The Sisters of Alameda Street

by Lorena Hughes

  “Let’s go deeper,” he said. “Don’t worry. I’ll help you.”

  Without letting go of her hand, Victor pulled her toward the center of the pool. Her feet fought every step and her breathing became quicker, so quick that her head turned light. Once the water reached Abigail’s shoulders, Victor stopped.

  “See? It isn’t so bad,” he said. “Now close your eyes.”

  She obeyed him.

  “Do you feel it?”

  She wasn’t sure what she was supposed to feel, aside from the panic that he would let go of her hand.

  As if reading her mind, he said. “Don’t worry, I won’t let go.”

  She let out a deep breath.

  His voice was soothing. “See how nice this feels? How peaceful it is.”

  She nodded.

  “Do you trust me?” he said.

  “Yes.”

  “Keep your eyes shut.” He placed one arm on her back and lifted her legs with the other, forcing her into a horizontal position. She gasped.

  “Now extend your arms,” Victor said.

  She could feel his hand under her back. His closeness reassured her. She spread her arms, feeling the lightness of her body, the water tickling her ears. A sense of elation took over her body.

  “Now I’m going to remove my arm, but I’ll still be here.”

  She stiffened. She wanted to stay like this, with Victor standing behind her.

  “It will be fine. I promise.” His hand moved away.

  She opened her eyes and focused on the clouds above. They were moving, transforming, floating, and the sky was changing colors, giving way to the darkness. Her heart slowed its rapid beat, her body mingled with the water, and for an instant, there was peace and complete happiness.

  They met every day for the next three weeks. Victor was kind and encouraging, but above all respectful. Not once did he touch her inappropriately or take advantage of her willingness to please him. To Abigail’s chagrin, he always kept his distance, and after that first day, he rarely touched her or stood so close to her again. Sometimes she felt guilty over meeting Victor behind Enrique’s back. She’d rushed into a relationship with Enrique, but she didn’t have the heart to break up with him, especially now that he was becoming so close to her family. Well, she would have to do it, as soon as she figured out the right words.

  As Abigail’s swimming progressed, so did her fear of losing the temporary bond she had with Victor. When she could swim, the lessons would end and she would have to go back to her regular life.

  Taking a break from her first complete lap across the pool, she sat on the edge, elated by how much she’d learned. Amazed at the miracle Victor had worked. Removing the cap from her head, she watched him swim in her direction. He always swam behind her—to make sure she didn’t drown halfway, she suspected. Her guardian angel. If it weren’t for him, she would have died four years ago.

  The cold air made her tremble—or was it his presence? She could never tell.

  Victor hoisted himself over the edge and sat beside her, his legs keeping a proper distance from hers.

  “Good swim,” he said. “You’re getting really good.”

  She didn’t answer. Getting good had its unspoken downside.

  “Are you cold? Do you want me to bring your towel?”

  “No. Just hug me, okay?”

  He didn’t move, his hands remained locked against the pool rim, and his expression seemed somewhat puzzled. One might even say, petrified. She shifted her weight toward him and wrapped her arms around his waist, resting her head on his wet chest. His heart thumped against her ear.

  “Don’t you like me, at least a little?” she said.

  “Abigail, there’s something I need to tell you.”

  Oh, no. The confession, the dreaded confession. He was engaged, he was married. No, she didn’t want to hear it. She raised her head and before he could say another word, she kissed him.

  He was stiff at first, and backed his head away a little. She held his face with her hands and parted her lips, the way Enrique had taught her. His breathing became heavier and his body relaxed. His hands explored her bare back, pulling her closer to him. She kept her eyes open, to make sure this was real, not another one of her fantasies. She tasted the salt from the water on his mouth.

  Slowly, he pushed her down, against the warm floor, and lay over her. He kissed her chin, her collarbone, the space between her breasts and then, abruptly, almost aggressively, he pulled back and sat down.

  “What am I doing?” He ran his fingers through his dripping hair.

