The Love of a Latino

by Ewing, A. B.

  “Oh God, Raphael, I don’t know what happened! One minute we were eating and talking, the next minute she was in the road and the car came out of nowhere.”

  Easing her away from him, he grasped her tear stained face. “Natasha...Natasha. Calm down.”

  “I tried to warn her, but she didn’t hear,” she continued speaking.

  Shaking her gently, Rafe said a little more firmly, “Natasha, calm down.”

  This time his words seemed to have penetrated her panicked nerves because she stopped to look at him and then the flood of tears came again. Taking her to sit in one of the chairs, he then brought a cup of water from the nearby dispense—all the time noticing the blood stains on her clothes. His heart and lungs constricted at the thought that all of it was his wife’s blood. There was too much!

  Impatiently he waited for her to compose herself, and when he thought she was calm enough he asked, “Now, can you tell me what happened?”

  Her already swollen eyes immediately filled with tears. Although, they spilled over onto her cheeks she was able to tell him. “We were having lunch at a café in town. Everything was going fine. Then Dahlia just got this strange look on her face. The next thing I know she was stepping onto the road and the car came out of nowhere,” her face crumpled again.

  “Natasha? The blood…the blood on your clothes, does it all belong to my wife?” The husky words escaped his parch throat. Deep down he already knew that it was, but he just wanted to make sure. This time she just nodded. Fear rose from the depths of Rafe’s soul. Dahlia was so tiny. If all that blood belonged to her, that meant it could not be good. If anything happened to her or their child he wasn’t sure if he would be able to live.

  He needed his parents here. Reaching for the third time, for his mobile in less than an hour, he called his mother. He needed the support from the woman that had given his life.

  “Rafe…Son. I was beginning to think you have forgotten about your dear, old mother.” Lauralyn answered on the second ring.

  “Mom…Mamá…” Rafe wished there was a gentler way to say what he had to say.

  “Hijo, what is it?” The older woman’s maternal instinct kicked in.

  “Mamá, estoy en el hospital…” He began slowly.

  “The hospital? Is it the baby? It’s too early!” Lauralyn exclaimed. She was dying to become a grandmother, but it was still too early. She knew the consequences of a premature baby.

  “Mom, there was an accident. Dahlia, she’s—she’s in surgery.” Rafe delivered the information in the calmest voice he could muster up.

  “Oh God! An accident? What kind of accident? Is the baby alright?” His mother’s alarmed voice queried.

  “Mamá, we are at Geneva Memorial. I will explain when you get here. Can you bring Natasha a change of clothing please?” This was not something he wanted to discuss over the phone.

  “Of course, my son! You just hang on! Your father and I will be there soon.” That was the ‘take charge’ mother he knew.

  Rafe was just replacing the phone in his pocket when he saw the doctor. The short white man, dressed in the hospital gear asked, “Are you the family of Dahlia Cavos?”

  Standing to face the balding man, Rafe tried to prepare himself, determined to stay in control no matter what the news. But when the doctor said, “I am sorry, but I don’t have good news, Mr. Cavos.” Rafe’s knees buckled beneath him and he sank back into his seat. He knew what the doctor’s next words would be.

  ****

  Chapter 12

  Everywhere ached! Her head, her broken arm, her broken ribs, the cut on her lower abdomen, but nothing hurt as much as her heart. Deep down there was an emptiness that made her feel so incomplete. A hollow gap only her son could have filled but he was gone now and nothing would bring him back. It was a constant struggle to even open her eyes to face each day, knowing that when her hand touched her stomach she would not be able to feel her son move inside her.

  She honestly didn’t know how she found the strength. Coping with the loss of her baby was in itself an ordeal, but not having the support of the one person she needed most was crushing. Not once in the nineteen days since her accident, since her baby died, did Raphael embrace her or tried in any way to comfort her. His visits were rear and when he did come he would stand at a distance. He would briefly enquire how she was, if she needed anything and then he would leave. There was no mention of their son, and if she did break down and cry Raphael would stare at her through cold distant eyes. Sometimes she felt as if he was looking right through her.

