Mamá Blanca looked around. “Who? What is she talking about?”
Malena looked at the Platas sisters, who’d turned mute since they entered the living room. At that moment she knew who her mother was. It was so clear now. It wasn’t Abigail, the ghost, or Ana, the queen of this house, or Amanda, the tango dancer. Malena’s eyes met Alejandra’s as hers filled up with tears. Alejandra, the aloof artist, the admirable jeweler, the woman who silently supported the entire family. She had a vision of Alejandra standing in the park. It hadn’t been a dream, Malena knew now. It had truly happened. She could see herself on the swing, watching her Grandmother Eva talking to the woman in the feathered hat. Her father arrived then, and called out her mother’s name.
“Alejandra!”
She’d glanced at Malena on the swing. For an instant, their eyes had met, just like today, and Malena thought Alejandra was one of the most beautiful women she’d ever seen. She jumped off the swing, scraping her knees, and walked toward her. But Alejandra moved too fast. In the distance, Enrique caught up with her and held her arm. They exchanged a few words. Not long enough for Malena to reach them. Alejandra recovered her arm and entered a taxi parked by the curb.
“One of my daughters had a child with that monster?” Mamá Blanca shook her head, sat back on the couch. “Which one?” She was hyperventilating.
Alejandra took a step forward.
“No, Alejandrita. Not you.” Mamá Blanca pressed her hand against her chest, grimacing. She held on to the rocking chair, about to collapse.
“Javier!” Amanda dashed toward her mother. “Go get Dr. Gaitán!”
Javier ran to the front door. Malena stood behind as the women surrounded Mamá Blanca. Her body was numb, her feet glued to the floor. She watched Alejandra in a daze, and smiled. Her mother. She’d finally found her. And Alejandra had tried to protect her. That was why she’d held her arm earlier. But if she’d known who she was all along, why hadn’t she approached her? Why had she been so cold to her?
“Trini! Bring some water!” Ana yelled.
A hand clutched Malena’s arm painfully. It was Rafael. He dragged her to the foyer.
“Haven’t you caused enough damage already?” He looked at her with a hatred that made her shiver. “Enrique Hidalgo is not welcome here and neither are you. You’d better leave before I call the police.”
Chapter 41
Ana drew the curtains in her mother’s bedroom as Mamá Blanca lay on the bed with her eyes closed, tears rolling down her cheeks. Dr. Gaitán returned his stethoscope to his black leather bag and removed his prescription booklet. As he wrote, he eyed Ana and her sisters over a pair of black-frame spectacles.
“She’s going to be all right.” His thick mustache covered half of his upper lip. “Doña Blanca has a strong heart.”
Ana glanced at her sisters. They were all probably thinking the same thing. No, Mamá Blanca will never be all right again. Not after what happened. Alejandra avoided Ana’s gaze and studied her short nails. It was so rare to see Alejandra in a dress, with her fingers so clean and those emerald earrings Papá Pancho had made, but it was even stranger to think of her as someone’s mother, especially a grown woman. Only now did Ana realize how little she knew of her younger sister. It was a pity not to know someone after spending practically your entire life around that person—not that Ana had been open with her family either.
Dr. Gaitán handed the prescription to Amanda, who stood beside him, arms across her chest.
“Give her this sedative,” he said. “So she can rest.”
“All right,” Amanda said. “Thank you for coming, Dr. Gaitán. I’ll walk you downstairs.”
“No. I’ll go,” Ana said. She couldn’t stand to be in her mother’s presence anymore, not when she had this urge to yell her own truth, the way that girl, Malena, had done half an hour ago.
Dr. Gaitán bowed to all the women in the room and headed for the door, one hand holding his bag and the other one adjusting his bow tie.
After the doctor had left, Ana walked into the living room, where María Teresa spoke with Rafael and Javier.
María Teresa removed a strand of her fiery red hair—it still didn’t bear any traces of gray—from her face. “How is your mother?”
