Chapter 35
Diego
Diego slipped out from under Liliana’s arm early the next morning before climbing silently down the trellis outside her bedroom window. He hadn’t slept all night, he hadn’t wanted to. Instead he’d watched Liliana, trying to map out the plot of her dreams by every flutter of her lashes, every panting breath, and every soft moan—her sleep restless though he knew she was exhausted.
But at home, in his own bed, he couldn’t stop thinking about her standing on that dock. He had seen her glowing silhouette slip past his window and had watched her as she stood there, completely still, arms tangled in the breeze as if she were weightless, as if she wasn’t even in her own body. When she’d stepped to the edge of the dock, that’s when he started running. And then she jumped.
He had watched her sift through the intangible ashes of a war—through death and darkness and secrets, unyielding when it came to finding out what happened to her mother, and none of it had broken her. But this was different. Maybe it was easier for Liliana to be strong when it was her mother’s life they were unraveling but not her own. Diego leaned against the window, eyes trained on the silhouette of Liliana’s motionless curtains. He knew she was sleeping but he suddenly felt guilty for having left her alone.
He thought about her, about the curve of her back as it was framed within the doorway and the way the light fell against her bare skin. He had tried to look away, afraid that she would sense his eyes on her, trailing up her legs, to the hem of her shirt as it fluttered above her thighs. He wanted to touch her, to feel her on his skin. And then she had asked him to stay and he couldn’t free himself from his wet clothes fast enough, unable to breathe as he slid in next to her. And the moment she’d wrapped herself around him, his cold body absorbing all of her heat, his chest had begun to ache—a sharp knowing blooming inside of him, tearing at him. He would never be able to sleep without her again. He would never be able to be without her.
And as he tried to pull himself from the window, body still reeling from having carried Liliana to shore and desperate for sleep, that ache began to return—the salty sweet smell of her and traces of the ocean still rising from his skin, all he would have until morning.
Chapter 36
Liliana
Liliana woke up the next day with his scent still lingering on her skin, breaths of it tangled in her hair and in her sheets. She rolled over into the hollow impression of Diego’s torso, sinking into the crook where his shoulders once were—the remnants of his presence and the tangible allusion to his absence setting her skin ablaze. But then, out of the corner of her eye she spotted her mother’s journal—the pages, still splayed, leaving her breathless and for a moment she wondered if it had all been a dream. She climbed out of bed and made her way to the window. The edge of the folded photo of Ben was sticking out of the journal, separating the last entry Liliana had read and the entries she couldn’t yet bring herself to finish reading.
She’d finally managed to make an appearance downstairs around noon but only to inquire about her father and when he’d be back.
“Tonight,” Nita had said. “We’ll eat when he gets here at eight.”
After that small exchange Liliana spent the rest of the day in a knot at the foot of her bed, confusion twisting in her, sharp like a blade. She didn’t know what she would say or if she should say anything at all. There was a part of her that recoiled at the shame of it, a part of her that wanted to wait with an agonizing patience for her mind to forget. But then there was another part that wanted her father to tell her the truth, to tell her yes Ben is your father and that’s why I could never love you the way I love Nita, that’s why I can never look at you, not because you remind me of your mother but because you remind me of the man she loved. But just the anticipation of a revelation so cruel coming from her father’s lips burned Liliana with guilt. Because though she would never recognize the person who could say such a thing she did recognize the man who had carried her mother home from that dark empty road, the man who checked on her daily wellbeing after Ben went missing, the man that loved her so faithfully even though she belonged to someone else. Hadn’t he done the same for Liliana? Hadn’t he loved her as his own, with his whole heart, even though she too belonged to another man.
There was a light knock on the other side of the door and as Liliana searched the space beneath the frame she spotted Nita’s bare feet, the toenails painted a bright blue. Liliana released the blankets, leaving them in a tangle behind her and unlocked the door.
“So you are alive,” Nita quipped.
“Unfortunately,” Liliana muttered.
“Very funny.” Nita walked to the window, pushing the blinds back and letting in the light. “It’s not fair that you get this room. I would actually appreciate the view unlike you who likes to sit alone in the dark all day.”
“Did you just come in here to bother me?”
“Actually no. I found some pictures of mom. Do you want to see them?”
“You did? Where?”
“Well actually Ana found them. Somewhere upstairs while she was cleaning.” Nita handed Liliana the thick waxy polaroids.
One was of their mother wearing a wide brimmed sun hat, her sunglasses low on the bridge of her nose as she smiled with dark red lips. You could see the ocean rising up behind her, thin grey lines rippling where the tide was rolling in. She must have been at the vineyard.
“That one’s my favorite.” Nita pointed at the photo resting in Liliana’s palm. “Doesn’t she look just like me?”