  Today she would be going home but she wasn’t even sure if he would be here to pick her up. What could she say? Now that she was no longer pregnant, would he still want her? Was he spending his time with the woman and child she saw him with that day? Try as she may she could not stem the flow of tears that erupted from her already swollen eyes. The thought of Raphael being with someone else, holding a child he may have had with another woman was almost too much to take. It was Lauralyn that had been at Dahlia’s side constantly, nurturing and comforting her. Natasha had flown home only four days ago insisting she stay until she was sure Dahlia was better.

  When the older woman sensed her pain she tried to console Dahlia. “Be patient, my child. I know it is hard but you have to understand, before my son met you emotions were not something he did well.”

  Dahlia tried, she really did. But she needed Raphael to hold her and tell her it was not her fault. That she was not to blame for their son dying. She needed to know that the woman he was with that day is not his lover, that the baby was not his. Oh God, she needed her husband so much!

  Sleep quickly claimed her because when she finally woke up it was to someone roughly nudging her shoulder. “Dahlia, wake up. It is time to go.”

  Raphael was standing over her, an unreadable expression on his face. He stepped back when she opened her eyes as if he would be contaminated by her touch—it hurt. To have the man she loved treat her as if she was a leper. In an attempt to penetrate the barrier he seemed to have erected, she offered him a feeble smile but tears quickly pooled in her eyes when Raphael abruptly turned away to pick up her packed bags from the foot of the bed.

  “I will go and sign the papers. You can meet me outside.”

  That cold indifferent man was not her husband. He was a stranger. That same stranger was waiting for her at the nurses’ station when she was finally pushed out on a wheelchair by the nurse. That same stranger sat with her in the car, eyes staring straight ahead on the long quiet journey home. Not once did he even acknowledge her presence. It was so strange being this close to him, knowing that this is the man that she had shared the most intimate of pleasures with, and yet he acted as if she was a complete stranger. She knew he must be hurting too, but what she could not understand was why he wasn’t saying anything. The silence was killing her.

  It continued all the way home, but when Raphael quietly deposited her bags into the master bedroom and turned to leave without so much as looking at her she had to do something. She grabbed at his hand begging. “Raphael, please talk to me.”

  Not bothering to turn around he shook her off. “There is nothing to talk about.”

  His long strides took him back out into the living room, but Dahlia was hot on his heels. “You can’t walk away like this. We need to talk.”

  She almost collided with his hard back when he abruptly stopped. Whirling around to face her, Dahlia could see the throbbing vein in his forehead, his lips compressed but his eyes said it all. He was battling to stay in control.

  When he finally opened his mouth, he delivered in a firm voice, “I do not have time to talk. I have a business to run. If you are in need of company you can call Mamá.”

  Dahlia let him leave after that. What else could she say? Right now she needed to recuperate, to heal physically and emotionally. Raphael needed time and she would give it to him. When she was better and stronger she would continue this battle. She had already lost her son. She was no
t going to lose her husband too.

  ****

  “You seem to be doing much better. It is so good to see you out of that dreadful cast.”

  Dahlia observed quietly as her mother-in-law busied herself around the kitchen, wiping and dusting. “Yes, it feels good to be able to use both of my hands now. How is Alejandro? I have not seen much of him.”

  “Alejandro is Alejandro. Always busy at work. I tell him it is time he hands over to Raphael, but that man is stubborn.” Lauralyn stopped her chore to look at her daughter-in-law. “Dahlia...how are things between you and my son?”

  Unable to look the other woman in the eye, fearful that she may see the turmoil within her, Dahlia lowered her head. The scraping of the chair on the tile alerted her to Lauralyn sitting next to her by the island. The woman was as stubborn as her son—she was not going to give up until she had some answers.

