But I nod anyway.

  “I think he’s pretty much over it,” I say, hoping that she realizes that I’m really talking about her. I don’t know how much Xander has told her about our relationship, but I’m feeling awkward talking to her about this. I haven’t figured out if she knows that Xander confided in me about their past.

  “Yeah, I guess,” she shrugs.

  “I hope he’s over it, because I’m really starting to have feelings for him,” I say in a moment of unfounded vulnerability. Immediately, I wish I could somehow put those words back into my mouth. Her expression is a strange cross between devastation and relief. “Come on,” I say and slam my locker shut. “I have to get home.”

  As we approach the gothic mahogany doors at the entrance to the school, I spot a tall, broad figure leaning against the wall—Xander, wearing a bulky ski jacket and a toboggan on his head. A small group of sophomore girls are standing across the lobby, giggling and whispering among themselves, ogling Xander and not being very discrete about it. He does not appear to notice his admirers, or at least he isn’t acknowledging them. He’s engrossed in something on his smartphone.

  “You better get over there and claim your property before one of those little sluts pounces on him,” Camilla whispers to me and then takes off ahead of me toward the doors. I roll my eyes at her. Does she really think I’m that pathetic? And excuse me but he’s not my property.

  “What are you two up to?” Xander asks as we approach. He places his phone in his backpack and slings the pack over his shoulder.

  “Oh nothing,” I say as I move to his side. He hooks his left arm around my shoulder, pulls me close, and plants a kiss on my forehead. He places a hand on my face and gently cradles me for a moment. I glance up and if looks could kill—well, I wouldn’t be standing here right now. There are five glaring female faces, including Camilla’s, all giving me the green-eyed-monster death stare. I wrap my arms around Xander and squeeze him. He tilts my chin up and searches my eyes with an intensity that makes me weak in the knees.

  “Are you ready to go back to work?” he asks, referring to our nightly routine of internet searches. I nod, and he gives me a quick peck on the lips. My entire body flushes, and our female audience scatters. Guess they’ve seen enough.

  As we push through the massive doors, I bump against Xander, dropping my black purse to the concrete patio and spilling out all its contents.

  “Oh crap!” I exclaim and kneel to the ground to gather my things. The senior students congregated on the portico turn and gawk, but they say nothing. Xander kneels down beside me to help retrieve the mascara rolling down the landing and heading for the steps.

  “Who is that?” Camilla purrs from above us.

  I look up at Camilla and follow her stare to the red-brick, circular drive in front of the school. Parked there is a black limo flying the Spanish flag from the radio antenna. A tall, lanky, dark-haired soldier in mirrored aviators and full military uniform is leaning against the passenger door with his arms crossed in front of him.

  “Must be a dignitary; that’s the Spanish flag,” I respond, turning my attention back to my belongings sprawled out in front of me. It does not immediately occur to me that foreign dignitaries are not common visitors to the Cross.

  “I don’t believe it!” Xander, who’s looking in the direction of the limo, stands up and starts toward the monstrosity of a car.

  “Xander?” My eyes follow him to the limo.

  The soldier smiles a familiar smile as Xander approaches and embraces him with a hard slap to the back. As I stand up, my heart sinks down to the cold concrete. I must stumble backward, because Camilla has me by both forearms as she pulls me upright again.

  “What’s wrong?” Camilla says, and I can see my own startled reflection in her huge, mirrored sunglasses.

  “It’s him . . .” I whisper, before running down the stair
s toward the limo.

  “Evie!” Camilla yells after me, but I don’t turn around. I’m completely focused on the soldier in front of me.

  I run up to the two men, so similar in appearance, yet so different, and stop short of crashing into Xander.

  “Javier Santos de la Cruz, I demand to know what you’re doing here!” My voice shrills, and I can do nothing to calm it. I sense eyes boring into the back of my head, and I know, without turning around to check, that the entire senior class of the Cross is standing on the portico watching the drama unfold. Camilla runs up, skidding to a halt next to me.

  “Aren’t you at least going to say hello?” Javier smiles sheepishly. He removes his aviators and places them in his right breast pocket in one smooth, graceful—and familiar—movement. His skin is darker than I remembered, making his smile flash, and his face is unusually gaunt.

