by Tif Marcelo
“What are you saying?”
“That I’m here. That if you don’t mind, can I hang out wherever you are?”
“Cameron, spell it out,” Roberta interrupted, voice muffled.
Cameron cleared his throat. “I love you, Margaret. Can we—can we have a go at this?”
And somehow in the middle of Margo’s deep sorrow, gratitude sprouted for what she did have. She had these two out-of-this-world friends. And, with one of them, love. Love. Love in a way that wasn’t instant or earth-shattering, but the kind that bloomed slowly like an agave flower, and in their case took almost eight decades to see its potential.
“I love you, too.” She stepped forward and kissed him on the lips. From beneath her fingers she felt the smooth fabric of his shirt, and leaned in. He tasted of caramel, of comfort, of home.
“Ma?” a woman’s voice piped from behind her. “Cameron?”
“Who are these people? What is this?” boomed a second voice. Joshua. “His things, they’re everywhere … everyone, out. Out!”
part six Dawn
Every sunset brings the promise of a new dawn.
—Ralph Waldo Emerson
Marysville, California
September 8, 1944
Dear Antonio,
My heart is broken as I write this letter. Onofre told me that you have already been informed about your father’s death. I am so sorry, my sweetheart.
The church has provided a plot with donations from neighbors and friends. I spoke with Onofre, and he will use the money you send to make sure it is properly marked. I promise to visit him as often as possible, as often as Mrs. Lawley will allow.
Speaking of Mrs. Lawley: She had decided to move to Washington, DC. Her family will return within the year so she may travel with them back. She misses her grandchildren. I’m not sure where I will go after she moves on. It’s my hope that you will have returned by then.
It is increasingly hard to hide the evidence of the baby. My father is sure to turn me away. Joy says I should run away with her instead, but two women cannot make it on their own, not when one is with child. I’ve got no choice but to tell him.
I pray for you, Antonio, that you find peace now that your father is gone. But please pray for me, too. I will have to tell my father soon, and I will need your strength to do so.
I love you, with every sunset.
Leora
Chapter Twenty-Eight
They’d had a glorious day, she and Joshua. With a plastic sack of fresh mangoes from the palenke, they strode up to Sunset Corner, discussing their plans for the next day: a visit to the Ayala Museum. It would be the last tourist visit for Diana; the rest of the day would be dedicated to whatever else her mother wished, before she had to face the reality of home.
“They’re in the house,” Edna said, when Joshua inquired about Colette and Margo. They’d caught her coming from the laundry area, carrying an armful of towels.
“Where in the house?” he asked.
“Over there.” She gestured with her lips.
Joshua laughed. “Can you be more specific?”
“The little house.” She led them to the nearest window that looked out over the top of the backyard. The light in the house was on, and the front door was open. “All of them are there.”
“All? Who is all?” Diana asked aloud.
But when she turned to Joshua, he was already striding past her. She chased after him, remembering his penchant for overprotectiveness, especially about the little house. As they traipsed through the backyard, she noted the varying octaves of voices. Meanwhile, Joshua’s concern was palpable, his body tense and rigid.
Diana reached the door first, the voices clearer. They were familiar. Her mom, Colette. And was that Roberta? On the threshold were four sets of shoes. It couldn’t be—that seemed impossible for her mother’s best friends to …
No, not friends. Because when she walked into the door, her mother was kissing Cameron. Cameron, the man Diana had grown up with, an uncle by nickname, who’d gifted her with a twenty-dollar bill at every birthday, and who could man a grill like no other. For all of her mother’s adventures, she’d never once showed interest in dating. What was going on? “Ma? Cameron?”
But before she could say more, before Margo had a chance to respond, Joshua pushed through, his face in a panic. “Who are these people? What is this? His things, they’re everywhere … everyone, out. Out!”
Diana realized that what he was perceiving as chaos was just a typical scene with her mother: standing in a room of clutter. He was stern, on the verge of hysteria, arms out, as if he had been summoned to save these things. As if Margo was a thief.
