She stiffened. “Nothing happened between us.”
“Oh, really? Why should I believe you?”
Claudia kicked a stone. Malena wanted to believe Claudia’s words, but she couldn’t imagine what else the two of them could have been doing together so late. Jagged flashes of lightning broke the gray clouds above their heads.
“It’s going to rain,” Malena said. “Come on. Hurry.”
“No! I don’t want to go back there!” Claudia covered her face with her hands.
Should she leave her here? Alone? Malena had never seen Claudia so unhinged.
A loud clap of thunder made both of them jump.
“Do whatever you please.” Claudia covered her head with her powder-blue sweater. “I’m going to the seamstress’s house.”
Damn. She should follow Claudia if she didn’t want to get lost. She didn’t know this part of town at all. Rushing behind Claudia, Malena prayed the woman in the accident would make it to the hospital alive.
The rain began, and soon it was pouring so hard it was impossible to determine what was curb and what was street, but Malena eventually caught up with Claudia, whose ordinarily pristine hair was now soaked and getting stuck to her cheeks. Claudia stepped hard in a puddle, splashing dirty water on Malena’s white swing skirt. Great, it had to be this skirt.
Claudia grinned. “Don’t be mad. It was an accident.”
“With that stupid smile on your face you expect me to believe it was an accident?”
“I’m just doing you a favor, really, as much as you like to clean.”
Malena kicked the same puddle and splashed Claudia.
“Of course, such would be the reaction of someone so uncivilized.”
Malena scooped up a handful of mud, ignoring the yucky feeling between her fingers, and threw it at Claudia’s chest. “I’m tired of your superior attitude.”
Claudia responded with a mud ball of her own. In this battle, mud was not the only thing thrown; they hurled at each other every insult they could think of.
So drenched and muddy from head to toe she was barely recognizable, Malena started to laugh. Claudia paused and soon followed suit. It was hard to believe that this was Ana’s daughter. If only Sebastian could see his proper bride now! But Malena was more surprised with herself. She’d never made such a mess of herself before, not even as a child.
By the time they arrived at the seamstress’s house, they were both shivering and covered in mud.
“Señorita Claudia!” the seamstress said. “Please come in!”
The seamstress, Nadia, was a miniscule woman with cinnamon hair in a statuesque bouffant that made her head look too big for her body. She led them to a bright den where the rain clattered so heavily it seemed like it would crack the skylight ceiling. They stood by a flower-print couch, looking at their ridiculous reflections in a floor-to-ceiling mirror. In the back was a mannequin, a sewing machine, and a variety of dresses hanging from a coat stand.
“Take those clothes off,” Nadia said. “I’ll go get some towels.”
Awkwardly, the two of them stripped off their muddy outfits, or what was left of them. As Claudia removed her panty hose, Malena spotted a piece of fabric sticking out of her brassiere. At first, she couldn’t tell what it was, but then she realized Claudia had been using handkerchiefs as padding to make her breasts look fuller. Malena smiled. She’d never imagined Claudia to be so vain or care about the size of her breasts.
“That’s weird,” Claudia said. “Tía Amanda has the same birthmark on her thigh.”
Self-consciously, Malena rubbed the coin-sized strawberry birthmark on her leg. She’d always despised her birthmark, as hideous as it was, but now the thought of Amanda having one made it somehow more acceptable. Claudia’s comment sent her mind wandering, making connections she’d never thought of before. She remembered what her grandmother had told her about her birthmark when she asked about it.
A birthmark like hers, she’d explained, appeared when a pregnant mother had a craving for strawberries that wasn’t fulfilled, or if the woman experienced fear during pregnancy.
“Your mother must have one, too.” Claudia unzipped her skirt. “I’ve heard those things are passed down only from the mother.”
Nadia reappeared with a couple of tangerine towels and robes for them. Malena snatched one of the towels and quickly dried her legs with it. Then, she slipped into a mint robe with white orchids and peacocks spread throughout.
