‘That’s the problem, sis. She needs constant monitoring and medical care. And you’re in a foreign country, doing what?’
‘I … I … it’s not for me to say. Abuela asked me to keep it between us.’
‘Hmmm …’ Steve paused, no doubt realising he wasn’t going to get any more information from Charlotte just now. ‘You have many great qualities, but doctor is not one of them. Just get back here quickly and we can get her settled in a suitable home.’
‘If she loses her independence—’
‘She’s already lost it.’
‘I don’t want to talk about it.’ Charlotte dug her thumbnail into the crack between the bricks of the wall.
‘You need to face reality, just like Abuela.’
‘You need to give me time to finish what I started on her behalf.’
‘I can’t give you much. A decision has to be made soon.’
‘Then I will be there—soon—with answers for Abuela. That might help her accept what you all think is inevitable.’ Hot tears welled in her eyes. ‘Talk to you later, ’k?’
‘Sure.’
She ended the call and stared at the phone. Damn the family electing her as the bearer of soul-crushing news. Charlotte had already given Abuela the news about her possible relationship with Syeria and now she was going to have to tell her this Raul person had only a short while ago. How would she cope with that along with her family wanting to put her into a nursing home? And why did everything have to happen now, when Abuela was at her weakest? Pushing out a sigh, Charlotte made her way down the stairs and across the plaza.
The digital newspaper was only three blocks south of the library, which didn’t give Charlotte long to figure out what she would say. The buildings didn’t have obvious numbers so she had to stop passers-by and ask for directions. She received a few shrugs while others shook their head then hurried along.
The only way to find the place was to start doorknocking—something she hadn’t done since she was a Girl Scout selling biscuits. The long, slow process began and as she made her way along the street her frustration grew when many doors remained unanswered. She came to a shiny, apple-green door and raised her hand to knock, but it opened before her body had a chance to register. Her closed fist landed smack-bang in the middle of a woman’s chest.
Felicidad Hermina Baez Abano’s chest to be exact.
‘I’m so sorry!’
The tall, thin woman peered over her chunky, purple-rimmed glasses. She fired off a flurry of words so fast Charlotte couldn’t grasp what Felicidad said, but Charlotte understood enough to know the woman was none too pleased with a stranger playing knock-knock on her breasts. Charlotte didn’t blame her.
‘Lo siento.’ Charlotte’s apology sounded like she had marbles in her mouth but that’s the way she sounded every time she attempted Spanish. The poor woman probably thought she was mocking her native tongue. Worried Raul’s daughter might shut the door before Charlotte had a chance to ask anything, she pulled out the notebook with Raul’s details. Hesitating before handing it over, Charlotte hoped Raul’s name didn’t send his daughter into a valley of depression or hysterical sobbing.
Felicidad took the book, read the words, her poker face impressive. A moment later she asked, ‘Inglés?’
‘Sí. Do you speak English?’
Felicidad beckoned for Charlotte to enter and she climbed a couple of stairs, then entered a small foyer. Moorish tiles in blue, white and yellow spread across the floor and flowed down the hallway that led to who-knows-where. The air was thick with the smell of citrus and Charlotte spied an oil burner sitting on the hallstand, the tealight candle flickering in the gentle breeze.
Felicidad held up her hand and Charlotte halted obediently. The tall woman walked down the hall, her beautiful sapphire-blue shoes clicking against the tiles. Her hips swayed in an easy rhythm and Charlotte wished she’d been born with supermodel genes like Felicidad. In the distance she heard the woman speak to a man with a gruff voice and a moment later a short, round gentleman with pushed-up shirtsleeves strode down the hall, Felicidad following behind on her ladder-high heels.
‘What is it you want?’ the man asked in a tone that didn’t relay any emotion—just a simple question.
‘My name is Charlotte Kavanagh and I’m very sorry to bother you, but I was hoping to speak with Señorita Baez Abano. Unfortunately, my Spanish isn’t very good and—’
‘¿Señorita?’ Felicidad opened her hot pink lips and a silky laugh emanated. She turned to the man and fired off more Spanish.
