Suspicion of Malice

by Barbara Parker

  "I'm not sure. Are they bigger?" He weighed one in a palm. "I think so."

  "I hope so," she said. His shoulders were smoothly muscled. She loved looking at him, the way muscle joined tendons, the fit of his skin.

  He slid his hand across her belly and caressed her between her legs.

  "Ow. It's sore."

  "Lo siento." He gently kissed her in the same spot. "Is this better?"

  "Oh, yes. Perfect. Right . . . there."

  The beeper buzzed again. "Cara'o." He sat up and reached for it, squinting to see the illuminated panel.

  Gail said, "Don't let it be a client calling from jail."

  "No, it's Angela. I should see what she wants. Close your eyes, I have to turn on the light." He reached for the telephone, but before dialing, he pulled the sheet up to his waist and smoothed his hair with his fingers.

  "Hola, Angelita, es tu papi, que pasa? . . . Ohhhh, que bueno, congratulations. That's a good part, no? ... I'm very proud of you, sweetheart. ... Be sure to call your mother. I'll see you this weekend. Wait." He looked around at Gail. "Guess who's here with me—in the kitchen. We're having a late dinner together. . . . Right. . . . Yes, I'll tell her. . . . Te quiero mucho, preciosa." Anthony hung up. "Angela says to tell you hello."

  "What about the ballet? She got a part?"

  "They made her a Flower. She wanted to do the Chinese dance, but they said maybe next time. If she does well—of course she will—and if she studies at the school for a little longer, she might get into the company as an apprentice."

  "Are you going to take me to The Nutcracker?"

  "iQue va? I'll buy two rows of seats. We'll see it every performance."

  Gail propped herself on an elbow. "Your grandparents will want to come. You might have to speak to Ernesto."

  "Ah, well. It would make Nena happy." He pulled Gail close with an arm under her neck. She played with the hair on his chest, lifting it with closed fingers. He said, "You want to hear something funny? Alicia told me the other day that Ernesto wants me to take him to Cuba. Yes. To Cuba. He wants to see it one more time before he dies."

  "Oh. That isn't funny, it's so sad."

  "He must be getting senile. He attacked me for years for going to see my father and my sister. He called me a communist. But now it's different. He wants to see Cuba again, and I have to take him— in secret. If they caught him in the country, after what he's done, they could charge him with treason. No. If they're smart, they'd put his picture in the newspaper and laugh about it, then send him back to Miami. That would be worse than prison, for his friends to know where he'd been. I didn't expect such cowardice from the old man. He knows he was wrong all these years, but he can't admit it."

  "Are you going to talk to him?"

  "No."

  "Not at all?"

  "I'm not going to take him anywhere. He could die on the way. And what would he see if he got there? Nothing's left. The house, the farm, the stables. All gone. Alicia wants me to lie to him! To tell him I'll take him, just to make him happy."

  "Maybe you should. A lie could be the kindest thing to do."

  "Gail, I'd rather not talk about this now. Every time I think of that old man, of that house, of the fights we had . . . Look. I break into a sweat even thinking about it." Anthony swung his legs off the bed. "Are you hungry? I am starving to death."

  He walked to the desk across the room to find the room-service menu. He was wonderful in clothes, more so without. Gail stretched out like a cat, arms above her head, and watched him. His back in three-quarter profile, the front of him in the mirror. The desk lamp shining on chest hair, darker at his groin. Lean legs, a taut stomach. Not bad for almost forty-three. He flipped through pages. "A big steak and baked potato. What do you think?"

  "God, yes. No, I want a lobster, dripping in butter, and a whole loaf of French bread. I haven't had an appetite like this in months. I'll get fat."

  He turned to smile at her. "I would love to see you fat. Mi gordita." He called room service and gave the order, adding that they should bring a bottle of champagne. Something nice. He hung up and came back, looking at her lying across the rumpled sheets, one leg crooked over a pillow. Under the heat of his eyes, her skin tingled.

  He patted her hip and sat down. "When are we getting married?"

  "We don't have to."

  "What do you mean? To have a child without a father?"

  "I thought it had one."