“You girls may shower here and then I’ll bring some nice, warm agua de tomillo so you don’t catch a cold,” Nadia said and disappeared down the hall.
Chapter 35
Amanda, 1941
The room spun in circles around Amanda’s head. She took in another deep breath and removed the blankets from her legs as the nausea returned. Her palms were clammy and a cold sweat ran down her forehead. Her body, however, felt like it was burning up. She remained still, hoping it would somehow help her fight the urge to throw up again.
Her bedroom door opened and Nicolas walked in. With him came the smell of wine, which only made her queasiness worse.
“Do you want me to call Dr. Gaitán?” he asked.
“No.” A doctor wouldn’t help. No one could.
Nicolas sat at the foot of her bed, which surprised her since he always avoided her closeness.
“Why not?” he said. “You’ve been throwing up all night.”
Amanda concentrated on her breathing to control her lightheadedness. She sat up and reached out for the glass of water on the night table. He rose immediately and handed her the glass.
“Raising your feet might help.” He folded two large blankets in fourths until he created a mountain of fabric. Then, he lifted her legs and placed them on top. His touch, as usual, made her uncomfortable. That was all that remained between them, discomfort.
He was right, though. She felt better now. The nausea subsided. They looked into each other’s eyes for a moment. His were red. He’d been drinking. Again.
He rested his hands on his hips. “Do you love him?”
His question was so unexpected she didn’t have time to react, much less plan a response. She took another sip of water, making it last as long as possible. So her suspicions were true. He’d always known.
“Not like I love you,” she said honestly.
The tension in his facial muscles released.
“Who told you?” she whispered.
“Cara mia,” he said. “I’ve been very unfair to you, very selfish.”
She couldn’t believe he was the one apologizing. She was the tramp, the bad wife.
He twisted the wedding band on his finger. “I never gave you the affection you needed. It’s only natural you would find it elsewhere.”
“It was your brother, wasn’t it?”
He didn’t respond. He continued to play with his ring.
“What exactly did he tell you?” she asked.
Nicolas sighed. “What’s the point—?”
“Just tell me,” she said, louder than she anticipated. “I deserve to know what people are saying about me.”
“He said he saw you a couple of times at Café Viteri with your father’s accountant.”
Amanda studied her cuticles. “What else?”
“He thinks there have been other men, too.”
“How come you never said anything?”
“I’m too much of a coward.” He looked at her with such despair, such an intense sadness that she had the urge to hug him, to reaffirm him she’d never loved any man the way she loved him.
“It’s not right for me to expect you to stay with me after all I’ve done.” He chuckled sourly. “Or should I say … after what I haven’t done.” It was a statement, not a question. An embarrassing reality, the barrier that separated them. A subject that, without ever having been mentioned, had ended their life together. “I can’t continue to be so selfish. You’re still young and beautiful. You can still start over with a … real man.”
She plac
ed her hand on his. “Don’t say that. You’re the man I love. I’ll never leave you.” Amanda couldn’t even conceive the idea of leaving Nicolas, even when staying with him was just as painful as living without him. She knew this marriage, this façade, and Il Napolitano were the only things that kept him alive. “Besides, it’s too late for that,” she said. “He’s … with someone else now.”
She flattened the creases on her black nightgown. “Since we’re being honest, there’s something I’ve been wanting to ask you,” she spoke quickly—before he could ask any more.
He anticipated her question. “No. It’s not what you’re thinking. I do like women. I always have.”
His answer shook her. “Then, what is it?”
He stood up, without looking at her, and took a sip from her glass. “I have a … condition, an illness if you will.” He paced the room, a series of shadows transformed on his face.
“An illness?”
“It’s called hypospadias with chordee. It’s a form of—” He faced away from her. “Impotence.”
Impotence. Amanda brought her hands to her forehead, both relieved and saddened by his words. Her marriage’s failure wasn’t her fault, like she had thought all these years.