“She’s going to be fine.” Ana forced a smile.
“Gracias a Dios.” María Teresa picked up her purse from the coffee table. “I’d better go, then.”
“No, please. Stay here. At least tonight.”
“Thank you, Anita, but it’s not necessary.” She held Ana’s icy hands in hers. “It’s not the right time for company. Besides, I want to go to Quito first thing in the morning to see if I can find Liliana.”
Liliana, of course. She had run away with that man and was somewhere in Quito.
“Javi, would you please take María Teresa back to her hotel?” Ana said.
“Absolutely.”
María Teresa hugged her and promised to write or call as soon as she heard from Lili.
Holding onto the doorknob, Ana glanced after her friend and son as they vanished into the bleak street. Exhausted, she rested her head against the door. It had been a terrible day and she only wanted it to end.
Rafael’s shadow in the foyer startled her.
“I’d better go find Claudia,” he said. “She hasn’t arrived yet.”
Claudia. With all the commotion, she’d forgotten about her. “I don’t think she will be coming back any time soon.”
Rafael’s brows furrowed. How she hated when he did that.
“Why?”
“I didn’t want to tell you while María Teresa was here, but I checked Claudia’s bedroom and her suitcase is missing, along with some of her clothes. She must have returned to the house while we were waiting for her at the church.”
He hit the wall by the door. “Maldición! What the hell is wrong with that girl? Has everyone gone crazy in this house?”
“Maybe she realized she didn’t love Sebastian after all.” Ana stared at the wrinkles multiplying in Rafael’s face.
“Love? What a stupid thing to say. Sebastian is the best catch in this filthy town, for God’s sake!”
She fought a sudden urge to smile. As humiliating as the wedding cancellation had been, she was happy that Claudia hadn’t married a man she didn’t love. She knew all too well what a mistake that was. She wished she’d had the same courage as Claudia did in fleeing a destiny that wasn’t hers.
He glowered. “Are you smiling?”
Ana pursed her lips.
“You think this is funny?” Rafael’s voice grew louder. “You probably knew all along who that girl was, too. You’re the one who brought her here.”
“Are you insane? Why would I do that?” Ana closed the door, looking around the house, wondering for the first time where Malena had gone off to. She walked to the living room, though she hadn’t seen her there earlier.
“Where is she? Did she go upstairs?” She headed for the staircase.
“You don’t have to worry about her anymore,” Rafael said.
That spiteful sneer appeared on his face.
“Why? Where is she?”
Rafael loosened his tie. “I sent her away.”
“What do you mean, you sent her away?”
“I told her she wasn’t welcome in this house anymore.”
Ana held on to the railing for balance. She had to take a deep breath in order to control the heat building up inside of her. “Why would you do that?” Her voice came out hoarser than she’d ever heard it.
“She lied to all of us. She’s the daughter of a murderer. Do I really need to explain this?”
Ana tightened her grasp on the banister until she could see her veins. “How dare you?” Her voice was low, but somehow Rafael’s expression softened.
“Come on, we don’t have to turn this into a fight. I’m exhausted.” He climbed the stairs. Ana grabbed his arm.
“Answer me! How dare you tell my niece to leave my mother’s hous
e? Or have you forgotten whose house this is?”
He jerked his arm free. “Watch it, woman. I’m not in the mood.”
“You had no right!”
“She was a phony, a con artist. Her father murdered your cousin. Have you forgotten that? I was just doing you all a favor, and this is how you repay me?”
“She’s Alejandra’s daughter!”
“I don’t care who she is! I don’t want her here. And that’s that, end of discussion.”
As he turned back up the stairs, Ana grasped a mass of his hair and pulled him down with all her strength. Rafael stumbled down the stairs to her level. For a second, it felt good, but almost immediately her legs started shaking. She would pay dearly for this.
Rafael’s eyes looked like they were going to pop out of their sockets. He backhanded her face so hard she fell down the stairs.
He came toward her, eyes flickering like she’d never seen before.