Bodies halted at Joshua’s intrusion, and to Diana’s surprise, Roberta emerged from the closet. Colette stood next to the desk, frowning.
“Joshua?” Diana said.
“You all … you all just need to go. This isn’t your stuff.” He turned to Margo. “How did you even get in here?”
“Joshua,” Diana warned. She was sympathetic to his shock, but his insinuation, that they didn’t belong, raised her hackles.
Instead of answering, he turned to his sister. “Colette, how could you let this happen?”
“Josh,” she snapped at him. “Tita Margo is rightly going through her father’s things.”
“Who says she has the right? Just because of the DNA test? These things are my responsibility. Mine.”
“I say she has the right,” a raspy voice said.
Diana spun to Flora, in a wheelchair, with Dr. Sison behind her, sweat blooming on his forehead.
“Lola. I—”
“Hush, Joshua.” Then she spoke upward. “Push me closer.”
Dr. Sison did as instructed and pushed her to the middle of the room. She nodded at everyone. “It’s time for a family meeting. Tonight. All of you.”
Roberta raised her hand. “Um, excuse me, but I’m not really—”
“Everyone at Sunset Corner, in thirty minutes.”
* * *
Twenty minutes later, Diana was pacing the driveway of Sunset Corner, eyes toward the curve in the road. Everywhere around her was an inky black, and as she took each step, she willed her phone to light up with a notification, a reply from Joshua to her last text.
The guy had simply taken off. He’d followed Flora into the home after her announcement—Diana had given them space—and later on she found out from Colette that he’d gone on a drive. A drive, during what Diana thought was a crisis. She might’ve not known Joshua well, but this seemed unlike him. His family was his priority, and now—she checked her watch—with eight minutes left before the family meeting, he should’ve already been back.
Colette, too, seemed off. She had been irritated by Diana’s questions, her ear against the phone, eyes glassy. An extrovert taking solace in the corner of the room was not a comforting sight.
And her mother had been distracted, which wasn’t new, but it was with a seriousness that was disconcerting.
Something was going to happen. Her instincts were screaming at her.
Diana’s phone buzzed in her pocket. Her heart leaped. Joshua. Except when she checked the caller ID, it wasn’t Joshua, but Aziza.
Disappointment filled her. “Hi, Aziza.”
“Diana. How are you? How is the Philippines?”
“Good, good.” And yet, nothing about the conversation felt good. Phone calls with Aziza were synonymous with bad news. “What’s up?”
“I had a meeting that was … interesting. Diana, would it be possible for you and I to speak face-to-face somehow? I know you don’t come back for another few days, but maybe we could Skype or FaceTime?”
Diana frowned. “I mean, sure, that would be fine, but I don’t see what the difference is from just telling me now?”
She heaved a breath. “Well, the media has died down quite a bit since you left town, and while it was touch-and-go there for a bit, the questioning had begun to slow.”
“That’s great, ex
actly like you wanted.” Diana pressed her lips together to keep her nerves in check.
“But it’s sparked some turmoil within the hospital staff itself, among the board of directors, many of whom now question the mission of a VIP service. Some, apparently, had kept their thoughts to themselves, until the situation with you opened up the conversation. Some are actually against it, and two of our most generous donors have asked to have the service reconsidered. The optics are unsettling for many of our donors who didn’t realize the major disparity—they don’t want to be associated with it. While they don’t get a say as to how we manage their donations, they aren’t sure that they will commit their future support.
“Diana, basically, the situation has caused a bit of stir, and our CEO was very clear in that …”
Diana shut her eyes. She thought back to her last nightmare, her fear of being stark naked and exposed—it was exactly like this moment. She’d given herself entirely to this job. Not merely in the amount of work hours, but in her commitment to her patients. They were her mothers, her babies, their shared experience.
“I’m sorry, Diana, but in my opinion, they are going to ask you to resign. The board thinks that in addition to breaking protocol, your actions have led directly to the donors’ malcontent.”