“I know I should have told you before we got married,” he said, urgency and despair in his voice. “But I thought I could get better.”
Amanda dared to hope.
“Oh, but we could still see a specialist,” she said. “We can go to Italy or the United States. Anywhere.”
“The doctors say it’s incurable.”
“What do the doctors here know? Medicine advances so rapidly.”
“Perhaps.”
Maybe there was a chance for them after all. “Does Enzo know?”
“Nobody knows, except for the doctors, and now you.”
“You should have told me,” she said.
“I know. It’s unforgivable. But I was afraid that if I told you the truth, you might have told someone else. I didn’t know you well, and after your father cornered me into marrying you … well, I just didn’t want everyone in San Isidro to find out. Besides, I thought it was temporary. I thought the doctors would find a cure.”
“I might have married you anyway,” she said bitterly. “I was crazy about you then. I couldn’t believe someone so perfect existed.”
“And he didn’t exist. He’s far from perfect. He’s not even normal.”
His eyes lost their usual shine. She wanted to cuddle him in her arms, but as she set her feet on the floor and attempted to stand, the nausea returned. She leaned back.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
She rested her head on the headboard. “Yes. I sat up too fast.”
He was quiet for a moment. He resumed his pacing, immersed in thought, tensing his forehead again, struggling with something. He finally stopped.
“You’re pregnant, aren’t you?”
Amanda shut her eyes, thinking how bizarre it was that her husband would be asking this question in such a civilized manner when he knew full well that the child couldn’t be his. She’d never imagined having this conversation with Nicolas. Not in a million years.
“What would you do if I was?” she asked. “Would you raise another man’s child?”
Under this light, his symmetrical face looked like it belonged in a museum—next to the sculptures and paintings of the Renaissance masters—those art pieces she’d always dreamed of seeing in person.
“I don’t think I could,” he whispered. “It would be too humiliating.”
A match lit in her core, heat expanding in all directions. She clenched her fists, unable to produce a sound, much less a word. If she did, it would probably be something so hurtful she would regret it for the rest of her life.
“Well? Are you?” he asked.
“What?”
“Pregnant?”
“No. And now, get out. I’m very tired and I want to sleep.”
Chapter 36
Teas in hand, Malena and Claudia sat side by side while Nadia mopped the mud from the foyer and hall. Malena had offered to do it herself, but the seamstress didn’t want to hear another word about it.
Claudia had grown very quiet in the last few minutes, grasping her terracotta cup as if it were a bird about to escape.
“You know they never let me see my Aunt Abigail after she passed?” she said abruptly. “Or my grandfather?”
Malena leaned forward.
“I’d never seen a dead person before.” Claudia reached out for the sugar bowl.
“I’m not convinced that she was dead,” Malena said, the image of the wounded woman still vivid in her mind.
“She was. It was obvious.” Claudia poured one teaspoon of sugar after another into her tea. Just the other day, Ana had scolded Claudia for consuming too much sugar, but apparently she had no use for her mother’s rules at the moment. “She was so young. Couldn’t have been much older than us.” Claudia took a sip. Then added more sugar. “Life can be over in an instant. Just like that, when you least expect it. It doesn’t matter how old or young you are.”
Claudia was right. One day, Malena’s father had been correcting exams at the dining room table, and the next, he was getting buried in Ciudad Blanca, Guayaquil’s most notorious cemetery.
“That’s why you have to take advantage of every day, every moment,” Claudia said in a distant, uncanny voice.
“All done!” Nadia said, poking into the den. “I’ll go get the dresses for the fitting.”
Ana and Amanda arrived after Malena and Claudia were done with their fittings and had already changed into some pastel dresses the seamstress lent them. The sisters set their gray umbrellas on the foyer and their wet jackets on the coat stand. Malena stared at Amanda’s leg as if she could see her birthmark through the fabric of her pencil skirt. Now more than ever, she wished Amanda was her mother. Maybe she would talk to her about it. Perhaps she’d had this all wrong and the best approach would be to talk to each sister in private until one of them confessed.
