Once Upon a Sunset

by Tif Marcelo

  He pulled the tube out and affixed it onto Flora’s nose with care, then glanced at Margo in triumph.

  “Oh, is everything okay?”

  Margo looked up at the sound of her daughter’s voice. She halted briefly at the door, then entered, holding a briefcase in her hand. Joshua followed right behind, hands stuffed in his pockets.

  “I’m dying,” Flora piped up, making all of them jump, though she still had her eyes closed. “I’m dying, but it’s okay. Now that you are here, Margo. You and Diana. Joshua, did you give Diana the briefcase?”

  “Yes, Lola.”

  She exhaled, and coughed. “Good. Open it, and I will see you tomorrow afternoon. And I will tell you more.”

  Leyte, Philippines

  February 24, 1945

  My dearest Leora,

  I don’t know if it’s any use to write, but here I am, penning another letter. I can’t stop myself. I think of you when something significant happens, good or bad. Today, a terrible thing occurred. I lost a friend who I considered my brother. I thought I could protect him but I couldn’t.

  Everything has changed. I have changed, and I feel like I’m at the edge of a large divide, unsure whether to jump. In the past, I would have looked to you for advice, for encouragement. You have always been the one who made quick decisions. You were always more practical than me. Me and my sometimes-wild dreams—you always reminded me what was real. Without you, I don’t know what to do.

  I have to make this decision on my own. For all that I may do, I am sorry, Leora. I have tried my best. Know that I love you, and I love our child.

  Yours, forever,

  Antonio

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  That night, with a stiff cup of coffee in her belly, Diana sat cross-legged facing her mother, the briefcase on a coffee table between them. Neither one of them had made a move to open it.

  “I feel like the wrong combination will set off a bomb,” Diana said. Her initial feeling of entitlement to this briefcase had passed, replaced by fear. The last three days had upended her poorly imagined expectations. She had this version of a reunion in mind, a cerebral Here is your cousin and the wife of your late grandfather, and the entire family history will be bestowed upon you scenario. Not a party, not an almost one-night stand, and then now this object between she and her mother that, going by Flora’s implication, might reveal the truth they wanted.

  This trip had been like peeling an onion—one eye-stinging realization after another. She didn’t know how much more she could take.

  She would need a vacation from her vacation.

  Correction: there would be no time for a vacation after this. The unknown waited for her back in Virginia, too.

  Diana gnawed on her lip to clear her head. If she weren’t so intent on being lucid for this, she would’ve had a stiff drink instead.

  “Speaking of bombs. You looked like you were going to hurl one at me earlier today at Sunset Corner.”

  “Did I?” Diana pressed her lips together. She knew she couldn’t blame being tipsy for her behavior at dinner—her champagne high had been long gone.

  “Do you want to talk about it?”

  “It’s nothing.”

  “It didn’t look like nothing.”

  So she shook her head. “Everything was coming all at once, is all. I was surprised that you got along with them so well, I guess.”

  What else could she have said? That she wanted to forbid her mother from talking to Flora? That it was traitorous? What would that have done? If her mother had been a jerk toward Flora, then they probably wouldn’t have this briefcase here now.

  “It’s a lot for me, too. I had to keep remembering that this wasn’t just about Antonio or Flora, but about my mother, too. But Flora said something that rang true today. She said my father was a brave man. That bad things happened, but he was brave. It gave me such comfort to hear that.” Her eyes fluttered upward, meeting Diana’s gaze.

  Diana nodded. As usual, her mother’s optimism always showed through. She forgave and forgot. But Diana didn’t forget. Carlo had been a heartbreak, and even now, six months post-breakup, she could still feel the bruises deep in her heart muscle. “This doesn’t excuse her, or anyone, for that matter, Mother. She wrote that letter to Granny. It was that letter that kept her from him. And I swear Flora’s stalling, sending us back here to the hotel. Why couldn’t she just tell us what’s up?”

