The Sisters of Alameda Street

by Lorena Hughes

  “Have you gone crazy?”

  “Stop playing the fool, please. We’re too old for these games. We both know you’ve wanted to get your hands on Abigail’s diary for a long time.”

  Alejandra raised her voice. “You’re wrong. I have no interest in that diary.”

  “Have you forgotten I found you burning it in the fireplace?”

  After a short silence, Alejandra spoke. “That was years ago. I told you Abigail asked me to do it. Besides, why would I want to get it now?”

  “That’s what I would like to know!”

  “Amanda. You’re being ridiculous. I’m not the one fixated on that diary. I’m not the one holding on to something that doesn’t belong to me knowing my sister wanted it destroyed.”

  Abigail wanted it destroyed?

  “I’m not fixated on it,” Amanda said.

  There was a knock on the door. Malena took a leap, thinking for a minute that someone was knocking on the storage room. Neither one of the sisters answered.

  “I still don’t understand why you hold on to it,” Alejandra said.

  “It’s one of the few memories we have of Abigail.”

  The knocking grew louder.

  “I already told you. I didn’t take your key.”

  “So if it wasn’t you, then who took it?” Amanda’s tone softened.

  “I. Don’t. Know. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to get back to work. I’m busy and I can’t stand the smell of your perfume.”

  When whoever was at the door knocked again, both sisters yelled back.

  “What?”

  Trinidad’s shy voice responded. “Doña Amanda, I found your key. It was lying by your bed.”

  There was a short silence. Malena leaned her head closer to the door, touching the wood with her cheek. In a muffled voice, Amanda apologized to her sister. Then came the noise of a door shutting, followed by steps, and then the unmistakable sound of Alejandra’s drill.

  Malena stood in the dark storage room. She couldn’t believe the way Amanda had talked to Alejandra. She’d never heard those two arguing like that. It was always Ana who fought with Amanda. Had it really been Abigail who wanted the diary destroyed, or was it Alejandra?

  Chapter 38

  Alejandra, 1941

  The accounting lessons with Enrique weren’t working. Nothing was. Especially now that Abigail had volunteered to go to Tabacundo with Ana to help her get established there. Since they had left—over three months ago—Enrique had been more distracted than usual and Alejandra was frankly sick of numbers. Not even the love of your life was worth all this work, much less a simple crush. But when Alejandra saw Enrique walking into her dining room with the accounting textbook under his arm and those spectacles he wore sometimes, she remembered why she’d come up with this silly excuse to be near him. He was the love of her life, and suddenly all this work made sense. She would have studied Quantum Physics if it meant being close to him.

  “Shall we start?” Enrique said.

  She opened her ledger for him to review her homework. As he checked her numbers, Alejandra focused on the way Enrique moved his lips as he read her work, the way his index finger rested on his forehead, the tiny mole on his cheek. She fantasized about him shoving all the books to the floor, grabbing her by the waist, and kissing her passionately on the table.

  “Where’s your balance sheet?” he said.

  “Sure.”

  He turned to her, and they were only centimeters apart. She could smell the mint candy he was sucking. “Your balance sheet.”

  “Oh.” She searched for the paper inside the leather bag by her feet. “Where did I leave it?”

  Enrique sighed, and that frustrated look he often gave her—but never to Abigail—appeared on his face again. “Alejandra, I’ve told you to keep your things in order. It’s fundamental when you’re dealing with numbers.”

  She hated that condescending tone he used sometimes, as if she were a child and he was the parent. One day, he would realize she wasn’t a child, and he would pay for his indifference.

  The doorbell rang.

  She jumped up to get it, relieved for the interruption. She scurried through the foyer and opened the door.

  It was Edgar Carrasco from across the street.

  “Good afternoon, Alejandra,” he said, unable to look her in the eye. Since they’d met in the park, so many years ago, he’d always been a little shy around her. Intimidated, almost. He extended his arm, offering her a black leather purse that looked a lot like her mother’s. “I believe this is Doña Blanca’s. I found it in one of the pews at church. Her wallet is inside.”