  Abigail sat up, breathing rapidly.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “This is wrong.”

  “Why? I love you and … don’t you love me?”

  “It’s not that.”

  “You don’t find me attractive?”

  He chuckled. “Of course I do. That’s exactly the problem.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “The reason I’ve been away from San Isidro for the last four years is that …” He lowered his voice. “I’ve been at the Seminario Mayor in Quito.”

  “The seminary? You’re a priest?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Yet?”

  “I was going to be ordained a few months ago, but my father became ill and I was granted permission to come here.”

  No, this couldn’t be happening. Not her Victor. “But I don’t understand. What kind of priest dances and goes to parties?”

  He covered his eyes with his hand. “The kind who promised his father on his deathbed that he would give himself a chance in the outside world. The kind who is trying to make the most important decision of his life.”

  Then there was still a chance; the decision had not been made yet. She held his wrists and pulled his hands away from his face.

  “Then there’s nothing wrong with this,” Abigail said. “You’re only doing what your father wanted.”

  “It’s not that simple. All my life I’ve wanted this. So did my mother. I made a commitment to the Church, to God.”

  She dropped his hands. “Then why did you just kiss me the way you did? Why have you been meeting with me? Leading me on?”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. I just wanted to help you.”

  “You’re lying. You know you love me. I feel it.”

  He was quiet for a moment. “My calling is stronger.”

  “Your calling? How can you say that when you just kissed me the way you did?”

  “To have a calling doesn’t mean all your human desires are gone. I’m a man, above all, and you’re … an irresistible woman.”

  “Victor, please, forget about that! I can make you happy, much happier than the Church could ever make you.” She leaned forward, holding his face in her hands. “Let’s go back to what we were doing. I’ll teach you what a woman is, and you won’t have any more doubts. I promise.”

  She kissed him again, desperately trying to entice him, but this time, he was impassive. No, this couldn’t be happening. Gently, he pulled back.

  “Forgive me,” he said, drying her tears with his fingers. “You’re a wonderful woman, Abigail. Any man would be lucky to have you.” He caressed her cheek. “But I can’t offer you anything right now. My life doesn’t belong to me anymore. So many people are counting on me, on this decision. I’m leaving next Monday. I’m going back to the seminary.”

  He stood up, almost apologetically, and grabbed the towels. He handed her one, but she didn’t take it. She wanted to stay here, alone, in the cold. To punish him by freezing to death right here.

  “We should get going,” he said.

  “You go. I want to stay here.”

  “I can’t leave you alone.”

  “Just leave, okay? Get out! Go back to your church.”

  He stared at her for a minute and left.

  Abigail looked after him, feeling slightly faint, and then, for the first time in ten or more years, she discerned the Virgin’s face in the mou
ntain. She could clearly see her facial features in the dents and trees, and her long tresses in the falling water. And she could definitely see that the Mother of Christ was frowning at her.

  Chapter 29

  With the holidays, Malena’s investigations—her snooping—slackened. First of all, she’d been rehearsing every night at the Madreselva. And second, who would have the heart to cause a family scandal during this time of the year? Truth be told, she was enjoying this life too much to even think about going back to Guayaquil. There was nothing waiting for her there—with so many absences, the dean had probably expelled her from school already (not that she minded terribly).

  From the early hours of December 31, San Isidro’s most enthusiastic citizens had built dummies—called Años Viejos—and placed them on small stages framed with tree branches throughout the city. In the plaza, over a dozen dummies were displayed in two long rows. At midnight, they had to be burned to symbolize the end of last year’s problems and the beginning of a new year of hope. After the burning, a big celebration would take place at the plaza. Malena had never participated in this tradition. Back home, she’d merely seen the festivities from a taxi or her apartment window.

  This year was different. She took a step back, admiring the dummy Amanda and Bernardo had built in the morning with newspapers, pillows, and old clothes. It had a gray-haired wig and a mask of a man with a large nose. The last touch was a bag of spaghetti in his hands.