‘She says she likes you because no one has called her Señorita for many years.’
Charlotte mentally slapped her forehead for forgetting Señorita was generally used for much younger women. However, the faux pas appeared to have worked in her favour.
‘She wishes to know why you have her father’s name written down. Are you a journalist?’
‘A journalist? Oh no, I’m a risk assessor for an insurance company. The thing is, my grandmother was friends with her father many years ago, but they … fell out of contact due to the war.’ If she was this good at making stuff up then maybe she should be a writer. ‘My grandmother is very sad about his passing and would like to know a little more about his life.’ She didn’t like stretching the truth but it was the best she could do on short notice.
The man and Felicidad exchanged more words then she crossed her arms and pursed her pretty lips into a cat’s bum.
The gentleman said, ‘She said it is nice your grandmother is concerned, but she does not wish to share personal details.’
‘I understand, it’s too raw. Please tell Señora Baez Abano I’m very sorry for her loss.’ Charlotte worked hard at remaining calm on the inside, even though her mind whirred like a hamster on a wheel. How to get the information without this poor woman feeling like she was being interrogated?
The trio stood in the foyer, the orange scent growing thicker. Not sure what to do next, Charlotte hoisted her handbag on her shoulder and said, ‘My grandmother is very sick and she regrets losing contact with Señor Sierra Abano. She just wants to know if he had a peaceful life.’
Felicidad cupped her hand over her mouth and whispered in the man’s ear, then he asked, ‘What is the name of your abuela?’
‘Katarina Sanchez.’
Felicidad’s eyes opened wide for a moment then she looked down as she smoothed her skirt. Sticking her chin in the air, she said very clearly, ‘Te vas.’
‘Why do I have to go?’ Panic shot through Charlotte as she clutched the notepad.
More words tumbled from Felicidad’s mouth and the man held up his hand to stop her tirade. ‘There are many reasons, she says, but she does not want you in her presence. It is time for you to go and please, do not return.’
‘But—’
‘Please, do as she asks.’ The man held the door open and gestured for her to exit.
‘I just want to understand—’
‘She will not explain. Go. Now.’
Charlotte looked back at Felicidad, who now dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief. Her heart went out to the woman and a pang of guilt shot through Charlotte at having been the one who upset her. Whatever the relationship was between Abuela and Raul, Felicidad appeared to know the history and it caused immense angst.
‘I’m sorry to have bothered you.’ Charlotte exited the building and took the steps slowly. Had she really believed it would be so easy to track down Raul’s daughter and get her to open up about his life? What fantasy world did Charlotte live in?
She checked her phone. Still no message from Mateo. If it wasn’t concussion then what was holding him up? Unless … she shook her head. No. She didn’t want to go to the place in her mind that suggested he was angry with her for suggesting clan members do a DNA test. She didn’t blame him, though. It was out of line but what could she do? She couldn’t let Abuela down and now with these developments about Raul Sierra Abano, Charlotte’s main reason for returning to Spain was pro
bably for naught.
Except for one thing.
CHAPTER
26
Charlotte arrived at the Cemetery of San José de Granada with the beginnings of a stress headache. Studying the map, she could barely read the lettering on the printout she’d obtained at the library, her grand idea to visit the office of the cemetery for a map having fallen flat. The office door had remained unanswered and she didn’t want to waste valuable time waiting around for someone to return.
Making her way along the well-kept paths, she marvelled at the beautiful angel statues, grassy sections and marble mausoleums. Scattered between the huge monuments lay smaller gravesites, some with names and others without. The calming sound of running water in fountains surrounded her as a light breeze gave respite from the hot sun. An older couple came into view, carrying flowers and rosary beads, their heads bowed.