  “Thank you.”

  Enrique walked out of the dining room in the direction of the lavatory.

  Alejandra raised her voice. “I would love to go out with you for ice cream, Edgar, but unfortunately I’m in the middle of class.”

  Edgar’s eyes widened. “I beg your pardon?”

  She winked at him. “Maybe another afternoon, yes?”

  “S-s-sure.” He blushed.

  She glanced over her shoulder. Enrique stood by the lavatory door, but he hadn’t entered yet.

  “Actually, I have a better idea,” Alejandra told Edgar. “Why don’t you and your father come over for dinner tonight? I’m sure my mother would be delighted.” The leather felt stiff between her hands.

  Edgar scratched his forehead. “Thank you. I’ll tell my father.”

  “Would seven o’clock work for you?”

  “I suppose.”

  “All right then, I’ll see you tonight.” She closed the door even though Edgar was still standing there.

  Grinning, she walked past Enrique to the dining room.

  “Excuse me, Profesor.”

  Mamá Blanca wasn’t exactly delighted to have company with such short notice, though she was grateful for recovering her purse.

  “What did you expect me to do?” Alejandra opened the oven for her mother. “I couldn’t just say ‘thank you’ and shut the door.”

  Mamá Blanca placed two chickens inside. “Yes, but you could’ve at least invited them for tomorrow, so I could fix a proper meal—not this.”

  “It didn’t occur to me.”

  “What am I going to tell your father?”

  “Oh, don’t worry about it. I’ll handle my father.”

  Her father’s anger was well worth it when she remembered Enrique’s astonished expression in the foyer. She wanted to prove to Enrique that she could attract other men, give him a little taste of jealousy to wipe off that confident smile from his face. He must have known she liked him. Only a blind man wouldn’t notice. Well, it was time for him to stop being so sure about her. Jealousy would make him realize that he loved her and not Abigail.

  It was so frustrating that Enrique was Abigail’s beau, especially because she didn’t love him. Alejandra had read her sister’s diary and knew she loved that seminarista, Victor-something-or-other. So why wouldn’t she just break up with Enrique? It would have been the moral thing to do. Enrique shouldn’t be anybody’s alternate. On top of everything else, Abigail had abandoned him without even setting a wedding day; disregarding Enrique’s feelings for her, treating him as if he were a joke. No, Alejandra didn’t feel guilty in the least about taking her sister’s beau from her. Really. She didn’t.

  Edgar Carrasco and his father, Don Tomás, the best barber in town—as proclaimed by El Heraldo de San Isidro—arrived five minutes before seven. Both sported new haircuts, probably given by each other, and repeatedly wiped their feet on the foyer rug. Papá Pancho didn’t even attempt to look pleased with the neighbors’ visit, as unhappy as he was with the invitation. (“How much is this going to cost? What am I going to talk about? Don’t you know we have inventory today?”) But Alejandra had insisted that it was the only decent thing to do after they had recovered Mamá Blanca’s purse and wallet and since, as her mother had attested, not a single coin was missing.

  They sat around the table in uncomfortable
silence until Mamá Blanca asked Don Tomás where he was originally from. Don Tomás’s eyes shone as he described in great length the arrival of the first Carrasco to Ecuador, and how some of his ancestors had been direct messengers for the King of Spain. As he spoke, Papá Pancho yawned so widely that Alejandra had to elbow her father, mostly in an effort to put her blood back in circulation again. Fausto laughed out loud, a good thing after he’d been glaring at Edgar since he arrived. Alejandra didn’t like how her cousin looked at the barber’s son as though he was dirt.

  When Alejandra thought she couldn’t stand this gathering any longer, Enrique entered the dining room, ledger in hand.

  “Good evening.” He approached Alejandra’s father and handed him the accounting book. “I’m done.”

  Alejandra perked up when Enrique turned in her direction. She straightened her back and ran her fingers through her loose hair. He looked into her eyes for a brief moment before turning to Edgar. Alejandra touched Edgar’s arm.