She dropped her chin to her chest.
“I’m sorry. This is why I wanted to tell you face-to-face. On the day after you return, there will be a meeting with you and me and the entire board. I’m on your side, and I scheduled this meeting for you to have a say, to justify your break with policy.”
Her breath left her. Resign. She thought of her patients. It was easy enough for them to transfer physicians, but it was at the cost of their connection, their trust. The nursing staff came to mind, their friendships soldered over days and nights of trust in the most joyous and tragic events. They were her family, too.
Not to mention, without a job, she wouldn’t have income. Now with her reputation, her name in the public sphere, who would hire her?
“Manang Diana?” Edna said, from the front door; Diana hadn’t heard her.
“Diana?” Aziza echoed in her ear.
“I hear you. I heard you,” she answered into the phone, and nodded at Edna, who turned and disappeared back inside. “I—I don’t know what to say.”
“Well, it’s not over yet. Come back from the Philippines refreshed and strong, and you can fight for your job. I did the best I could in that room, but now it’s your turn.”
“I know you did, and thank you.” She looked back at the house, where another meeting loomed. “Can I, can I call you back? I need to process this a little. There’s a bit of a situation here.”
“Of course. I’ll be here.”
Diana hung up, but before going inside, she looked back to the empty driveway. Now if only Joshua was here, too.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Margo, sitting on one of the couches in the living room, raised her face as Diana entered the room, and from her downtrodden expression, Diana deduced that Joshua hadn’t returned. She patted the space next to her, and Diana sat, exhaling.
“Are you okay?” she asked her daughter.
“Are you?” Diana shook her head. “I’m sorry he got so angry, Ma. He didn’t have the right and—”
“Honey, stop. I’m fine. I’m not angry or hurt about that. Joshua was in shock.”
“And when I walked in, you were kissing Cameron.” Diana cradled her forehead with her fingers. “I’m so confused.”
“The day has been … interesting.” Margo recounted the afternoon, from cooking with Colette to her talk with Flora, which brought on some tears. She stopped short of telling her about the will since it was unclear what it might mean for Diana, if anything at all. She wiped her eyes. “And then, of course, Roberta and Cameron showed up, and yes, I kissed Cameron, and I love him.” She laughed.
“Oh, Ma.” Diana hugged her.
Hugged her.
So Margo took advantage. She leaned tight into her daughter’s formidable, strong body. She reminded herself that this, this was now. Her daughter’s love was tangible. Her daughter’s love was unquestionable. “But there’s more. My father didn’t choose me, Diana. He didn’t choose my mother. And I’m mad, and upset, but things turned out right, didn’t they?”
“Yes, they did,” she said firmly, then leaned back. “Things turned out right because it was you and me and Granny. And we are still okay without Granny.”
Margo breathed out her nervous energy. She nodded.
“The question is, what are we doing here? What is this meeting about?”
“I’m here,” Flora announced as she was being wheeled into the living room, except it wasn’t by Dr. Sison or Edna. It was a different man, dressed casually in a T-shirt and jeans. On Flora’s lap was a black briefcase, wiry hands draped over, clutching it.
Colette walked into the room. “Mr. Hidalgo?”
“Good evening,” he answered as he parked Flora’s wheelchair and took the seat next to her, relieving her of his briefcase. Edna, Roberta, and Cameron entered and took their seats, Cameron on the other side of Margo. He squeezed her hand; she melted in this show of support, although Diana’s jaw slackened at the gesture. An empty chair remained for Joshua.
“It’s nice to finally meet you, Mrs. Gallagher-Cary,” Mr. Hidalgo nodded at Margo, and then to Diana, “Dr. Gallagher-Cary.”
“What do you mean, finally?” Diana interjected. “And please, call me Diana.”
“I told him all about the two of you,” Flora said, eyes gleaming.
Mr. Hidalgo rested his briefcase on his lap and flipped up the cover with a flourish. He dug into what seemed like a Mary Poppins bag as he took out a bottled water, his phone, his wallet, a book, and his glasses, setting them on the floor next to him, and finally retrieved a stapled set of papers.