Since she was a child, she and Abuela had spent countless hours in cemeteries, reading names, dates and speculating on what kind of life the person had lived. They never gravitated to the famous people, but instead, preferred to visit the lesser-known occupants, ones whose lives were just as important and valuable as their well-known counterparts. This cemetery visit, however, held greater significance and as she walked along the pathways and inspected the names, a heavy eeriness wrapped around her. Charlotte had never experienced this before and she had to stop to take a few deep breaths. Dread shot through her, memories surfacing of that day her grandmother had been rushed to hospital and their lives had changed forever. That was the first time she’d had to face the idea that Abuela wouldn’t be around forever and like then, and now, the thought scared her.
Stop it!
Charlotte wove up and down and across the paths, searching for Raul José Sierra Abano, but she had no luck. She searched for another hour even though the heat of the day made her thirsty and the intense sun burned her skin. Glancing down, she noticed the telltale redness that meant she’d soon resemble a lobster if she didn’t add some protection. Although it could be a case of too little, too late. Australia had always proven a challenge for her complexion and she’d grown accustomed to carrying a tube of sunscreen in her bag, even in winter. Stopping, she placed her bag on the ground and knelt down as she fished around for sunscreen. The ziplock bag fell out and a small breeze blew it a few metres away, her grandmother’s precious words tumbling through the cemetery. Charlotte rushed over and grabbed it but lost her balance and fell on her knees and hands. Sharp stones pressed into her flesh and she brushed them off, the pain subsiding after a few seconds. Shaking her head, she moved to get up, but out of the corner of her eye spied the letters A-B-A-N-O.
‘No way.’ She clutched the plastic bag and edged back to get a better look at the jet-black shiny marble with gold lettering. The headpiece was simple in design, but elegant.
Helena Ruiz Sierra Abano
01/05/1898 – 17/09/1933
Charlotte picked up her handbag and started hunting for more Abanos. The gravestones were in a small, sectioned-off area so Charlotte walked around the grassy square, studying the names, and dates of birth and death, some of them from many generations before.
‘He has to be here,’ she said, squinting from the bright sunlight reflecting off the stones. A moment later her eyes focussed on what had eluded her only minutes before. A handful of light red carnations lay on lovely dove-grey marble, the letters carved out in the stone and filled in with black.
Raul José Sierra Abano
04/12/1919 – 09/08/2015
‘Hi Raul. Nice to finally meet you.’ She knelt in front of the stone, trying to ignore the pain of her newly bruised knees. ‘I don’t know if you speak English, or if in heaven you can understand every language, but my grandmother, Katarina Sanchez, wrote you a letter a long time ago and she’s waited until the time was right for you to receive it—which, as you’ve probably guessed, is now. I don’t know why she thought you had died all those years ago and I have a horrible feeling if I tell her the truth it could make her more ill than she already is.’ Charlotte sat back on her haunches. ‘Raul, what would you do?’
She didn’t expect an answer but she felt better for voicing her thoughts out loud. Charlotte missed not having Mateo around to willingly listen and offer sage advice. After this morning, though, she felt further away from him than when she was in Australia.
More people appeared and slowly walked past where she sat. They gave a cursory glance, but kept going, immersed in their own thoughts, sadness and broken hearts.
‘Here.’ Temptation nagged for a split second but this was Abuela’s letter to Raul and if her grandmother had wanted her to know the contents, she would have let Charlotte read it. She slipped the ziplock bag in the narrow space between the headstone and the vase that formed part of the monument. ‘Sorry about the plastic, but it needs to be protected from the elements. I’d dig a little hole and put it in there for you to keep but I’m not so sure the authorities would be very impressed.’ Her lips turned into a small smile. ‘Raul José Sierra Abano, you had a special place in my grandmother’s heart so for that reason, I pay my respects. I’m sorry we never got to meet.’ She took a deep breath, puzzled by the sadness overwhelming her. ‘I hope you had a good life, Raul.’
Charlotte stood and took a moment, saying a little prayer for Raul, even though she wasn’t religious. For a fleeting moment she contemplated taking a photo of the tombstone for Abuela, but it didn’t feel right. Anyway, her grandmother had asked her to deliver a letter, not be a paparazzo.