  “So Edgar, what do you prefer: cutting or shaving?”

  Edgar gave her the same puzzled look he’d given her in the afternoon. “Cutting.”

  While Papá Pancho reviewed the book through the spectacles resting on the tip of his nose, Enrique glanced at the faces across the room. He looked more serious than usual. Of course, it had been rude not to invite him, being Abigail’s fiancé and all.

  As if reading Alejandra’s thoughts, Mamá Blanca stood up. “Enrique, please join us for dinner.”

  “Thanks, Doña Blanca. Maybe some other time. I just want to go home now.”

  “Looks good, son.” Papá Pancho handed him the ledger. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Well, then, good night to all.” Enrique left without giving Alejandra a second glance.

  Alejandra followed him through the foyer.

  He opened the front door.

  “Enrique. Wait.”

  He gave her a blank stare.

  “I just wanted to tell you …” She told herself to shut up, she’d already made a mess of things and she obviously had no idea how to win a man’s heart, but the words came out before she could stop them. “Not to come tomorrow.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Why not?”

  “Well …” She removed the cloth napkin from her skirt’s waistband. “I have plans for the afternoon.”

  “With that barber?”

  Was that mockery in his tone?

  She raised her chin. “Yes.”

  “That’s fine.” He put on his hat. “Maybe we should suspend the classes as you seem to be more interested in”—he paused—“other things.”

  She followed him outside the house, the blood in her veins boiling. “That’s it? You’re not going to do anything?”

  “Anything about what?”

  “About this. About us.”

  “Us? There’s no us. I’m engaged to your sister, remember?”

  She sighed. “My sister left you.”

  “She didn’t leave me. She only went to help Ana with her move to the country.”

  Alejandra was about to tell him about Victor, but something stopped her. “Fine. If that’s the way you see it. You’re probably right. We should end the classes.” She crossed her arms and kicked a stone on the pavement.

  He raised his hand, as if he was going to touch her cheek, but dropped it before she could feel his fingers on her skin. “I’m sorry, Alejandra. You’re a wonderful girl, and smarter than I gave you credit for.”

  He patted her arm, as if she were some cute puppy. She recoiled from his touch. She didn’t care about being smart or wonderful. Those were not the words she wanted to hear.

  “I’m sure you’ll find a good man. This Edgar fellow, for example.”

  “You’re a coward, Enrique Hidalgo.”

  He shoved his hands in his pockets. She went into the house and slammed the door shut.

  For the next two weeks Alejandra didn’t show her face in the store. And her body couldn’t stand it anymore. Seeing Enrique was a physical necessity, like breathing, eating, or sleeping, and she couldn’t deprive her body any longer.

  She’d gotten a new haircut that morning. It was shoulder-length and her natural wavy hair curled up at the tips. She’d asked the hairdresser to lend her a bit of red lipstick and rouge. This time, though, she was careful not to overdo it. When she arrived in her father’s store, she immediately spotted Enrique leaning on the counter, adding up numbers on a piece of paper, tapping the pencil against his chin. Across from him, behind the other counter, Fausto talked to a customer.

  She advanced toward Enrique, zipping and unzipping her purse a dozen times. Fausto scowled at her but didn’t address her, busy as he was with a counter full of necklaces and a picky woman who asked to see more pieces.

  Enrique glanced up and his eyes widened upon seeing her.

  “Is my father here?” Alejandra asked him.

  “No. He stepped out for a minute.” Enrique returned his attention to his long addition.

  “Fine then. I’ll wait for him in the workshop.”

  She walked past him to the back of the store. How could she love someone who infuriated her this much? Up until she’d met Enrique, Fausto was the only person who could make her this angry.