Liliana slid the other photograph on top and she felt Nita sink back towards the window. The photo was black and white, the color contrast stark in the sunlight filtering in from the open window. Their mother was sitting at the bottom of the stairs in her parent’s house, her chin resting in her palms, knees tucked into her chest. A shadow, most likely from the person taking the photo, bled across half of her face, stopping at the edge of her mouth, which was slightly turned down. She could see why this one hadn’t been Nita’s favorite, but while her sister saw a photo of their mother, slouching and aloof, probably unaware that the photo was even being taken, Liliana saw the way her mother must have looked when she was afraid, when she was waiting for Ben, slumped to her knees on the edge of the road. She saw the face Zalo must have seen, the contempt he had recognized in Liliana’s expression that night at the bar.
“I want this one,” Liliana said, handing Nita the photo of their mother on the beach.
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah, you can have that one. Thanks for showing me these,” Liliana said as she led her sister towards the door.
“Hey, but…”
“I’ll see you at dinner.”
Liliana shut the door and waited for Nita’s shadow to disappear. When it did she crouched down on the floor and pulled her mother’s journal from beneath a stack of books that hadn’t fit on her shelf with the others. Then she slid the picture along the back cover next to the one of Ben and turned to a blank page, quickly scribbling down from memory the directions to Louis’ bar.
***
Liliana was helping set the table when she heard her father come in. The floorboards in the entryway let out a low creak followed by the sound of the plastic wheels of his suitcase scraping across the floor—the whole house shuddering with his presence. Liliana held her breath as she watched him leave his things by the door before making his way to the kitchen.
Nita took her usual position as the center of attention at dinner. She described in detail every second of their life that their father had missed while he was away on business. He listened intently, the only person at the table who wasn’t feigning interest. She told him about the shops in Palermo Viejo, and about her classes, and how all Liliana did was stay in her room and read books all day. She went on and on until she was out of breath and every time she mentioned something about Diego their father would glance at Liliana, his eyes revealing a small hint of concern.
After
dinner Liliana’s father carried his bags to his office to unpack a few things and she’d lingered in the hallway, waiting for some kind of resolve or even anger to possess her and steer her into the room. But the doorway seemed alarmingly narrow, her father’s shadow spilling into the hallway dark and warped. She waited there, pulse thrumming in her ears until she felt faint again, nausea thick at the base of her stomach. She just wanted to get this over with. She slipped into the room, pulling the door closed behind her and he turned around, startled. She tried to speak but every word felt thick at the back of her throat. She froze.
“What’s wrong, Liliana?”
And a weariness she hadn’t noticed at dinner began to settle in the deep folds along his brow and into the faint lines near his eyes.
“I wanted…I need to talk to you,” she said.
For a moment he just stood there, examining her face or waiting for her to speak. But she didn’t so he moved to his desk, sinking into the wingback chair that was one of the only pieces of Liliana’s grandparent’s furniture that they’d kept. She leaned against the wall facing him, fingers kneading into her palms.
“What is it?” he said, something between fear and impatience in his voice.
“Who’s Ben?” was all she could manage.
She realized that for this conversation syllables would act as a currency and at the moment she only had the strength to offer two.
Manuel stared at his hands for a long time.
“Where did you hear that name?” he said.
Liliana didn’t want to lie but she was afraid that if she told her father about the journal that he might not let her keep it. He might take it from her, thinking he was protecting her from something.
“I found a letter in mom’s room. I recognized her handwriting and it was written to someone named Ben. She talked about a baby.” She stopped, waiting for him to look at her. “Their baby,” she finally said and he met her eyes.
“Is it me?” she whispered. She knelt down in front of him, hands inching toward his.
He nodded, slowly, once.
“Why didn’t I know?”
He placed one of his large hands on her head, thumb gently squeezing her temple and then he rose from his chair, stepping past her as he made his way toward the door. He lingered there, just for a moment, his hand on the old brass door handle before finally stepping into the hallway and leaving her, still on her knees, in front of that empty wingback chair.
***
Manuel and I are going to the courthouse today. He said he’d take care of me and the baby. I’m still early into the pregnancy—early enough for people to think it could have been conceived on our wedding night. The technicalities of our arrangement are what seduced me, not him. I know Manuel will be a good father and a good husband. Despite what happened between us I know he is good. I did love him once, and for his sake, I pray that I can find it in me to love him again.
We exchanged our vows underneath a small white gazebo at the bottom of the courthouse steps. My parents were there and so were his. Our decision to get married was a shock to no one but me. We had a small reception on Manuel’s family’s property and there was so much food. Everyone was laughing and dancing and having a great time. They were playing music in the barn and Manuel begged me for one dance but I just couldn’t. It was easier to play my part in the main house, away from Manuel and I was afraid that if I even stepped foot in the barn the truth or something worse would be all over my face.
So I lingered in Manuel’s parent’s living room, sitting next to my new mother-in-law and replacing her dark face with Mrs. Azor’s. I imagined Ben fixing himself a plate and chatting with my father in the kitchen. He would still be in the suit he wore during the ceremony and I would still be in my ivory wedding dress, barefoot and trying to drag him toward the dance floor. I imagined him next to me, the two of us disappearing from the fray for just a moment, his palm, gentle and discreet below my waist as he whispered in my ear how happy he was and how much he loved us both.