  "Gail, please, no jokes. We have to get married. It's better. You know it."

  "For the baby? Or for us?"

  "Of course for us. For the baby too. Are you being difficult?"

  "If I weren't pregnant, would you even consider it?"

  "Yes."

  She laughed. "You would not."

  "Okay, maybe not as soon, but the fact is, you are pregnant, and I love you, and here we are, together again. Aren't we? Gail?"

  "I don't want to think about it right now."

  "Ay, no me digas eso. When will you think about it? In the labor room?"

  "We have one night together, and everything is suddenly different?"

  "One night? One?"

  "Anthony, please don't push me."

  "Okay, okay." He sat for a moment with his hands in his lap, then leaned over to kiss her between her hip bones. He whispered, "Oyeme, bebita. Dile a tu obstinada mama que se case conmigo."

  "What was that?"

  "I told her she has to convince you herself because I can't get anywhere."

  "She?"

  "I hope it's a girl. I want her to have your face. When I see her, I'll think of you." He leaned over and whispered into Gail's navel. "Ya te quiero aunque no te he visto. I just told her, 'I love you already, without having seen you.'"

  "You're sweet. What if she is a he?"

  "A boy? Well, that's all right too."

  "You'd better not make him too macho."

  "No, but we can't allow him to be lazy or disrespectful. You know what boys are like these days. This one won't get into trouble, I promise." He spoke into her navel again and patted her belly. "Hey. Wake up. Are you listening to me, hijo? This is your father speaking. You be a good boy, don't make problems for your mother."

  Gail's throat tightened and ached. She pressed her hands to her face and felt tears on her fingers.

  He sat up. "What is this? iQue te pasa?"

  "It's real, isn't it? It hasn't been until this very moment. Please, Anthony, don't make me want this too much. What if I lose the baby?"

  Murmuring softly, he picked her up and held her tightly. "No, that won't happen. Shhh. Don't cry. You'll see a doctor next week, a specialist, the best in Miami."

  She wept into his shoulder. "I didn't want to be pregnant. I thought I would miscarry, but it didn't happen. Then I made an appointment for an abortion, but I couldn't do it. The baby wasn't real. Now it is, and you're here, and I'm afraid of losing both of you."

  "No Mores. Todo va a salir bien. Everything will be all right, I promise."

  "If I lost the baby, would you still want me?"

  "Oh, Gail." He made her look at him. "How can you say that? Of course I would." He kissed her tears.

  Scooting away, she said, "I remember what you told me a few months ago. You wanted me, and you loved me, but you didn't need me. Is that still true?"

  Anthony smiled and shook his head. "I can't believe I said such a stupid thing. Si, mamita, te necesito. I need you, I love you, I want you. Now come here." He lay back on the bed and pulled her down beside him, cradling her head on his chest. She could hear his heart beating, steady and strong. He held her for a while, then said, "I bought the house on Clematis Street."

  "You did? Then who are the Garcias?"

  "Raul made them up for me. I didn't want to let the house go. We can live there after it's remodeled, but that could take a year or more. Do you mind living in an apartment until then? We should start looking for something right away."

  "Wait. I didn't say I would marry you. I didn't even
say I would live with you."

  He shifted down in the bed until they were looking eye to eye. He smiled. "You know you will. Don't play these games with me."

  She avoided his kiss. "I am totally serious. We shouldn't rush."

  "Listen to what you're saying! You're afraid of losing me, but you don't want to live with me. Does that make sense? What do you want me to do, come visit the baby at your mother's house? That's crazy. Gail, corazon, be reasonable."

  "After everything that's happened, we have to take it slowly."

  "Okay." He gently kissed one corner of her mouth, then the other. "As slowly as you want." His hand moved between her thighs. "Muy despacio."

  She drew back and stilled his hand. "Anthony, please."

  His heated breath was on her lips. "Don't run away from me anymore. Please don't."

  "God, I'm so afraid of loving you." She laughed. "It was so much easier to hate you."

  "Oh, yes, I know."

  "Just don't lie to me. Promise."

