Broken Soldier: A Novel

by Clara Frost

  “Do you need me to call you a cab?” Rafa asked, rising to escort Bernardo to the door.

  “I am fine, mano. One or two drinks cannot slow me.”

  It was more like seven or eight drinks, but he was steady on his feet. “Alright, Jefe, be safe.”

  Rafa returned to the study. Lorena was standing, looking at a painting of two women in the Madrid plaza.

  “It is funny how style is cyclical,” Lorena said when she heard Rafa’s footsteps. “If they put their parasols in their handbags, these women could go out in public today and not be out of place. Ten years ago they would have looked like they were from the moon.”

  “And if they were men, they could wear the same suit for fifty years?” Rafa sat back on the sofa, the long day starting to catch up with him. Emily had gone to bed three hours ago, and he was wishing he could go join her.

  “With different shirts, perhaps.” Lorena came over and sat beside him on the sofa.

  A thrill of anticipation coursed through Rafa, followed immediately by guilt and a sense of unease. Lorena could still tie his emotions into knots.

  She crossed her legs, revealing a long expanse of thigh. Rafa forced himself not to look, focusing instead on her eyes. Her lips curled into a knowing smile.

  “Are you happy in America, Rafael?”

  “Of course.” He said it reflexively.

  “There is still pain within you. It is obvious for all who knew you before your…” She gestured toward his leg. “The Army did not want you back, no?”

  Rafa shook his head. “I am teaching in the winter term. For the Air Force academy.”

  “And it is a prestigious position?”

  “It is a prestigious school.”

  “But those are not the same things.” Her hand grazed his leg.

  Rafa tensed. “I was lucky to find the position.”

  “You’ve always been lucky at finding positions, Rafa. Perhaps while you are in town…”

  “Lorena, I cannot. We tried this once--”

  “More than once.”

  “--And it ended horribly. I have moved on and found--”

  “You ended it, Rafa, not I. You are one of the very few regrets in my life.” Her eyes were soft and welcoming, and her lips were beginning to bend toward him.

  Rafa’s body remembered their electric touch. The way they moved in time with her hips. He pushed the thought aside. “It is past my bedtime, Lorena.” He caught her hand and placed it back in her lap. “May I show you to the door?”

  Her lips shifted from a welcoming kiss to a hard line. “So you break my heart again?”

  It tore at him. He didn’t want to hurt her. But at the same time, he knew that what he had with Emily was far deeper, far richer than anything Lorena could ever offer. She didn’t have the same depth of compassion, the same tenderness that Emily had.

  “I see,” she said when he didn’t respond. “I will show myself out, thank you.” She rose and smoothed her dress, standing there a few moments before turning toward the door.

  Rafa walked with her. Her silence made him uncomfortable, but so did her very presence.

  Lorena stopped with a hand on the door handle. “You should let the poor girl rest tonight, Rafael. She looked tired.”

  “Good night, Lorena.”

  Rafa stood in the foyer for a long minute after she left, forcing his heart rate to slow down. That woman had always been trouble, ever since they were children, and she’d only gotten worse with age. He trudged upstairs, hoping the rest of the trip would go better.

  Chapter 24

  IT was a surprisingly a short trip from the villa to the airport. Emily let Rafa do the driving, content to sit beside him and admire the city that flowed past. His mother’s--or maybe it was his grandmother’s, it hadn’t been made entirely clear--Land Rover hummed along in light morning traffic. Rush hour didn’t apply on Christmas Eve, apparently.

  “I’m not used to the airport being so close to town,” she said. “In Denver it’s half an hour from everywhere.”

  “Barajas has been here since the 20s. My great-grandfather was one of the first pilots to land on the original runway.”

  “Really?”

  “He was in the Aeronáutica Española until the 30s.”

  “What happened then?”

  “He died.” Rafa shrugged. “Civil war broke out.”

  “He died in combat?”

  “The story from the government was that he died fighting the Germans, but my grandmother did some research in the 50s. He died from dysentery.”