When I began to feel the void—heavy and tearing at me, I walked out into the yard and kept walking until I reached a large tree on the edge of the property. I sat on the old wooden swing dangling from one of the branches and rocked back and forth on my toes, letting the soft warble of the night drown out the music pulsing behind me. And then I heard footsteps, a dark silhouette moving just beyond the low hanging branches. Suddenly the leaves parted and Raul was standing next to me. Hey sis, he said. My stomach turned and I stood to leave. He grabbed me by the arm and the familiarity of his skin, of his clenched fingers, paralyzed me. Let me go, I said, or I’ll tell Manuel. At the sound of his name, I felt some of my boldness returning. Now that I was his wife, it was Manuel’s duty to protect me even if it meant protecting me from the brother he loved more than anyone else in the world. No you won’t, he hissed at me. And why is that, I said. Raul leaned closer and put his mouth next to my ear. I know it’s not his, he whispered.
I tried to step back, to run toward the house but he was still gripping my arm. My brother may not have a problem with you being a whore, he said, but I do, so be careful Isabella or you may be reunited with your beloved Ben sooner than you think. He finally let go of me, the blanched imprint of his fingertips still stark against my skin as I ran back to the house.
***
We started moving today. I’m sitting in my room for the last time as Manuel and his brothers load up the final boxes. I’m terrified of moving to the city. I want to be as far away from the war as I possibly can but Manuel got a job at the embassy, and to be honest, even if we had moved to another planet, there would be no escaping it.
Raul has been watching my every move for the past six hours, eyes trained on me like I’m some kind of prey. I try to avoid him but it’s like he doesn’t want to be avoided. He wants me to be afraid of him. And part of me is. The part of me that wants nothing more than to be a mother to my baby, Ben’s baby; it’s that part of me that can’t sleep at night because of Raul’s constant threats to have me disappeared. The extension of my waistline feels like an expiration date—like this baby is the only thing keeping me safe. I don’t understand what he wants from me. Ben is dead. He knows this and yet he watches me with such a fierceness as if at any moment I might try to run to him anyway.
The blue water sparkling beyond the vineyard makes my chest ache. I try to blink away the tears but the harder I try the faster they fall. When I leave here I also leave my childhood behind; I leave Trini and Ben. I leave my heart. I can’t even bring my memories with me. This journal will stay hidden among the dusty coverless books lining my bookshelf until the day I need to be reminded of who I really am. Then I will come for it and maybe I will read it to my son or daughter and pretend it’s just another fairytale, changing every dark moment to light, conquering every villain, and replacing the ending with the one I was robbed of.
Chapter 37
Liliana
Liliana pushed open the door. It was heavy but it passed over the tile floor silently and she slid through the small opening careful not to let in any light from the hallway. He was sleeping, his mouth hanging open; his hands clasped together and resting on his stomach. Liliana spotted the morphine drip and the plastic tube carrying the drug to the translucent vein on her uncle’s wrist. She unhooked the tube from the machine and waited for him to wake up.
Half an hour later he was writhing in his sleep—his brow slick with sweat and with his eyes still closed he reached for the button on his morphine pump. When he found that it wasn't there, he opened his eyes and scanned the side of his bed for the call button to summon a nurse but he couldn’t find that either.
His eyes finally adjusted to the darkness, and Liliana watched as they flitted across the room before finally finding her shadow in the corner.
“Who’s there?” The words were rough and stilted as they struggled passed a grating cough.
Liliana stepped over to the window and pulled up the blinds until the city lights w
ere cutting across her skin.
“Liliana?” he choked. “What are you doing here?” he said.
She heard the click of his teeth as he clamped them tight against the pain.
“Call me a nurse, won’t you,” he pleaded.
Liliana moved closer and sat next to him on the edge of his bed.
“What are you doing girl?” he spit at her. “Get the nurse!”
She sat there, staring out the window, being drawn back to reality only by her uncle's stilted breathing.
“You killed her,” she finally whispered. “You killed my mother.”
Raul’s eyes grew wide, recognition burning in them as he absorbed her words.
She faced him, eyes fierce and pouring into his. “You killed her."
But he didn't say a word, refusing to acknowledge his niece's presence or even his pain—tearing through him in deep shuddering waves.
“Say something," she said, her face just inches from his.
His lips were tight and cracking, a dark scab trailing from the corner of his mouth. She stood over him, hands inching toward his frail shoulders. He winced and she instinctively loosened her grip. He mumbled something under his breath and
Liliana bent closer until she could feel the words hot in her left ear.
“Your mother was a whore."
The words cut past her cheek like a flame and she winced, digging her fingers into the taut, translucent skin along her uncle's shoulders until a scream tore from his throat. He writhed against the bed, sheets twisting around his ankles and
Liliana let go, hands trembling as she moved toward the door.
“Wait,” he breathed, “don’t you want to know what happened? Don’t you want to know how I killed her?”
***
The parking lot was dark and Diego carefully led Liliana over the concrete mediums. A car without its headlights on sped through the empty parking lot and Liliana and Diego jumped out of the way as it charged over the sidewalks and zigzagged beneath the faintly glowing security lights.
The Things They Didn't Bury Page 17