  “Look at me, Child.”

  Hesitantly, Dahlia raised wet eyes to her mother-in-law’s caring ones. “I can see it there…in your eyes, the sadness. You are still grieving for your baby. But there is more. There is also a sadness there that I know Raphael has put. Por favor, tell me.”

  This woman reminded Dahlia so much of her own mother: loving, kind, caring for others. It was never hard to talk to her, and Dahlia needed someone to talk to.

  “He hates me, Lauralyn. I know he blames me for our baby dying,” she cried.

  “Nonsense, Child! My son may be angry now, but he does not hate or blame you. That was an accident.” Lauralyn wiped at the tears that trickled down her daughter-in-law’s face.

  “Yes he does. He hardly ever speaks to me and when he does he is so cold. I don’t know where he sleeps most nights, but when he is here he sleeps in the spare room. I just wish he would talk to me.” Dahlia lamented.

  “Sweetheart, men are stubborn. Raphael is Alejandro’s son, so I know. If he does not want to talk, then make him listen. Tell him how you feel.” How could she not love this woman? This woman who, had welcomed her as a stranger and even now, was her only pillar of strength. “I have to go now, but take my advice. Talk to him, okay?”

  With a promise from Dahlia, Lauralyn neatened up the kitchen- she had just prepared dinner in for her son and his wife- and then left. In her car she sat and not for the first time in the past weeks she cried. Both, her son and daughter-in-law were hurting and there wasn’t anything she could do about it.

  ****

  At dinner that night, Dahlia was determined that her husband listen to what she had to say. Too many nights she had stayed awake in her lonely bed, torturing herself with images of Raphael and that woman. Too long she grieved by herself for her son.

  He sat across from her, much as he did every night since her arrival home five weeks ago: quiet, cold, and distant. One fisted hand rested on the table, the other maneuvering the food. Reaching out a hand she covered his fisted one but he eased his away. She felt the slam of the hurt against her heart but she was not going to give up so easily.

  “Raphael...can we please talk?” He ignored her, continuing to eat his meal.

  “Raphael….” Dahlia jumped when he slammed his fist against the table causing the dishes to rattle.

  “Damn it, Dahlia! How many times do we have to go through this? There is nothing to talk about.”

  Not backing down she piped up, “Well if you don’t want to talk you are going to listen. I have plenty I would like to say.”

  “You can talk all you want, Dahlia, but I am not going to sit here and listen.” Shoving away from the table he disposed the remaining of his unfinished dinner into the garbage. Thrusting the dishes into the sink he stalked off in the direction of the front door.

  He was not going to do this to her again. She would not let him. “What, you won’t talk to me so you are going to run off to your lover?”

  Raphael stopped dead, his hand frozen on the door knob. Slowly he turned to look at her, brows knotted. “What did you just say?” He asked in a deadly calm voice.

  “You think I don’t know about them, your lover and your child!” Words escaped her mouth, words her brain didn’t seem to be processing.

  Slowly, Raphael came toward her until he was towering over her. Refusing to back down she looked up at him. “Would you care to enlighten me on what you are talking about?” He breathed into her face.

  Licking dry her lips, she festered up the courage. It was now or never. “That day…the day of the accident, I saw you with her—with them. You were coming out of the hotel. I saw her touching you, you holding the baby. I saw you kissing her.”

  There was a deadly silence before he asked, “Is that why you stepped out in front of that car? Because you saw us?” She tried to look away, but the look in his eyes seemed to have paralyzed her.

  Wetting her dry lips again she continued, “I was going over to confront you.”

  “Let me see if I get this right. I married you because I fell in love with you. I would like to believe that I have taken care of you, showed you my love. Yet, you see me with a woman and a child and you assume she is my lover.” Dahlia couldn’t answer. She felt as if her tongue was stuck to the roof of her mouth.