  Emily’s eyes opened wide. “That’s terrible.”

  “In the history of warfare far, far more people have died from disease than have been killed by enemy action.” He turned the SUV into a parking garage and eased them to a stop.

  Emily climbed out and waited for Rafa to join her. She slipped her hand into his as they walked. “Have you seen your dad much since you were injured?”

  “He visited me a few times at Walter Reed. I’m excited for you to meet him. Dad and I haven’t always seen eye to eye, but as I’ve gotten older, I’ve realized that he was nowhere near as full of shit as I thought when I was 17.”

  Emily squeezed his hand. “That’s good. Not all kids have the same experience.”

  He pointed to a sliding glass door. “Let’s go in through here.”

  “Departures?”

  “I want you to see something.” He slowed as they passed through the door.

  The ceiling was a rippling bronze wave that stretched on forever. Great golden arms rose from the floor and held it high overhead. Walking through the terminal felt like being a salmon swimming upstream beneath the golden light of the rising sun.

  “Wow,” Emily said. “It puts Denver to shame.”

  “Madrid is nothing if not vain.”

  They strolled along, watching people rush for their planes or haggle with airline staff that would have preferred to be at home for the holiday. Rafa looked at his watch.

  “We should hurry. Arrivals are this way.”

  The ceiling changed as they walked, the moon-like light fixtures appeared in the river of gold, and by the time they reached the baggage area, the river of gold had run its course.

  Rafa indicated a bench with a view of the passenger exit. “Care to sit?”

  “Sure.”

  A slow but steady stream of people came through. Emily people watched, content to have Rafa at her side.

  “There he is.” Rafa practically leapt to his feet.

  There was no mistaking who he meant, even halfway across the terminal. His dad had a military look, his back ramrod straight and his eyes moving like they were on swivels. He spotted Rafa jogging toward him and broke into a wide smile, setting his roll-on bag aside.

  Rafa wrapped his dad into a bear hug and squeezed. Emily followed at a safe distance, giving them a few moments of privacy.

  “Pop, it’s good to see you.”

  “You, too, Captain. Your mother make the trip out?”

  “Nope.” Rafa broke the hug and turned. “But I brought Emily.”

  Rafa’s dad met her eyes, his smile growing wider. “Emily,” he said as he walked toward her, “I’ve heard so much about you.”

  He stuck out his hand to shake, and when she reached for it, he stepped in closer and pulled her into a hug. Emily hugged him back as politely as possible, surprised.

  “I hope it was all good. How was your flight?”

  “The flight was good. It’s a pleasure to finally put a face with the name.” He had gray hair and a creased face that made her think he was in his fifties. His eyes had an intense, active intelligence. “You can call me Dad or Stan or the General, whatever you prefer.”

  “You can call him Smartass, too,” Rafa added.

  “How about Stan?” Emily said.

  “Stan it is then.” Rafa’s dad grabbed his roll-on.

  “Do you have checked bags, Dad?”

  “Just this.” He shook the handle on h
is bag. “I keep some clothes at the villa.”

  “Can I help you with the bag?” Emily asked.

  “Nope, but thanks for asking. Rafa, do you know if Yaya is making breakfast?”

  “No idea.”

  Stan walked briskly, half a step faster than Emily was used to moving. He acted like he had somewhere to be, and she wasn’t sure if he was actually in a hurry or moved at that pace all the time. She suspected it was the latter.

  “Well, I could eat a frozen steer,” Stan said. “This town have anything open today?”

  “Probably somewhere,” Rafa said. “But if Yaya’s not cooking, I’ll make something.”

  “Works for me.”

  They headed out to the Land Rover, Rafa and his dad chatting about Rafa’s upcoming position at the Air Force Academy. His dad asked short, insightful questions, and Emily found herself liking him more and more.

  #

  “Christmas dinner isn’t really a thing in Spain.” Rafa leaned over the stove and spooned a few grains of rice from a still-simmering pan. “Tradition is that Christmas Eve is a big seafood dinner.”