  “Patience, dear.”

  Diana rolled her eyes. A lecture was coming. She waited one second, two …

  “I know you can’t understand it, but decades have passed without me knowing, so giving the woman a day or two to sort out her own story is all right with me. But the mere fact that both your granny and Flora said that my father was brave, that must have meant that it was true. And maybe there is a reason for all of this.”

  Her mother was bargaining, rationalizing. And rationalizing, though it might make someone feel better, wasn’t wise to enable. Not in medicine, and surely not in love. But Diana couldn’t say any of this. “What combination should we try first?”

  She took a deep breath. “How about Granny’s birthday.”

  “That would be too easy.” But Margo was already sliding the lock to 3–0–3. With a flick of her thumb, it popped it open with a snap.

  “Whoa.”

  Margo’s eyes widened.

  “Here we go,” Diana whispered as she shifted to her mother’s side and she lifted the top. The distinct smell of leather and old paper wafted from the case. Inside were sketches, old maps, pictures. But what caught Diana’s eyes were the letters interspersed with the trademark V-mail envelopes, and she fished them out. A quick glance—some were from Leora Gallagher, with her distinct handwriting and California postmark. A familiar flutter started in her belly, of nervousness.

  More letters.

  In complete silence, they both took turns reading each and every letter, and just as Diana predicted, her entire world was remade again.

  * * *

  Diana’s running shoes brushed against the hotel hallway carpet. The tips of her ponytail bounced against her neck, her earbuds in, though no music streamed through them. She had dressed herself for a run, a good fast and hard run on the hotel treadmill to clear her head, to immerse herself in the predictable.

  Her mind was filled with words, endless words in rotation. Her classmates in school had envied her for having a great memory, for knowing not just the facts but the page she learned them on. Diana cataloged information into files, and then into drawers, labeled and tucked away in her head until she needed it.

  But that skill was a problem when she tried to forget.

  With the letters now in her head, Diana knew she needed to sweat it out, despite her run this morning. But as she approached the door to the gym on the twenty-eighth floor and peeked into the window, she found the room dark. The gym was scheduled to close at 11:00 p.m., and upon checking her phone, it was only 10:59.

  She looked down to her phone, and texted the only person she knew here who had any kind of pull: Joshua.

  Hey.

  Something wrong?

  She half laughed at both his ability to be empathetic and insulting at the same time.

  No. Yes. We opened the briefcase.

  Really? Want to talk about it? Room 2837.

  Um, no. I was texting because your fitness room is closed before it’s supposed to be.

  ?

  Can you open it?

  It’s after eleven.

  *Now* it’s after eleven

  That’s my point.

  Diana growled, out loud. She didn’t even care who heard her. All of her pent-up energy had to go somewhere …

  Psst.

  Diana looked up, curious at the noise, then dismissed it.

  Seriously can you open the door?

  And there went another psst noise. It came from behind her so she turned toward it.

  Joshua was standing in the hallway, hands on his hips, at the opening o
f his room, just a few doors down. He was in sweats and a white V-neck tee. And dark-rimmed glasses—he had been wearing contacts all that time?

  “I heard your growl all the way down here, Diana.”

  “I’d appreciate you opening this door for me.” She pointed to the lock.

  “Sorry, can’t. It’s against policy. And anyway, I don’t have the key.”

  “But you own this building.”

  He shrugged. “I still have to follow the rules.”

  She huffed. “Fine. Thank you for nothing.” She turned to go.

  “Diana, let’s have a drink. Coffee? Tea?”

  She halted. “Because you want to know about the briefcase?”

  “Yes, why else?” He smiled charmingly, his teeth bright in the dim hallway. Their relationship had gone from strangers to lovers to extremely complicated in a matter of forty-eight hours, and she wasn’t sure how to take that smile. Friend or foe? The guy who kept her company during the party, or the man who was suspicious of her presence?

  But right now, she needed to talk things through with someone else besides her mother, and Joshua was the most convenient person.

