Yes, this would do nicely. It might ignite a few fires.
I zipped up the bag, placed it by the door, and returned to Samuel. Nestled between two pillows, he sat cross-legged, laptop balanced on his knees.
“How’s my writing?” I grabbed a couple of waters from the kitchen and handed one to him.
“Not bad at all. Is that one of my old baseball jerseys?” He turned me around so he could see the back, and whistled.
“Yup. What do you think? Still look good on me?”
“My name always looks good on you,” he winked. Even his cheesy lines had me twisted up. Argh. Flutter flutter flutter. “All packed?”
“Getting there. Don’t be disappointed by my lack of silk and lace, I haven’t bought anything like that in years.”
Samuel chuckled, telltale streaks of red creeping up his neck. “Do I need to resort to two bad pick-up lines in a row? Any lingerie you wear will look nice…on my bedroom floor. Bam.”
“Someone’s been reading The Playbook instead of writing.” Still, desire tingled through my body. Setting the notebook aside, he pulled me onto his lap and then his fingers skimmed along my collarbone, resting on either side of my neck. My blood heated as I waited for his kiss. A slow, deep burn filtered through my veins and I hummed against his lips. The corners of his mouth turned up.
“I’ve enjoyed reading your chapters. I think I like your Aspen better than mine. She’s the real deal—not bits and pieces of a memory warped by time.”
“I’m glad.” He was making me breathless. “I like this Aspen better, too.”
With a last peck on my nose, his lips and hands fell away, and he became serious. “The big question is, how are we going to end it? Do we give Caulfield and Aspen a different story?” He gestured to his closed laptop.
“Can you do that in a memoir? Change the ending?”
He shrugged. “It’s our story. We can do whatever we want with it. We can make it so Caulfield doesn’t leave Aspen. He gets over his hang-ups and confesses everything to her.”
“And Aspen finds, at age twenty, she’s mature enough to handle their relationship. She loves Caulfield and wants to make their marriage work.”
“And they never spend a day apart, happily ever after.”
I sighed, bringing his knuckles to my lips. “But that’s not how it really happened, is it?”
“How would you end their story?” His eyes darkened and fixed on my mouth as it gently bit his knuckle.
“The truth. Their marriage falls apart. Aspen and Caulfield grow up and move on with their lives. Seven years later, Aspen finds a handsome, successful, sometimes broken man named Samuel, who occasionally reminds her of Caulfield. She loves him with her whole heart and wants to be his wife.”
“That’s what I want to be sure about.” The faint tension in the set of his face eased with my answer. He swallowed, his voice hoarse. “Anyway, it’s the same for Caulfield.”
“He finds a handsome man named Samuel? Egad, that poison-pen Togsy was right! Curses!”
“Hush, woman. You know I want you, all the time.” He wrapped a strong arm around my waist and pulled me against him, easing my mind, reassuring me with unvoiced words that he would be there tomorrow. A toothy grin overtook my face.
“What?” he asked.
“I think we’re going to be okay for the honeymoon tomorrow night.”
I had just poured a cap-full of jasmine bubble bath into my cherished jet tub, ready to soak muscles still sore from our hike, when I stood up straight, alert. Because of my partial deafness in one ear I could never be sure if someone was knocking, or if it was the old Victorian home’s clanking pipes. I shut off the jets and, sure enough, there was another loud rap. Steam billowed from my bath. With pining eyes, I gave the hot bubbles a flick, wrapped my naked body in my bathrobe, and sadly turned away from my bit of heaven.
“Sofia, hello.” I opened the door wide and ushered my surrogate mother into my apartment. “If you’re looking for Samuel, you just missed him.”
“I am here for you, mija, though it seems I’ve caught you at a bad time.” Her black hair was looped into an intricate braid that slithered over her shoulder. Even though it was late and I slouched around in my tattered bathrobe, Sofia was pressed and put-together in a blouse and trousers. A tray with two paper cups was in one hand, a cloth bag in the other. Mexican hot chocolate, from the smell of it—Sofia knew me well. “I’ve had plenty of time with my son this week…and the people with cameras camped on the gravel by our home.”