As she meandered towards the main gate, Charlotte caught sight of a tall, beautiful woman carrying a large bunch of roses that matched her hot pink lips.
‘Felicidad,’ she whispered, then a pang of guilt stabbed her. Charlotte’s earlier visit had probably triggered a tsunami of emotions for the poor woman and the only way to work through them was to visit her father.
Ducking down a pathway with high-walled tombs on either side, Charlotte peered around the corner and watched Felicidad wind along the paths.
Shit.
Charlotte should have thought Felicidad might turn up at some stage, and now Abuela’s letter ran the risk of being taken away. As Felicidad moved through the cemetery and towards her father’s burial place, Charlotte snuck between tombs and trees, determined to stay out of sight. When Felicidad reached Raul’s grave, she bent over and placed the flowers then stood, dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief as tiny sobs drifted through the air. Making the sign of the cross, she turned and took a few steps then spun back, her perfect face marred by a frown. Leaning forward, she grabbed the plastic bag Charlotte had stashed and turned it over in her hands. Felicidad looked around first then undid the ziplock and used her long, perfectly manicured thumbnail to pry open the back of the envelope.
Shit.
Shit.
Shit.
Felicidad pulled out the paper, unfolded it with care and stood reading the letter a young Katarina Sanchez had written decades ago. Charlotte watched for a moment. She could understand Felicidad’s curiosity at wanting to know why someone would leave a letter for her father, but the letter had been from Abuela to Raul, not Felicidad.
‘Excuse me.’ Charlotte stepped out from her hiding place and Felicidad put both hands behind her back. ‘That is for your padre, Raul.’
The woman looked at her, blinking rapidly. ‘Sorry.’
‘You speak English?’
Felicidad held her thumb and index fingers together. ‘Little.’
‘Did you understand me before?’
Felicidad looked at her with wide eyes. ‘Inglés. Little.’ She brought her hand from around her back and waved the envelope. ‘This. For. You. Abuela.’
‘This letter is from my Abuela to your father.’
Felicidad nodded. ‘Entiendo. I understand. I have letter for your abuela.’
‘What?’
‘En mi casa.’ She waved the letter in the air. ‘Ven conmigo.’
Felicidad’s deme
anour had changed dramatically and Charlotte suspected it had little to do with time and a lot to do with the letter Abuela had written. Felicidad placed the missive back in the envelope then in the plastic bag and returned it to where Charlotte had originally stashed it. This simple gesture showed Charlotte she could trust this woman and any anger Felicidad had felt towards her had dissipated. As they walked away, Charlotte glanced back at the envelope, wishing she knew what it was inside that had changed Felicidad’s mind. Although Charlotte respected Abuela’s privacy, she was thankful Felicidad hadn’t, because otherwise she wouldn’t be winding through the streets towards the house that belonged to the daughter of Raul José Sierra Abano.
They walked for nearly forty minutes, navigating alleys and crossing small plazas. Charlotte didn’t speak, lost in her own thoughts and she imagined Felicidad was doing the same. Turning the corner, they stopped in front of the shiny black door of an immaculately kept house. Felicidad rummaged in her handbag then finally produced a set of keys. Sliding them into the lock, it clicked open and Felicidad entered, gesturing for Charlotte to do the same.
The hallway was dark and drab, the walls painted a strange rust-brown. They turned right and entered a room with sunny yellow walls and orange and red cushions on a funky purple velour couch. Although it looked modern, the room had a faint musty smell.
‘You have a lovely place,’ Charlotte said, feeling uneasy.
‘Gracias. House me,’ she pointed to herself, ‘y mi padre, Raul.’
She pointed towards the couch and Charlotte dutifully sat. Felicidad disappeared from the room, her heels clicking along the floorboards and then ascending a staircase. A few moments later footsteps could be heard overhead, along with muttering. Charlotte recognised some of the words as choice Spanish phrases she’d heard Mateo spit out in times of frustration.
Under the Spanish Stars Page 28