  She just had to keep her head on straight if she was going to be alone with him.

  “Fine.” She walked toward him. He gestured to the open door, and she entered his brightly lit foyer.

  A book sat on the hallway table, opened facedown, next to his keys and wallet. A vision of him reading on a couch, and her curled up next to him flashed in her head, because what was sexier and more comfortable than that?

  “Are you alone?” she asked. Her face heated with the understanding that she hadn’t planned this well. She was attracted to this man, and whenever she was around him, there was this push-and-pull electric charge that rendered her off-balance. And what if the girls were there, and she was this woman stranger coming to their father figure’s door so late at night like this was some booty call?

  She flushed, hot all of a sudden, though she swallowed a fleeting thought of them together in bed.

  “Yes, all by my lonesome.”

  “You know what? It’s late,” she said. “We can talk about this in the morning when we head out.” The next trip on her agenda was a Corregidor Island cruise and tour, which both Colette and Joshua would participate in. After, they’d planned to make another visit to Flora.

  “Oh, no. You pulled me out of a dark night of the soul, so we might as well talk about it now.”

  “A dark night of the soul?”

  “The black moment?”

  When she shook her head, he continued with a smirk.

  “The climax of the book, when all is lost?”

  She cackled. “I know what a black moment is, I just have never heard it called the dark night of the soul. That seems a little, I dunno … extra.” She unsuccessfully tried to keep a grin from slipping onto her face. The guy was a reader, as she was. Carlo hardly read, and aside from the medical journals he kept up with, he rarely picked up a book and had complained that her reading light was bothersome when he was trying to sleep.

  He frowned. “Are you making fun of me?”

  “Yes. That’s … cute.”

  “Great. I’m cute. Come on in. I actually just turned on the kettle. Coffee or tea?”

  “Coffee is fine. Thanks.”

  She stepped out of her shoes and lined them up with his to the side of the door, then followed him deeper into the hotel room, to the combined kitchen and living room. It was neat and uncluttered. Hand-drawn pictures hung on the refrigerator, and framed pictures of the girls were sprinkled everywhere in the room. Two teddy bears sat atop an armchair. A family apartment at first glance, although he was, for all intents and purposes, a bachelor.

  She hopped up on the barstool and faced him as he busied himself with a French press.

  “What are you reading?” She spied a second book on the kitchen counter.

  “A thriller. The gruesome kind.”

  “Tough guy.”

  “Don’t you forget it.” The kettle whistled and he turned off the stove. “Lolo Tony was a reader and it was our thing. He gave me books as presents. Along with hands-on work, he called reading true education. Though I read many genres, I prefer fiction. Even romance.”

  “Really?” Her lips wiggled into a grin. There was a soft spot in him.

  “Is that weird?”

  “No.” She scoured her mind, thinking of her own book selections. “I read across genres, too, but mostly nonfiction.”

  “I am not at all surprised.” He poured the hot water into the French press, grinning. “With you being a fan of the truth.”

  “And by you reading romance, you believe … what?”

  “What else? But in a happily-ever-after.” The nutty scent of java filled the room, and Joshua prepared their cups.

  In the silence, Diana mulled over what the words happily ever after meant and in what context.

  “Join me on the couch?” he said, finally, and she followed.

  The coffee was a surprisingly welcome treat after the day she’d had. It grounded her from her overconsumption of champagne, from her heavy heart with the newfound letters.

  “Don’t you believe in a happily-ever-after?” He turned his body to her and slung his arm over the back of the couch. “I assume that’s why you’re so quiet.”

  “Oh, ah …” Caught by his sudden question, she shook her head. “No. I mean, in response to your question, I’d have to ask if there’s really such a thing? Life is comprised of hills and valleys. Triumphs interspersed with lows. Isn’t a happily-ever-after a happenstance, or when one decides to take a snapshot of their life while standing on a hill?”