  "I promise. Te juro. You don't have to be afraid of anything. I love you. Let me touch you. Don't be afraid." She felt herself falling, and Anthony holding her, then filling her with himself, and her body became liquid fire, consuming all conscious thought. "Siempre te amare, te quiero, amor mio. ..."

  Chapter 24

  Leaning on the railing, wrapped in the hotel's white robe, Anthony looked out at the ocean. Immense, boundless. There were still stars, but they were beginning to fade in the east. The beach was deserted. He could see lines of beach chairs, some folded umbrellas.

  The ocean was black in the distance, a vague gray motion nearer the shore. The waves were paler gray where they broke on the sand, an irregular shush and thud.

  He heard a noise behind him, then Gail's sleepy voice. "Hi. What are you doing?" She had put on the other robe, but it hung open crookedly, and he could see her body. Beautiful. And her stomach was not as flat as two months ago.

  He said, "The sun will be up soon. Amanecer. Dawn."

  "You should have woken me. I like to see the sunrise."

  "You didn't sleep much. I don't want you to get too tired." He held out his arm. "Come here." Yawning, she belted the robe as she crossed the terrace. He pulled her next to him.

  A slight breeze came up, warm and salty. He could feel, more than see, the darkness diminishing. The foam on the sand was whiter, the railing more visible. The horizon showed clearly.

  He kissed her forehead. "There's something I'd like to do right now, before it gets any later." The words seemed to snag on their own implausibility.

  "Tell me," she said.

  "My grandfather always gets up at dawn. He has his cafe con leche, and his tostada, and he sits on the balcony outside his room and watches the sun. He used to read two or three newspapers. I don't know if he still does."

  "You want to go see him."

  "Yes."

  "Go. It's all right. I'll sleep for a little longer, then drive home."

  "Will you come with me?" He could see her smile fade. What must she be thinking? The last time she'd been there, such a scene. Walking out of the Fourth of July party. Running onto the golf course, Anthony running after her, everyone talking about it.

  "Ernesto wouldn't want me there. Or your grandmother—"

  He put a finger on her lips. "They aren't as unforgiving as you think. I would like you to come with me, but if you can't, I understand. I won't say anything else about it. It's up to you."

  He understood because it was the same for him. Worse. Going back into that house again. Claustrophobic and old, heavy with the weight of history and lost dreams. He had to go back, but she didn't. Even so ...

  She was looking at him intently, and the light had changed even more. Her eyes caught the color of the sky. "All right. I'll come with you."

  Anthony called the house, and Aunt Fermina answered in the kitchen. She had just started the coffee, and she would set out extra cups for him and Gail.

  By the time they arrived, the wide iron gate was open. He drove in and parked, sitting for a moment with his hands on the steering wheel, looking at the house. The fountain and cobblestone driveway. The bougainvillea climbing the twisted Moorish columns under the portico. The second-floor windows with their iron balconies and heavy curtains. Shafts of sunlight slanted across faded stucco. Someone had come out to pick up the newspapers.

  Gail tugged at his arm. "Come on. They're expecting us."

  As if they had never left. Kisses on the cheek from Aunt Fermina for him and for Gail. She apologized that Uncle Jose was still in bed. There were some visiting cousins asleep in the guest house. His sister came downstairs as Fermina was going on and on, and there was another round of kisses and embraces. Alicia offered them breakfast, but Anthony said he would go straight up and see Ernesto, if the old man hadn't fallen asleep again.

  They spoke in Spanish, but Gail knew enough, he thought, to follow the meaning.

  Anthony asked Alicia, "Does he know I'm here?"

  "I told him."

  "And that Gail is with me?"

  "Yes, he knows."

  Gail's fingers were tight around his. They went up the wide stairs, then turned at the top toward the front of the house. Sconces illuminated the long carpeted hall, and their footsteps made no sound.

  Alicia tapped on the door and led them into Ernesto's room. To the left, beyond the four-poster bed, the French doors were open, and Nena saw them come in. Ernesto was in his wheelchair. He turned a page in the newspaper.

  The old man was not deaf, he was making it difficult.

  Nena crossed the room, holding out her arms to Gail, and Anthony could see that his grandmother had already put aside every negative thought she'd had for this americana. Gail smiled, kissed Nena's cheek, and tightened her grip on Anthony's hand.