  “Hence the paella?” Emily asked.

  “Right. And Christmas morning isn’t the big gift day here, either. It’s usually Epiphany.”

  Emily looked at him expectantly. She didn’t have any idea when Epiphany was. “I’m not Catholic.”

  “Sorry. January 6th. Also called the Day of Kings, when the three wise men brought baby Jesus gifts.” He blew on the spoon and sampled the rice. “We’re doing gifts tomorrow, though, since we’re going back to the States before then. You should try this.”

  Emily took the spoon and loaded up a small bit. It had the rich, bright flavor that only a liberal amount of saffron could provide. And it was far better than what Christa had prepared for her in the past. “That’s good.”

  “Yaya is a good cook.”

  “Yes, I am.” Yaya came through the entryway, Rafa’s dad trailing behind her. “It is coming along, yes?”

  “We could eat right now, Yaya,” Rafa said.

  Yaya took the wooden spoon from the counter and gave the whole pan a stir. She broke off a piece of fish from the rice and sampled it. “Soon. Emily, Rafa has told you about the Jota, yes?”

  “No...”

  Yaya shook her head. “Shame on you, Rafa. The Jota is the traditional dance. After mass tonight, the whole city will take to the streets to celebrate the birth of Jesus and to dance the Jota.”

  Emily looked at Rafa. Mass? Tonight? “Um, okay.”

  Yaya chuckled. “We will teach you. Rafa and his father are terrible dancers.”

  “I resemble that remark,” Rafa’s father said. “I took three years of dance lessons after I met Maria, and I think all I learned was how to foxtrot.”

  Yaya rolled her eyes. “Dancing comes from the heart, and if you do not have it in you, no amount of lessons will help.”

  “Salome told me she would teach me to dance, too,” Emily said. “But I think she had something else in mind.” Like a nightclub, probably.

  “She has a good heart for dancing,” Yaya said, putting her spoon back on the counter. “Watch.”

  She moved through a dozen or so steps, turning with incredible grace. It was like the years fell away, and Emily caught a glimpse of what Yaya must have been like in her youth. She danced across the kitchen, around Rafa and his father, stopping only when she had returned to where she’d started.

  “It looks kind of like a waltz,” Emily said.

  “It is similar, but with more room for creativity.” Yaya held out a hand for Emily. “Here. I will lead.”

  “Right now?” Emily asked.

  “Of course. Better to learn on an empty stomach when you are full of grace and vigor, and not rice and fish.”

  “Yaya, I will teach her,” Rafa said, stepping forward.

  “Nonsense. Now,” Yaya said to Emily, “bring your foot forward like this.”

  Emily followed her instructions, and found that the movements came easily enough. It really was close to a waltz, and where she misstepped, Yaya explained how to shift her weight.

  “Very good,” Yaya said when the dance was complete. “You have a good heart for dancing.”

  “Thank you.” Emily retreated to Rafa, not at all sure that she was going to be able to repeat the performance later when a crowd was watching. If the mass was at midnight, hopefully the streets would be dark enough to hide her mistakes.

  #

  The streets were lit with orange and yellow, shadows dancing amongst the crowds that flocked from the church, taking the sidewalks amid a cacophony of voices and laughter. Music played in the distance, guitars and a faint clacking of castanets. Mass had not been what Emily was expecting, but according to Rafa, had been faster than usual.

  “Where are we going?” Emily asked, a puff of steam rising before her in the cool midnight air.

  “Nowhere in particular,” Rafa said.

  “To the music.” Yaya strode around them, only wobbling a little.

  Rafa’s parents fell in behind her, and Rafa and Emily trailed them. “She really seems to enjoy the holiday,” Emily said.

  “She does.” Rafa squeezed her hand. “Ask her to tell you stories about it sometime. When she was young, during the war, this time of year was the one time that everyone could come together and agree on anything.”