  He leaned back into the couch. “That is fatalistic.”

  “I’m not being fatalistic, Joshua. It’s realistic. Of course we all live for the hills. I’m just saying that not all stories end on a high note, and even if they do, it doesn’t mean it’ll last. I mean, look at all this, what’s happened to us. To both of us. Where would you say we are in this drama called the Cruz Family?” At his silence, she took a sip of her coffee. “Obviously I’m in a valley, since I’m hanging out with you.” She raised an eyebrow to punctuate her joke.

  “Hey, I didn’t force you to come to my door.”

  Her cheeks warmed, properly put in her place. She opened her mouth to speak, but he beat her to it. “But I’m happy you came.” He paused. “I’d been meaning to say that I’m sorry. At the gym, then at my lola’s house earlier in the day, I was rude.…”

  “No, it was me.”

  “I was trying to reconcile who you were—are—with that night.”

  As his face dipped down minutely, a section of his hair flopped forward over his forehead, reminding her of him on top of her, seconds from sex. A thrill ran through her with the memory. She looked away from him. “Same. And we’re on the same side.”

  “Same family actually,” he half laughed.

  “That’s right.” And, wanting to move on from the awkwardness, she said, “So, the briefcase …”

  “Can you share what’s in it?”

  “Documents and letters from my grandmother to Antonio. Seeing proof from this end—that the connection was real—I’m not going to lie: I was stunned by it. As if the DNA test weren’t enough.”

  “Did the letters give you answers?”

  “Not totally. But they were heartbreaking.” Pairing the letters together, Diana could have imagined their correspondence, both bent over their pieces of paper, hopes and dreams laid out in the words they wrote. Still, they didn’t tell a complete story. “My mom—I don’t think she really gets it. She read all of them with this stoic face, like it’s not seeping in.”

  “Give her some time. It hasn’t sunk in with me, either. It’s a lot to process.”

  “Time isn’t the problem. It’s about my mother’s ability or desire to face issues, to make decisions. Did you know that if I hadn’t insisted that we come here, to Manila, this reunion wouldn’t have hap
pened? It’s the same with a million other things.” Just saying it unnerved her, and at the next second she admonished herself. It was unbecoming of her to talk ill of her mother.

  She pushed herself higher on the couch.

  “You’re going?” He sat up.

  “Yeah. Speaking of my mom, she’s probably wondering where I’ve gone.” A lie—her mother was sound asleep. This little coffee break with Joshua had been perfect. Until now, when unease had taken over her once again, fueled by caffeine. She had to get out of there before she got angry, upset, or maybe cried, which would be a disaster.

  “Look, I love my mom, despite all I’ve said. I don’t want you to get it twisted. Anyway, thank you for the coffee and the chat.”

  Diana moved to the door, with Joshua following behind her. Before he turned the knob, he said. “Um, so tomorrow, the Corregidor tour—still a go?”

  She sighed, her mind cluttered. “Yes, we’re still on. It will be a great distraction before seeing Flora tomorrow.”

  “Great.”

  Diana turned from the door. She took two steps and halted, just as he shut it. It could have been attraction, or need for comfort, or this surge of energy, but it felt one and the same.

  She didn’t want to go.

  She turned to face the door. Her right hand tingled with the temptation to knock.

  The door opened, as if reading her mind. Then Joshua opened the door wider. An invitation.

  It would be her decision.

  Logic and emotion warred within her. What exactly did she want? What was holding her back? What did she have to lose?

  Nothing. She had nothing to lose, because what she thought was real had revealed itself as a facade.

  She crossed the threshold and crushed her mouth to his. Their clothes fell by the wayside as they stepped out of socks and pants, and as shirts were peeled off. Without breaking their kiss, he walked her backward to the bed, and she perched on the soft blanket still in her underwear. She helped him out of his, the sight of him taking her breath away. She lay back, and he, in one swift movement, slid her panties down and off, and she gasped in surprise, in pleasure.