  “It looks just like Enzo,” Malena said.

  Amanda surveyed her handiwork. “No, it’s a better version of Enzo. This one doesn’t talk.”

  Enzo’s dummy sat with his arms wide open on a chair. His free hand was placed over a small round table with a handwritten sign that read “Il Napolitano.”

  “Yes, it’s perfect,” Bernardo said.

  Amanda stretched her back. “I can’t wait to burn it.” She glanced at her watch. “Sebastian and Joaquin should be here already.”

  Malena rubbed her hands against the black dress Amanda had given her for Christmas. In only a few minutes, she would be dancing on that stage with Sebastian. The band was playing “La Plaga,” and Javier stood beside them, with a guitar in his hands, singing.

  “Javier is here,” Malena told Amanda.

  “Don’t worry. He won’t say anything.”

  “Did you know he could sing like that?”

  “There’s more to Javier than meets the eye.” Amanda unzipped her purse and removed her compact. “Don’t be so nervous. There’s nothing wrong with dancing.”

  “Tell that to your sister and her husband.”

  Amanda powdered her nose and returned the compact to her purse. “You seem so naïve, sometimes I don’t understand how it is that you dated that man in San Vicente.”

  Malena averted her gaze. She’d never dated anyone, much less the married man they kept mentioning who apparently was so bad for Lili. If only they knew Liliana was in the capital at this very moment, living her happily-ever-after with the wicked Juan Pablo.

  Amanda left her purse on a nearby chair and greeted Joaquin. Malena stayed behind, glancing at the purse. With all the chaos and confusion of tonight’s celebration, she might be able to take it. Oh, God, was she turning into a thief now? She just couldn’t think of another way to get hold of the armoire key given that Amanda always guarded it like a treasure.

  Before Malena could make up her mind, the faint scent of cigarette and mint told her Sebastian was here, standing behind her.

  “Buenas noches,” he said.

  Malena spun on her heels. He wore black, too, and his eyes shone. She hugged her arms.

  “You look fantastic!” Amanda told Sebastian. “Now get going, it will soon be midnight.”

  Malena was conscious of Sebastian’s hand on the small of her back as he led her toward the stage. When she crossed in front of the band, Javier’s eyes widened upon seeing her there. She stood in front of Sebastian, just like they’d rehearsed.

  “Don’t look down,” he whispered. His eyes were fixed on hers with such intensity she had the urge to look away, but didn’t.

  As soon as the music started, he wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her close to him. Then, he held her right hand, softly pressing his palm against hers. She followed his lead effortlessly. The steps weren’t hard anymore. Dancing didn’t make her nervous; being so close to Sebastian did.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a crowd surrounding them, gasping at every turn, applauding. Malena could get used to this attention. This high must be what artists sought in every performance. Approval. Admiration. She felt connected to the audience, free. Nobody had ever been impressed with anything she’d done before—certainly not her father. And the feeling was invigorating.

  For a moment, she imagined that it was only her and Sebastian and that beautiful tango, “El día que me quieras,” in the plaza. Energized, she boldly looked into his eyes. If she had to do this, she might as well enjoy the moment. So this was what it felt like to have Sebastian’s attention. She wondered, too, what a kiss from him would be like.

  The rest of the song went by in a haze. Too fast, in her opinion. They remained locked in each other’s arms after the melody ended. This might be the last time they would be this close. She couldn’t bring herself to let go of his arms. He gently pushed her away, but held her hand as they bowed to the public. A roar of applause erupted around them.

  In the microphone, the master of ceremonies praised them and advertised Amanda’s nightclub. Then, he started the New Year’s Eve countdown.

  “¡Cinco, cuatro, tres, dos, uno, cero! ¡Feliz Año!”

  “Happy New Year,” Malena told Sebastian.

  He gazed at her lips. Was he going to kiss her? It was tradition, after all. But he simply squeezed her hand. He didn’t let go until he spotted Claudia among the crowd, glaring at them.