  When he spoke again Dahlia just knew that something worse was going to come. “Have I ever once given you a reason to believe that I would be unfaithful to you?” Something in his tone warned her about impending trouble, so she stepped back. “You saw something, jumped to conclusions and because of that my son is dead.” There it was, the rage he was obviously bottling up inside.

  “It was not my fault…”

  “Yes it is, Dahlia!” He shouted across the short distance. “If you had listened to me my son would not be dead. He is dead because of you!” Those words were worse than any physical blow he could have dealt her but he wasn’t finished.

  “I gave you everything and all that I asked was for you to take care of my son, but you were too selfish! You took my love for you as a sign of weakness to get what you wanted. Without a care for me or my son you just had to be running the city and now because of this, because of you, my son is dead. That, I will never be able to forgive you for, Dahlia.” Every word was like a twist of a knife to her heart. Her husband hated her. Raphael really did blame her for their son’s death and he hated her. In the depth of his eyes she could see it all.

  “And for the record, Dahlia. The woman you saw me with, was Sarafina. The child is not mine. She needed help and that is all there was to it. There was no affair then and there is not any now. You can believe me or not. I really do not care anymore.”

  Long after he left, Dahlia stood rooted to the spot, eyes brimming over with tears. This was not what she expected. She was so wrong about him. Why hadn’t she listened to him? She had acted like a spoiled child and because of that their child was dead. He was right to hate her. She was nothing less than a murderer.

  Dahlia went through the next couple of days in slow motion. Raphael came in very late at nights when she was already in bed and he left very early in the morning. She never attempted to speak to him. The gulf between them grew larger but somehow, Dahlia honestly believed that they could fix it. They just needed time, but when almost a month after their verbal battle, she picked up the morning post and saw Raphael’s lips plastered to supermodel Jasmine Jordan’s, Dahlia’s world began to fall apart. She had really lost him.

  ****

  Chapter 13

  Someone was pounding on his door and it was seriously pissing Raphael off. Who got up this early on a Saturday morning? Rolling over onto his stomach he groaned putting a hand to his head. Hangovers were really a bitch. Peeping through the darkness that still engulfed the room he tried to ascertain the time on the night stand clock but the blue numbers were just a blur.

  The pounding on the hotel door persisted. Whoever was out there was going to be really sorry. Literally crawling off the bed, he threw on a robe that had been lying on the floor. Stumbling through the bedroom door he stomped across the carpeted living area barefoot
ed. Yanking open the front door he opened his mouth to lay it into his intruder but clamped his mouth shut when his mother sailed through it. Okay then! She was obviously in a bad mood because there was no customary kiss. Lauralyn Cavos was a demon when she was in a bad mood. Sighing heavily, he shut the door and turned to face his mother and was promptly greeted by a whack across head.

  “What the hell, Mom?”

  “Watch your mouth, Boy.” The older woman warned and proceeded to smack him across the head again, this time harder.

  “Mom, will you cut that out?” He demanded, wrestling the paper from her hand. But his mother came prepared because she reached into the large purse she always carried around and pulled out another copy. Spreading it open, she shoved it into his face.

  “Have you lost your ever loving mind or are you just plain stupid?”

  Pushing away the paper from his face, Raphael squinted at the article. “Shit!” He spitted out when he saw the picture. Grabbing this one too, he loosened his grip on the other. Lauralyn took advantage of the opportunity, snatched it out of his hand and connected him with it in the head again.

  “I told you to watch your mouth!” She snapped at him.

  “How the hell did this get into the papers?” Raphael moved away from his mother, deeper into the living room more as a safety measure than anything. He already had a monster sized headache and his mother’s constant abuse wasn’t helping.

  “No, fool, the question is, what the hell were you doing kissing some woman when you have a wife at home?”

  Raphael knew where this was heading and he wasn’t going down that road with his mother. “Mamá, look, I know you are concerned but there is nothing to worry about. It was just a friendly kiss between two friends.” The explanation was poor as hell, but it was the only one she was going to get.