  "Who is there?" The voice from the terrace was strong. Ernesto customarily wore his pajamas and robe to read the paper, but today he had put on a guayabera, crisp and fresh. Mockingbirds sang raucously in the trees. A small table held the remains of breakfast.

  "It's Anthony. Gail is with me. Good morning."

  "Good morning."

  They looked at each other across the room.

  "Come here, let me see you." His glasses tilted, catching the light. "You are looking well." He smiled at Gail. "And you are as pretty as ever."

  She stumbled a little over the words. "Thank you. It is a pleasure to see you."

  The old man smiled at her, then said in English, "I'm happy to see you too. Alicia, tell Fermina to bring them something to eat. Digna, my love, where are two extra chairs?"

  The conversation on the terrace was less strained than Anthony had feared. He told his grandparents about Angela's winning a part in The Nutcracker and promised good seats for opening night. He did not mention the child. Gail had asked him not to. Not yet.

  The sun came through the trees in shifting splashes of light that fell on the silverware, the crystal glasses of juice, the red filling inside the flaky guava pastry. Crumbs dotted the front of Ernesto's shirt, and Nena brushed them away. The old man was breathing slowly. A pause, then a breath.

  When Gail set down her cup, empty, Ernesto reached over to take her hand. "My dear. May I beg you a little favor? I need to speak alone to my grandson. A few minutes. Then you come see me again."

  With a nod, Gail stood up. "Of course." Ernesto pulled her closer and kissed her cheek. "Digna? Show Gail the new orchid that bloomed yesterday in the back garden. Gracias, mi vida."

  When the women had left the room, Ernesto Pedrosa gestured toward the chair, and Anthony sat down again.

  In elegant, formal Spanish, he said, "I am dying. Not today, not tomorrow, but soon enough. Much begins to fade away as one approaches death. Anger. Pride. I wish to tell you that I make no apologies for taking you out of Cuba, away from your father. I despise his politics, but even more, I despise his ignorance and his coarse manners. He was far below your mother, and I didn't want my flesh and blood to be like t
hat, so I brought you here. I don't always agree with you, Anthony, but overall, you have turned out well. The second thing. I was wrong to tell Hector to get rid of that man who was threatening you. That was a mistake. He was a very bad man, but—" Ernesto shrugged, the corners of his mouth going down. "I told Hector to take care of the problem, and he did. At least you are safe, thanks to God."

  "Where is Hector now?"

  "Still in New York. Or perhaps Puerto Rico. I am not sure. He gave me a number to call if we need him. He knows that after I am gone, his loyalty is to you. I will leave the information in an envelope with my attorney."

  "I don't want Hector around me."

  "You say that now. When you need him, you will think again. Don't interrupt. My breath is short, and I am tired. Alicia told you that I would like to take a little trip."

  "To Cuba. Were you serious?"

  Ernesto looked at him sharply from under tangled white eyebrows. "I am not afraid, my son. I am not afraid of what might happen to me there, nor am I afraid of what people would say of me here. To hell with them. However, if they knew, I would be used for political reasons, and that would be wrong. Do you understand?"

  After a moment, Anthony nodded.

  "You remember your promise? You promised you would take my ashes to Cuba. Sentimental shit. You can throw my ashes out with the garbage, I don't care. I want to kneel down and pick up the earth, to smell it."

  "And what if you died there?"

  "You would bury me." He lifted an arm toward the door. "That flag over my desk downstairs. We'll take it with us. If I die, put me in that and roll me into the ground. Bring a little piece back for Digna. That and some of the dirt."

  Anthony stared at him.

  "Why are you looking at me that way? You don't have the guts to do it? Are you afraid of getting caught?"

  Unable to sit still any longer, Anthony walked to the edge of the terrace. Bracing his hands on the wrought-iron railing, he looked down into the yard. A brick path wandered between the oak trees. "It isn't that. Don't tell anyone else. Gail is expecting a child."

  "Is she?" The old man laughed. "Imagine that. Congratulations. She isn't far along, though, is she? We'll be back before the child is born."