  “What’s going on here?” Xander and Camilla ask simultaneously, their faces pinched up in confusion.

  “Xander, Camilla, this is Javier—” I start.

  “I know who he is,” Xander exclaims.“He’s my cousin. I’m asking what’s going on here,” Xander says, motioning between Javier and me.

  “Oh my God! I had absolutely no idea whatsoever,” I say to Xander apologetically, if not pleadingly.

  Javier pipes up. “Now it’s my turn to ask, what’s going on here?” Javier looks from me to Xander, and then to Camilla, “Who are you?”

  “I’m her best friend—the one whose shoulder she’s been crying on for the last five months, you jerk,” Camilla snarls.

  “Pardon me?” Javier appears dumbfounded and offended.

  “He’s your ex-boyfriend from Spain? My cousin?” Xander’s beginning to piece together the puzzle.

  “Yes,” I admit.

  “Wait,” Javier says, squinting. “Ex-boyfriend? Qué está pasando aquí, Eva?” He looks truly surprised.

  “Yes, Javier,” I burst with pent-up frustration.“I don’t hear from you for months. Then I see an Internet tabloid article with your picture, taken at a royal freaking ball with a beautiful Italian girl. Of course I must assume we no longer exist as a couple!” My voice grows louder with each word.

  Muffled whispers rise from the growing audience a few yards away. I know I’m creating a spectacle, but I’m not about to miss my chance to get some answers. Besides, I’m way past the point of salvaging any of my dignity.

  “I can explain that,” Javier says, grabbing my arm. “Come with me.”

  “Screw you!” I shrug away from his grip.“I’m not going anywhere with you.” Xander steps between us.

  “This is a major misunderstanding,” Javier insists.“I can clarify everything to you—”

  “Really?” I interrupt, furious.“Go for it, because I’d really like to have some kind of explanation as to what happened that you could not call, write, text, or email me for the last five months.” I couldn’t care less who witnesses my fury.

  Javier responds, “I don’t think it’s appropriate to discuss our personal lives in front of an audience.” He motions toward the enthralled gaggle of students gathered on the portico, not more than twenty feet behind us. I turn to look, but just as I do, everyone turns away as if they’re engrossed in their own personal conversations.

  Camilla agrees. “I think he’s right,” she says.“Having everyone know your personal business is the last thing you want.” She places a firm hand on my shoulder as she turns and scowls at the group behind us.

  “Come on,” Javier urges me. “Get in the limo. I will take you home, and we can discuss this privately during the drive.” Javier motions to the open rear passenger door.

  “Why are you in a limo, anyway?” I ask, distracted for the moment.

  “I’m here with the Spanish delegation to the presidential inauguration,” Javier answers, sounding official.

  “What?” Camilla and I ask in unison.

  “You’ve got a lot of explaining to do, Javier,” Xander deadpans. Then Xander turns to me. “Evie, just go with him. Hear what he has to say, and then form your opinion.”

  I look up at Xander and immediately recognize the sadness in those gorgeous, golden eyes.

  “Xander, I will see you tonight. I promise.” I give him a hug and stand on my toes to kiss his cheek. “Camilla, I’ll call you later, okay?”

  “Yes, please do.” Camilla shoots Javier her meanest, mean-girl glare. “Come on, Xander, walk me to my car.”

  She wraps an arm around his waist and pulls him close. My blood begins to boil thinking about how perfect they look together. I have to literally shake the wretched thought from my mind.

  “I’ll call you later, primo,” Javier calls to Xander.

  “Bueno,” Xander whispers over his shoulder. My stomach knots itself into a ball. He’s hurting because of me, and it’s ripping me inside out. All I want to do is chase Xander down and take him in my arms.

  “Eva, come on, get in the car.” Javier motions to the door. I hesitate a moment longer, debating whether to get into the limo or to run after Xander and Camilla.

  “Okay,” I sigh, crossing in front of him to the car. “Let’s get this over with.”