“How are we possibly going to pull this off tomorrow without those vultures present?” Galling photogs. I went to the bedroom and tugged on a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt. Sofia handed me the tray when I returned and followed me into the kitchen.
“You won’t. They’ll go away after a while, they always do. By the way, you still have two watching your door.”
“Ah, Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum. We go way back, those boys and me.” I resigned myself to the fact that multiple photographers would be snapping pictures at our wedding tomorrow. Well, at least I’d be dressed like a Michelin-star entree instead of thrown together like a leftovers casserole.
Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum were the most persistent and ruthless paparazzi I’d had the misfortune to meet. First they’d hounded Samuel because of his books. Next it was his mysterious romance with a Hollywood starlet. Now they panted for an inkling of insanity from their ‘fallen’ A-lister. At first they were simply an annoyance, but when they’d staked out Boston’s Mass General and peppered his family with obscene questions every time we visited Samuel’s hospital room, they crossed a line. Now they made life miserable for Sofia and Alonso, just because Samuel was holed up in his childhood bedroom.
I’d expected pushback from Samuel’s parents, especially as our elopement came on the coattails of Samuel’s manic episode. But it must have been my own fears embedding false ideas in my head, because they were over the moon. Sofia had actually burst into tears. “Ustedes me traen alegría, mis hijos,” she’d murmured, kissing our cheeks. “I have prayed for this.” I’d even glimpsed a stray tear on Alonso’s stoic face. Our relationship was still strained, but perhaps the vows Samuel and I shared tomorrow would ease that strain.
Sofia sat across from me at the kitchen table, to-go cups between our hands. “I want you to have something.” Setting her cup aside, she reached into the bag at her ankles and removed a satiny white cloth, perhaps decades old. She smoothed a tender hand over letters fragilely stitched in gold. Then she opened the cover. A book. A Spanish Bible, to be exact.
“This is a Cabral family heirloom, presented to Alonso’s great-grandmother by her godparents on her wedding day. She carried it between her hands, along with a bouquet of white roses. It is now yours.”
I shook my head. “But Dani—”
“Was also given an heirloom on her wedding day, something of my mother’s. Samuel, though…Alonso wishes for you to have this. He admits that he should have given it to you seven years ago, but…”
“But you didn’t believe our marriage would last.” Well, he had valid reasons for holding onto the heirloom Bible the first time around. Samuel, in his youthful rebellion, hadn’t wanted to bring the old Mexican traditions into our wedding. I’d been embarrassingly ambivalent about Alonso and Sofia’s wishes, and had rejected the traditions with a ‘take it or leave it’ shrug. Alonso probably thought we wouldn’t have cherished the beautiful Bible, and, at the time, he was right. But now I understood the importance of establishing roots. Having a sense of place.
Knowing where you come from and where you want to go.
Sofia saw my distress and held out her hands. “No guilt, mi corazón. It was our fault, too. We didn’t have faith in your marriage, so you didn’t have faith in it, either. But now, Alonso and I are prepared to give you our full love, openly and honestly.” She saw the flicker of doubt as I silently noted that Alonso was not present. She squeezed my hands, solidifying her words. “We are
here for you. You are dear to us in your own right, Kaye. In fact, Alonso suggested I come alone. He said you would appreciate the company of another woman the night before your wedding.”
“Thank you. That was thoughtful.” My lips trembled. Dani and Molly had approached me about an impromptu bachelorette party, but after the devastation of last weekend’s Longs Peak climb, I wanted a quiet night to myself. Sofia’s presence, though, was as warm and soothing as an eiderdown comforter.
She traced the delicate binding of the Bible. “Samuel has nothing left of his birth father, save for a few photographs given to him by Alonso. Rachel destroyed everything.” She nearly destroyed her son, too. “There used to be an accompanying rosary, but when Alonso and I left the Catholic Church, his mother demanded it be returned. Alonso travelled all the way back to Ciudad Victoria to deliver the rosary to his mother in person. Facing Mamá Marieta after his decision was one of the most difficult things he has ever done.”
“I can only imagine.” Two enemy lions, Alonso and the Catholic Church, had grappled over Antonio Cabral’s suicide. From what I could tell, Alonso now believed his younger brother’s tragedy was something he’d never understand in this lifetime. He’d made his peace with God, but not the Catholic Church, to the eternal disgruntlement of the familia in Ciudad Victoria.