  Malena had never seen Claudia looking this beautiful before, not even at her engagement dinner. She looked older tonight and sophisticated in a light blue sleeveless dress and a high bun. Trinidad, wrapped in a wool poncho up to her nose, stood behind her, like a good chaperone. Sebastian moved a chair out of the way and approached his fiancée. He kissed her cheek. Somehow Claudia managed a smile, but Malena was certain that if Claudia had had a knife nearby, she would have thrown it at her.

  Malena searched for Amanda among the heads surrounding her and the small bonfires that had started throughout the plaza. She needed to get away from Claudia and Sebastian.

  “I didn’t know you were dancing tonight,” a male voice said behind her. It was Javier.

  “And I didn’t know you were singing,” Malena said.

  “My sister is never going to forgive you for this.”

  “I know.” She watched Sebastian lead Claudia toward the drink stand. She was shaking her head. “How long have you been playing with the band?”

  “A few months.” Javier’s gaze landed on the sparkling pin in the center of her V-neckline.

  “You’re good.”

  Sebastian looked in her direction while handing Claudia a plastic cup.

  Javier also handed Malena a drink. She hesitated. She never consumed food or beverages from street vendors (typhoid was the last thing she needed).

  “Come on, don’t be so prudish,” Javier said.

  Prudish? She liked to think of herself as wary and efficient, thank you very much. Ana and Claudia were prudish, not her!

  “Would a prudish person dance in front of a crowd?” Or pretend to be someone else?

  Javier smiled, but didn’t remove his eyes from her cup.

  She smelled the cinnamon and aguardiente in her canelazo and took a sip. It was warm and she could taste the naranjilla juice in the mix.

  “The band is getting ready to go to Guayaquil in a few weeks,” Javier said.

  A couple of these drinks and she wouldn’t care anymore about having to face Claudia later. “Are you going with them?”

  “I can’t. You know how my old
man is.”

  “But you’re such a good singer, Javi. This might be your one chance.”

  “Nobody can make a living with music or theater in this country, remember?”

  She had told him something similar at the storage room the other day. Things seemed so different now, like anything was possible.

  “Make it your New Year’s wish,” she said.

  Claudia was laughing now, and wrapping her hand around Sebastian’s arm. It was the canelazo for sure. Malena hated to admit it, but Sebastian and Claudia made a nice couple. When Claudia caught Malena watching them, she grabbed Sebastian’s face with both hands and kissed him.

  Malena drained her drink, wishing Sebastian would push Claudia away. He didn’t. Instead, he held Claudia by the waist and responded to the kiss.

  “There’s Amanda,” Javier said, unaware of the pain growing in Malena’s chest.

  What an idiot she had been to think there was something special between Sebastian and her while they danced. It had meant nothing to him. It had been, like Amanda said, just a dance. He was in love with Claudia, and he would marry her very soon.

  Malena followed Javier back to where Enzo’s dummy once stood. It was still burning, and Amanda and Joaquin were talking so close to each other that Malena felt uncomfortable interrupting them.

  “I’m worried about her,” Amanda was saying.

  “We should take her home,” Joaquin said.

  “Who?” Javier asked.

  “Sebastian’s mother,” Joaquin said. “She’s had too much to drink.”

  They pointed in the direction of Ofelia Rivas, a few steps away. Malena barely recognized her. Gone was the classy lady she’d met recently. Ofelia had a glass in her hand, her caramel shawl halfway off her shoulders, her mascara smeared, and she was massacring the bolero “Bésame Mucho” with her screeches.

  “We have to tell Sebastian,” Amanda said. “Where is he?”

  Sebastian and Claudia were no longer at the stand where Malena had last seen them.

  Ofelia staggered toward Amanda. “Have a drink with me, amiga!”

  Amanda wrapped her arm around her shoulder. “Come with me, querida. I’ll take you home.”