  More and more people flocked into the streets, and music began to spring up around them. A block later, every third man had a guitar, and every other woman had castanets. A group of fifty people danced in the middle of the street, sweeping back and forth in time with the songs. Another group, perhaps a dozen, stood on the curb and sang something so boisterous it would have put a mariachi band to shame.

  Yaya pranced into the street and found a partner that was fifteen at most. They swung away, both grinning.

  “Rafa, shall we?” Emily asked.

  He hesitated a moment, then nodded. “Alright.”

  His steps were slow and careful and precise. Emily moved along with him, letting him lead and making herself match his rhythm. Music came from all sides, each musician playing something different, and only half of them in tune. Rafa ignored them all, setting his own tempo.

  They had been dancing for five minutes when Emily remembered his wounds. She looked at him with newfound admiration. He probably hadn’t danced more than a few steps in years, and certainly not since his injuries.

  “We can stop whenever you like,” Emily told him.

  “A little longer. I can’t disappoint Yaya.”

  The party was still going strong when they made their way back to the curb. The rest of the family was still dancing, so they stood together, hands entwined, watching the people of Madrid celebrate the birth of their savior.

  “Shall we go?” Rafa asked after a while.

  “If you like.”

  “I want you to see Yaya’s courtyard. It is a beautiful night for it.”

  That sounded wonderful, and Emily looked forward to having Rafa to herself. She felt selfish for the thought, but not enough to protest leaving.

  #

  The house was dark and silent, fitting for the night before Christmas. Emily padded down the hallway in a simple navy nightgown, a change of clothes folded over her arm. She stopped at Rafa’s door and tapped twice before entering.

  “Em?” Rafa sat up, his bare chest hardly visible in the dark room.

  “No, it’s the Ghost of Christmas Present.” She slipped inside and closed the door. A flick send the lock clicking into place.

  Rafa chuckled, his teeth gleaming. “Christmas present... You are the best Christmas present I have ever seen.”

  Emily shrugged out of her nightgown. Goosebumps rose on her naked body as she slipped into Rafa’s bed. “That remains to be seen, doesn’t it?”

  Chapter 25

  RAFA woke to Emily still in his bed. She had her head tucked against his shoulder and her arm across his chest. He brushed the hair from her face
and took a few moments to admire how beautiful she was.

  Her eyes opened slowly, but he could tell she wasn’t quite awake.

  “Good morning, sunshine,” he whispered.

  She blinked, then smiled. “Merry Christmas.”

  “Indeed. If you want a shower this morning, you might want to get to it early before all the hot water gets used.”

  “Alright. Give me a minute.”

  “Sure.” He leaned forward, kissed her on the forehead. It felt so good to wake up beside her. So right. He wondered how he’d done it before he’d met her.

  Emily slid out of bed and stood in the middle of the room, looking for her clothes. Rafa admired her curves for the hundredth time. He didn’t think he’d ever get tired of seeing her naked body.

  “You know, it’s silly to get dressed just to go to the bathroom and get undressed again,” Emily said.

  “You intend to walk down the hall naked?”

  “No, I just think it would be convenient if you had in-suite bathroom.”

  “Agreed, but it’s an old house. A really old house.”

  She slipped her arms into her nightgown and tied the string at the waist. “See you downstairs in half an hour?”

  “That’s fine. I’m going to wait until later to clean up.”

  She left, leaving Rafa to dress alone and go see about breakfast before they opened presents. His moment of good cheer sank beneath the dread of seeing his mother and Emily at odds again.

  #

  Rafa moved extra chairs from the dining room to the sitting room, taking care to put some distance between where he expected his mother to sit and where he planned to sit with Emily. Mamá would keep her tongue to herself on Christmas morning. Probably. But there was no sense in taking chances. You’d think that after nearly losing her son to the Taliban, Mamá would be happy just to have him present for one more holiday. You’d think wrong.

  “How’s Emily holding up?” Rafa’s father asked from the entryway.

  Rafa jerked, surprised to hear his dad’s voice without having heard him approach. The old battle sense was starting to let him down after so long without practice. “I don’t think she’ll be sad to get home.”