She found her voice. “Go ahead, hit me if you want, but after you’re done, get out of this house. I don’t want you here anymore.”
Rafael suspended his arm in midair. “What?”
Ana stood up, rubbing her cheek with her palm. “You heard me. I want you out of this house, never to return again.”
He lowered his arm. “Look, I’m sorry. I lost my control. I shouldn’t have …” He ran his hand over his forehead. “This is insane. You know I would never hurt you.”
“You’ve hurt me all my life, but it’s over, Rafael.” It felt good to say those words out loud. She should have said them years ago.
He laughed bitterly. “You’re just saying that. You won’t be able to stand the rumors. Ana Platas, the divorcée.”
“I don’t care about that anymore. All I want is peace in my life.”
“I’ll tell Claudia the truth,” he said.
“Do it. I don’t care. She’s an adult already.”
“Your family won’t be able to recover from the scandal. First Abigail, then Alejandra.”
Ana tasted the blood in her mouth and brought her index finger to her wounded lip.
“This is how you pay me for what I did?” He took a step forward. “After what I did for that no-good sister of yours? After I gave Claudia my last name and treated her like a daughter?”
“You were happy to adopt her. You wanted a daughter, a big family.”
“You weren’t even good for that, Ana. You could only give me one son.” He squeezed her shoulders with both hands. “But I forgive you. Let’s just forget all of this.”
Amanda’s voice came out sharp from the top of the stairs. “You heard my sister, Rafael. She doesn’t want you here, and neither do I, or anybody else in this family. I suggest you pack your suitcase and leave. We’ll write you a check for whatever expenses you might have before you find another job.”
Rafael pulled Ana closer to him. “Anita …”
She pushed him away. He stared at her, defeated. Ana straightened her spine, as if the top of her head had been pulled up by a thread, surprised at how small Rafael looked to her now. She’d been so afraid of him all these years, when the solution had been this simple. How different her life would have been if only she and Abigail hadn’t been so weak.
Chapter 42
Ana, 1941
It was hard to believe that only an hour ago she’d been the happiest woman in the world. The same streets that had witnessed her bliss now seemed darker, colder. If only she would have packed faster. If only Abigail had arrived twenty minutes later to Ana’s apartment, she wouldn’t have found her there. She wouldn’t have heard from Ana and Javier except for an occasional letter once or twice a year.
Ana slowed her pace as soon as she saw the two-story house where she’d been complete for the first time, the place she’d viewed as her paradise, her salvation. But she had no valise with her, and she didn’t have Javier’s small hand in hers either. Instead, she had an explanation stuck in the midst of her throat, an apology, a sadness crawling all the way to her heart.
She rang the doorbell, already mourning the excitement she couldn’t feel anymore when standing behind this door. He opened the door, almost immediately, and she focused on his beautiful green eyes. The only pair of eyes in the entire world that shone brightly when she stared into them.
“Amore,” Enzo said. “You’re here.”
He pulled her in, and shut the door. She glanced at the two suitcases by the stairs. He drew her toward him and kissed her. She gave in to that kiss, their last. His hands held her face and his mouth was warm, so much warmer than Rafael’s had ever been.
He finally pulled away. “You’re right on time. Are we picking up Javier from your mother’s house?”
She shook her head, fighting her tears.
“What’s wrong, bella? Where’s your valise?”
She looked down at her purse. “Can we sit for a moment? We need to talk.”
“Talk? What happened? Didn’t that maledetto leave this morning?”
“He left,” she said. It was all she could say.
Holding her hand, he led her to a burgundy leather couch that had belonged to Nicolas and Enzo’s parents, just like this house. They sat side by side, his long leg touching her knee. He held her hands in his and kissed both of her palms.
“Enzo, mi amor.” Her voice broke. “I can’t go with you. My sister Abigail needs me.”
He frowned, and his lovely eyes narrowed. She touched his rough chin.
“Abigail is pregnant,” she said. “She’s desperate. She’s asked me to take her to Tabacundo with me.”