“Don’t think too badly of Mamá Marieta. She loved Alonso, but she was heartbroken over the loss of her other son. People act on emotion when they are in pain,” Sofia explained.
“You know about Samuel’s father, Antonio Cabral Treiño?”
“Yes, but I’d forgotten his and Alonso’s second apellido was ‘Treiño.’ Is that a well-known name in Tamaulipas?”
“Marieta was a Treiño, very old family. No relation to those murderous drug lords, mind you—that Treiño family is from Nuevo Laredo, and our Treiño family is from Ciudad Victoria. The cartels, they are doing horrific things to our home country: kidnappings, ransoms, brutal murders, child trafficking.” She tutted, nightmares scrolling behind her eyes.
“Anyway, family names become confusing here in the States, so Alonso and I decided to simply become the ‘Cabrals..’ Back in Tamaulipas, they call our family ‘Cabral-Llorente.’ Both Alonso’s and my names, sí? Familia is the heart of our culture.”
So Samuel’s full name was actually ‘Samuel Caulfield Cabral Llorente.’ What a tongue twister. Growing up, I’d attended the community church with the Cabral family, where they still retained the traditional apellido system and I’d found it confusing when Sofia was listed in their membership directory as ‘Sofia Maria Llorente Cortez de Cabral.’ But the naming system certainly made it easy to figure out how everyone was related.
A thought flitted through my head and caused my heart to pound. Tomorrow, I’d once again be a Cabral. If (when?) Samuel brought me to Ciudad Victoria to meet his family, what would they call me? Would they even want to meet me? I wouldn’t beat around the bush. I’d divorced their familia, and that was worse than leaving the Catholic faith.
Sofia patted my hand. “Don’t fret, mi corazón. All will be well.”
I rose to start on the dirty dishes. While I washed, Sofia dried and told me more about Samuel’s relatives in Mexico.
“Alonso has a host of cousins in Tamaulipas, and several aunts and uncles. Do you remember Tía Belinda from Dani’s wedding in June?” Boy, did I. She accidentally sent Samuel into a tailspin by comparing him to his abusive birth mother. After he puked out his panic attack, we sat on the bathroom floor and he told me, for the first time, about his parents’ suicides.
“Alonso’s only sister lives near Ciudad Victoria with her husband. You also met them at Danita’s wedding, Mariángel and Tomás? Unfortunately, when you and Samuel married, most of the Cabral family did not attend because Mamá Marieta was still incensed over Alonso’s conversion.” Sofia pursed her lips. “Still at odds to this day, though Mamá Marieta is now gone. Hold grudges to the end, those people. Yet it was she who fought Rachel the hardest to see Samuel after Antonio’s death, you know.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“She was always a bit aloof with him. She loved him, but distantly, painfully. I’m not sure if it was because he reminded her of Antonio or of Rachel. Maybe both.”
“And Samuel isn’t either of his parents. That’s terrible.”
“Yes. My poor son has always battled out of their shadows. Now you understand why we are closer to my side of the family.” She gave a wry laugh. “Alonso’s family is ‘jacked up.’ That’s what young people say, right?”
I snorted. “Everyone’s family is ‘jacked up,’ to some degree. But where was Alonso’s dad in all of this?”
Sofia crossed herself, a remnant of her Catholic past. “Ah, that is a sad story, too. Papá Cabral was a law professor at La Universidad de Tamaulipas, that’s why all three of his children cultivated a passion for scholarship. Not long after Antonio’s suicide, his father suffered a massive heart attack in the middle of a lecture. Dropped dead, right there at the podium. Alonso and I planned to move back to Mexico, but Mamá Marieta wouldn’t hear of it. Despite their falling out, she was extremely proud of what Alonso had accomplished in America.
“She was a...hmm. A difficult woman. She grieved her losses the rest of her life. But even before Antonio killed himself, she was a prickly, distrustful person who made one work hard for a morsel of affection. Many of the Cabral familia are such.”
“Alonso told me that his grandmother suffered from depression and the family hid it. This would have been Marieta’s mother?”