“Thank you, Mrs. Cruz, for inviting me here today. As you all know, I am here to go over the stipulations of Mr. Cruz’s will.”
“His will? I didn’t know we were doing this. Philip’s not back from Hong Kong until next week. And Joshua’s late—he hasn’t returned any of my calls, but I’m sure he’ll want to be here.” Colette sat up taller in her seat.
“Not everyone has to be present for this reading, Mrs. Macaraeg. It is a courtesy I am providing for Mrs. Cruz, though it will be followed up via legal channels for notification.”
“But why? Why now?” Colette’s voice was shrill.
“Because I’m dying, anak,” Flora said, exasperated.
“Lola,” Colette whispered. She clutched her belly. “Not in front of the baby.”
Flora shot Margo a look. “See what I am up against? I’m a hundred years old, and these children think I’m going to live forever.”
“I am emotional, pregnant, and my legs are so swollen I can’t see my ankles. We are not going to talk about death. I’m supposed to be a cute pregnant lady.” Her eyes glassed with tears. “Instead, I feel like sh— I mean, crap, and I’m not even close to delivering.”
Roberta reached out for Colette’s hand and squeezed it.
Flora lifted a hand to cue Mr. Hidalgo to move on.
“Oh, okay. Allow me to amend. Mrs. Cruz invited me here to read the stipulation of Antonio Cruz’s will, because there have been two changes. One, we have two descendants who were previously unaccounted for and are now present, and second, because Mrs. Cruz has expressed her desire to execute the will early.”
“Early?” Margo gasped.
“I’m tired. I no longer want to make any decisions. I trust all of you,” Flora croaked.
“All?” Diana said. “I don’t get it.”
Mr. Hidalgo continued, “Before Mr. Cruz passed, he discussed his legacy at length. That in the event Mrs. Cruz was no longer able, Joshua Cruz would inherit Las Cruces Hotel and Sunset Corner.”
“This is about me?” a voice said from the hall. Joshua entered the room. “Because if you all remember, my return to Manila was because Lolo Ton
y needed me. I learned everything inside and out about Las Cruces in the last decade; I got up every day without fail to make this place better. Just an FYI.” He stopped at his grandmother’s side and kissed her on the cheek. “I’m sorry I’m late. I needed some air.”
Mr. Hidalgo dropped his gaze to the paperwork, discomfort evident in his tight expression. Flipping to the third page, he adjusted his glasses so they were sitting on the tip of his nose. “ ‘I hereby bequeath the ownership and management of Cruz Estate to Flora Cruz until her death or until she determines she is unable. Thereafter, the eldest descendant will inherit the Cruz Estate. The Cruz Estate consists of Las Cruces Hotel, Sunset Corner, and all its assets. Forthcoming owners will have authoritative control and input in the hotel’s board of directors.’ ” His eyes peered above his glasses. “After Mrs. Cruz, it would have naturally gone to Joshua as the oldest grandchild. But now that Mrs. Margaret Gallagher-Cary is here, she is first in the line of beneficiaries. And because Dr. Diana Gallagher-Cary is six years older than Joshua Cruz, then she would be next in line. I was also instructed to provide this to the next descendant after Mrs. Cruz.” He held up a manila envelope, then handed it over to Margo.
“Wait a minute. Wait.” Diana brought her shaking fingers to her forehead, then looked at Margo. “We’re in line to inherit this place?”
“Sooner rather than later,” Flora confirmed.
“And now that Mrs. Cruz has decided to execute the stipulation of the will,” Mr. Hidalgo said, “all that needs to be decided is if you will accept it, Mrs. Gallagher-Cary. Should you not accept, then the will stipulates that it will be offered to the next person in line.”
Margo’s eyes darted across the room, to Diana, who looked out into space; to Colette, who’d begun to cry; to her friends, mouths agape; and finally to the smooth envelope in her hand. Another letter.