“Why doesn’t she marry the accountant? Aren’t they engaged?”
“Because the baby isn’t his.”
Enzo’s jaw hardened. “But we already had our plans.”
“I have to help her.”
“Why doesn’t she talk to the man who got her pregnant?”
“Because he just got ordained as a priest.”
Enzo dropped her hands. “This is ridiculous. Why must we sacrifice for your sister’s indiscretion?”
“If I don’t help her, who will?” Ana dried her tears with her fingers.
Enzo removed a handkerchief from his back pocket and handed it to her.
“This was a bad idea anyway.” She pressed the handkerchief against her wet cheeks. “Can you imagine what our lives would be like constantly running away from Rafael, from my family? We would live like criminals, always hiding, always pretending we were something we were not. It wouldn’t be fair to Javier to grow up away from his father, living in such impudence. What would he think of his mother?”
“The same thing I think of her. That she’s the sweetest and most beautiful woman in the world.” He grabbed her face with both hands. “Come on, Ana. You can’t do this. We love each other.” He kissed her, but this time, she didn’t respond.
He pulled away from her.
“I just can’t go through with it,” she said.
He remained quiet, staring at a framed map of Italy hanging on the opposite wall, his fists clenched by his sides. She’d only seen him this mad whenever Amanda’s name came up. Ana knew well the two of them couldn’t stand each other, and it pained her deeply.
She reached out for his arm. “Enzo, please say something. Please forgive me.”
Enzo shifted his weight away from her.
“You’re still so young, mi amor, you’ll forget me,” she said. “You’ll see, before you know it, you’ll find someone else, and you’ll marry her.”
“No. I will never marry. I will never fall in love again.” He stood up, almost violently. “Fine, go after that idiot. Pretend you never met me. I’ll do the same.”
She stood up, gathering her numb body, swallowing the rest of her tears. She returned his handkerchief.
“Keep it. You’re going to need it,” he said, unwilling to look at her face. “Just like you did on your wedding day.”
Ana squeezed the handkerchief. So he’d been the one who walked into the lavatory while sh
e was crying.
“It was just my luck,” he said. “To have met you the day you married that bastardo.”
He walked away, toward the stairs, without looking back.
She released the handkerchief from her fist and stared at the golden E embroidered on it. This was all she had left from the man she loved, the only proof that he’d been real, for she had burned all his letters so Rafael would never find them. She brought the fabric to her nose, inhaling his scent, and rushed to the entrance, trying to beat her tears out the door.
Chapter 43
Abigail, 1952
The knock on the door woke Abigail. Lately, it was increasingly hard for her to stay awake.
“Come in,” she said, attempting to sit up, but not finding enough strength in her arms to do so.
Alejandra walked into the room, wearing a black dress, like she had for the last three years after Papá Pancho’s death in the earthquake of ’49.
“He’s here,” she said.
Abigail shivered under the covers. “Help me sit up.”
Alejandra pushed Abigail to a sitting position, then adjusted three pillows behind her.
“I must look terrible,” Abigail said.
Her sister avoided her eyes, confirming her suspicions.
“Quick, bring me a mirror, a brush, and some rouge.”
In less than a minute, Alejandra returned with the things, including a pink lipstick and a piece of mint candy. Abigail held the silver mirror in front of her face. She was yellowish, her cheekbones stood out and dark circles framed her eyes.
Disgraceful.
While Alejandra braided her hair, Abigail attempted to bring some color to her face.
“Useless.” Abigail set the mirror on her lap, face down. No matter what she did, she was still twelve years older and sick. “Just send him in.”
Before Alejandra could walk away, Abigail held her hand. It was coarse and callous, like their father’s hands had been.
“Thank you for bringing him,” Abigail said. “I knew you would do it.”
Abigail squeezed her sister’s hand and for a moment, that hard expression Alejandra had always reserved for her softened.
The Sisters of Alameda Street Page 27