Once the Platas sisters had tried their garments on, the four of them left together. Amanda wrapped her arm around Malena and led her toward a cab waiting by the curb.
“Do you want to come to the Madreselva with me tonight?” Amanda whispered so Ana wouldn’t hear. “We’re dancing milongas.”
Malena glanced over her shoulder. Ana and Claudia walked a few steps behind, immersed in their own conversation. Well, Ana was the only one speaking.
“Sure,” Malena said. Maybe she could talk to Amanda then.
Looking straight ahead, Amanda stopped short and her smile faded. Enzo was heading in their direction.
“Long time no see, sorella.” His eyes were filled with contempt. “I’ve heard you are managing to save my brother’s business after all.”
“I told you I could do it.”
He smiled, but his face looked sinister under his hat. “You are persistent. I’ll give you that, cara mia.”
“Don’t call me that.”
“Oh, yes, my brother used to call you that. The fool.”
Amanda eyed Malena.
“Guilt can be a good thing, I suppose,” he said. “It has pushed you to do a good thing for my brother’s legacy.”
“I don’t feel guilt,” she said. “You should, though, after what you did to Il Napolitano.”
“No, I’m sure killing my brother was worse.”
“Shut up, Vincenzo! You know damn well he did it to himself.”
Enzo crossed his arms in front of his chest. “Technicalities,” he said. “You might as well have pulled the trigger yourself.”
Amanda slapped his face so hard the people in the street stopped to look at them.
Ana caught up with them, catching her breath.
“What’s going on here?”
Enzo rubbed his cheek. “Mrs. Dávila, I didn’t see you.” He adjusted his tie. “I apologize you had to witness a scene like this.”
“Mr. Fornasieri.”
She glared at her sister. “Amanda, what’s wrong with you? How dare you hit Mr. Fornasieri?”
“Save it, Ana. I don’t want to hear it.” Amanda pushed Enzo aside and climbed into the taxi cab.
Malena rushed behind her, leaving the door open.
“Shut the door, Lili!” Amanda said. “They can walk home!”
As the taxi drove away, Amanda faced the side window. A faint rainbow appeared through the ashen clouds. Sunlight shone through the windshield and bounced off the driver’s bald head. Amanda’s fingers quivered as she lit a cigarette. Malena had never seen Amanda this upset. Not even after the opening night fiasco. The way her legs trembled. The way those tears trailed down her flushed cheeks. Malena wanted to ask her what Enzo meant about Amanda killing his brother. If she understood correctly, they had implied that Nicolas killed himself. But why would he do that? Why would a man with a successful business and a beautiful wife kill himself? She turned to Amanda, who squeezed her umbrella with her free hand.
“Don’t say anything, Liliana,” Amanda warned her. “I don’t want to talk about it. And I don’t want you to mention this to anyone. Understood?”
By nighttime, Amanda had regained her composure. Her charming self returned effortlessly, it seemed. But Malena had been nervous during dinner, seeing the angry glances between Amanda and Ana. There had been so much tension in the dining room Malena was certain the other family members could sense it.
After dinner, the women in the family—minus Amanda and Alejandra—set themselves in the living room to finish Claudia’s trousseau. Amanda walked down the stairs with her coat on and her purse in her hands. She signaled Malena to come.
Malena set her embroidery aside and followed Amanda to the foyer.
“I don’t want to fight with my sister again,” Amanda said in a low voice. “So just come with me without telling her.”
Malena scratched her forehead. She didn’t want any more problems with Ana. She didn’t want her to call María Teresa. Nothing good would come from that.
“Go get your coat,” Amanda told her. “I’ll wait here.” She hung her purse on the coat hanger by the door and walked toward the lavatory. “And hurry up.”
The Sisters of Alameda Street Page 22