“Yes. It had great influence on her, and thus, her children.”
The pieces that formed Samuel’s family portrait were coming together. “Long story short, the Cabral-Treiño family has a fantastic mix of mental illness and high-handedness, which actually doesn’t mix well at all. And there’s a drug lord who is absolutely not related to Samuel’s dad, whatsoever.”
“He’s not one of our Treiños.”
“He’s from Nuevo Laredo.”
“Correct. They have nothing to do with us,” she repeated with vehemence.
I wondered if there wasn’t something to that vehemence. “Neighbors do tend to talk,” I prodded.
“They still do.” Sofia met my gaze, and I understood a little better why they’d hid Samuel’s illness from me. Once Samuel became their son, they’d fought for his rightful place in their family. Battled a matriarch’s grief and her own childhood traumas, his father’s suicide, his grandfather’s subsequent heart attack, and neighborhood gossip. His deck was stacked against him long before he was born, and Sofia and Alonso weren’t about to tip his hand…especially to me, his ex-wife. Love and distrust often walked hand-in-hand when it came to shielding one’s children.
“Speaking of neighbors, how is Sam handling the Lyons blather?” I asked. “He tells me he’s weathering it, but he never wants to burden anyone so sometimes I wonder.” I couldn’t recall his mentioning any run-ins with the neighbors, other than Murphy’s fanboy stalking.
“It’s one thing to have unknown people spread gossip about you. It’s another when gossip comes from people you say hello to on the sidewalk. But now he has you to help him shoulder this burden. My heart hurts for my son, but I’m not afraid for him.” She touched my wind-burned cheek, still raw from the climb. “You will take care of yourself, mija? We cannot lose you.”
“I think my climbing days might be over.”
“Whatever you feel is best. But consider carefully before you do anything drastic, hmmm?”
“Like jump into marriage?”
Sofia’s laughter was warm and rich. “Oh no, that is perfectly acceptable. As long as you are marrying my son.”
Sometime later, just as Sofia hinted that she couldn’t possibly watch another episode of my ghost hunting program, there was a second rap at my door. I glanced at the clock: 9:17p.m. Frowning, I squinted through my recently installed peephole, praying it wasn’t a paparazzo. A beady eye peered back
and I jumped.
It was my adrenaline junkie friend. “Mother-of-Tom, don’t stare into someone’s peephole unless you want to give them a coronary.”
Hector grinned. “Ay, mamacita, but then I couldn’t see you flip your gourd every time I did it.” He ruffled my head as he passed into my home but stiffened when he saw Sofia. “Oh… I didn’t know you had company. I should have, though, it was stupid.” He waved to Sofia. “Hola, Señora Cabral.”
“Hector. I hear that you and my son-in-law plan to skydive Saturday instead of coming to our home to celebrate. You are more than welcome, you know.” In honor of our nuptials, Alonso and Sofia were throwing open the doors to their spacious Steamboat Mountain home for a weekend of fiesta-ing. The celebration was very last minute, and Samuel and I wouldn’t even be there for the second day, but their Hispanic neighbors loved to celebrate, and our absence would not deter the flow of rum cake and mariachi.
Hector politely ducked his head. “Thank you, Señora, but I need some time in the skies with my brothers. It’s been a long week.”
An observant woman, Sofia often saw into the heart of dramas before the players themselves were aware. Her steady gaze drifted from Hector, to me, and back to Hector. Pity shadowed her smile. “We will miss you. Please come over as soon as you are able. Bring Santiago and my truant son-in-law with you. Oh, and your lady friend.”
“Jaime Guzman.”
“Her name is familiar.” Sofia turned to me. “Isn’t…wasn’t she your…”
“My divorce attorney, yes.”
“I see. So last weekend, Samuel…”
“Spent two days with my divorce attorney in a cramped VW campervan while I climbed a mountain.”
Sofia’s lips quirked. “We do live in a small fishpond, don’t we?”
“We certainly do.”
She patted her knees and rose. “Well then. Hector obviously came here tonight to speak with you, not me. Perhaps I will busy myself in the kitchen while you step onto the balcony?”
Fourteeners Page 4