  “It will all make sense, I promise you, and you will feel so silly.” Javier smiles that devastating smile that I suddenly realize I’ve missed more than I can put into words. I want to slap that smile right off him. Instead, I slide into the leather seat. Instantly, I know I’m going to regret this.

  CHAPTER 22

  “Where to, Miss Sweeney?”says the limo driver, peering through a sliding door in the tinted glass partition.

  “How do you know my name?” I’m beyond annoyed at this point, and my voice borders on hostile.

  “Sergeant Cruz, of course,” he says and eyes me with a strange look.

  “Right.” I’m momentarily embarrassed by my own rudeness, but I recover quickly. “1001 Cherry Lane, please.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” The driver turns forward briefly, then back to us. With a serious voice he says, “Estimated time of arrival, twenty-five minutes, Sergeant Cruz.”

  “Thank you, William.” Javier slides the tinted partition closed and turns to me, leaning in closer as if he’s about to plant a kiss on my mouth, but I push him away at the chest.

  “Start talking, Sergeant Cruz,” I order.“What the hell is going on? Since when are you in the military?” I’m confused. I had no idea that Javier was going into the military. “And what the hell . . . you’re in line for the Spanish throne?”

  “Do you know how many people have to die before I can be crowned king of Spain? Dozens!” Javier replies with a solemn expression, but then bursts out laughing.

  “Javier! I’m serious. Why didn’t you tell me this?”

  “I know I should have told you, but with you moving back to the States, I didn’t want to burden you with it.” Javier stares down at his hands, and his face grows serious again. “I thought, for the time being, that it would be best for you not to know.”

  “What? How can you decide what’s best for me? You lied to me about everything, about who you are.” I realize that the man I fell in love with was nothing more than a fictional character, a figment of the real Javier’s imagination. It would have been enough to destroy the old Evie, but not the new me—the girl who has to put all of her heart and energy into finding her mother.

  “I was truthful about everything with you. I just did not inform you of my familial lineage, or that I was going into the military,” Javier says desperately. “Women usually want to be with me because of my family, because of our wealth—not because of who I am. I was always myself with you. You alone know the true me.”

  Javier reaches across the seat and takes my hand in his. I don’t pull away this time. I look directly into his pleading, sad eyes that could melt hearts of glacial ice. But I don’t want to allow myself to succumb to his charm.

  “Really? So tell me about this Annalisa Giordano. Was that date just a ploy to deflect attention from me
? I’d like to hear your explanation of the lovely picture I saw of the two of you together at the royal ball. You looked like a couple.” My voice is cold and unemotional. I won’t let his charm take over my common sense.

  “Anna is a childhood friend. We grew up together. She agreed to go to the ball with me as a favor to my mother.” Javier laughs as if it’s the most ridiculous thing that I would question his relationship with this beautiful girl.

  “Well, that story doesn’t make me feel any better. I was still in Spain when that photo was taken. Why would you take her instead of me?”

  “Because I had not told you about my family,” Javier explains. “Also, I wanted to keep you for myself. Yes, I wanted to deflect attention from you. If we had stepped out as a couple at an official event, your privacy would have been completely destroyed, at least in Spain. The European tabloids would have been stalking you day and night.” He pauses, and then continues.“Did you know that shortly after we went flamenco dancing in Seville, there was a tabloid article published about me dating a young American?”

  “No, I don’t read tabloids,” I say flatly. But I remember how the women in the flamenco class stared and whispered excitedly amongst themselves when we walked into the small studio, and how they watched us throughout the entire class. I assumed the attention was due to Javier’s uncommon good looks. With this memory, I know Javier is telling me the truth—and that I’m a complete fool.

  “Oh God,” I groan, devastated, placing my hands over my face. All the heartache and hurt I’ve felt over the last five months was for nothing. Javier slides over next to me in the limo, and this time, I don’t push him away.

  “The reason I haven’t contacted you in months is because I have been physically unable to do so. The night I called and left you a message, I was taken urgently for survival training in Siberia and Uzbekistan, where I’ve been for the last five months. I literally arrived back to Spain two days ago. I came today because I wanted to surprise you. I couldn’t wait to see you again.” Javier leans down and kisses me on the forehead, allowing his lips to linger there.