  She blasted into her father’s workshop, uncertain of what to do. From the beginning, her relationship with Enrique—if you could call it that—had reminded her of a bull and a bullfighter. She was the bull trying to catch him from every possible angle, and he was the bullfighter, skillfully avoiding her with his red cape. Or was it the other way around? She could almost hear a massive “Olé! ” every time she failed in her attempts to get him. Maybe she should just quit while she still had her dignity. Enrique had been so indifferent to her in the store it was obvious he didn’t care about not seeing her anymore. He didn’t even comment on her new hairdo, whereas she had noticed everything about him, like how well that blue suit fitted him or how exceptionally attractive he looked without his glasses. She grabbed a cone-shaped ring mandrel and threw it across the room. The metal crashed against the concrete floor, breaking the silence in the workshop.

  Less than a minute later, Enrique stormed into the room.

  “What was that?”

  Maybe subconsciously she’d been trying to call him. She disguised her excitement behind a scowl. “I just dropped something.”

  He followed her gaze to the floor, where the metal mandrel lay.

  He picked it up and strolled toward her. “So how have you been? I haven’t seen you in a while.” He placed the mandrel on the desk. “No, that’s not true. I saw you yesterday with that barber.”

  So he had been watching her when she crossed the street to visit Edgar—just to make Enrique jealous. “Yes, Edgar is such a sweetheart, and we have so much in common.”

  “Oh, I’m sure. Did he give you that haircut?”

  “Of course not. He’s a barber.”

  Enrique waved a hand in dismissal.

  She leaned on her father’s desk and inserted a ring inside the mandrel. “It’s so nice to finally meet a man who talks about something other than numbers.”

  “A man or a boy?”

  “Edgar is so romantic.” She grabbed a piece of sandpaper and rubbed the rough edges of the ring with it. “He brought me flowers, you know?”

  And he had, but the flowers had been for Mamá Blanca in gratitude for dinner the other night.

  “I’m glad to hear that. Everyone should find love.”

  She sighed. “And I have, finally.”

  He was quiet for a moment, arms across his chest. “Then if you’re so in love, why did you come here to see me?”

  She sanded the ring harder. “You’re so arrogant. I didn’t come here to see you. I came to talk to my father.”

  “You did? What about?”

  “About … working for him.”

  He laughed. “That’s what you said last time, I believe. Back when you convinced him you wanted to be an accountant.”
/>
  “Well, I changed my mind.” She was sanding so hard now that the dust was filling up her skirt. “I thought accounting would be interesting, but it’s not.” She glanced up at him. He was standing much closer than she’d thought. “But maybe it’s the teacher. Or maybe it’s just not my thing.” She returned her attention to the ring.

  “Then you want to be a clerk, like your sister?”

  “No.” She definitely did not want to be anything like her sister. As the ring became smoother, the idea became clearer. It was so simple, why hadn’t she ever thought of that? “I want to be a jeweler.”

  “A woman jeweler?” He chuckled. “Your father would never allow it.”

  “Watch me.”

  He took another step. His legs were nearly touching hers. She raised her eyes. He was breathing rapidly, as if he were upset. They’d never been this close before, not even when he would explain something to her in the dining room, side by side.

  “You were right,” he said.

  “About what?”

  “That day. When you called me a coward.”

  He placed his hands on top of hers, circling the mandrel. “Are you really in love with that boy?”

  “No.”

  He released one of his hands and caressed her cheek. “I kept wanting to see you as a girl, not a woman.”

  Her face burned like never before. Good thing the room was dim or he would have noticed. He kissed her mouth softly at first, but with growing fervor as she drew closer to him. She’d never been kissed like this. She didn’t know what was happening to her body, why it was becoming so feeble and warm at the same time. In the back of her mind, she could almost hear a crowd yelling “Torero, torero, torero.”

  The door startled them. Enrique took a step back while Alejandra faced her cousin’s glare.

  “What’s going on here?” Fausto demanded.

  “Nothing,” Alejandra said. “I’m just waiting for my father. Why? What do you need?”

  Fausto flashed an envelope in his hand. “You have a letter from Abigail,” he told Enrique. “Your future wife.”

  Chapter 39

  Javier barged into the storage room and locked the door behind him. He flicked the light switch on and drew out Alejandra’s newspaper clipping from his back pocket, handing it to Malena.