Page 45 of Morena
Her expression didn’t change, not right away. It was the tiniest shift, the mouth tight, the eyes darkening. Behind her, Francisco turned. The muscles in his jaw jumped. His hands curled without him realizing. He didn’t say a word; he just moved.
He opened the door. His footsteps pounded along the hall, a hard beat that matched the thudding inside my chest. I heard the first sound of skin on skin, a hard crack like a snapped branch, and then his voice.
“You son of a bitch,” Francisco shouted. “You did it again.”
Again? This all happened before?
Lucia’s voice rose, struggling to pull her sons apart. Her words barely reached me. I stood frozen at the edge of the bed, waiting for something I could already feel pressing on the air.
I heard a sound. A dull, violent thud, the kind that told me a body had struck the ground. It was followed by a scream that split the air.
This time, it was my sister.
“No,” she cried, her voice breaking. “No, amor, no.”
The numbness shattered. My legs carried me toward the door before my mind caught up. I rushed outside, heart pounding, already certain something terrible had happened. And there he was.
Francisco lay sprawled on the floor below, his body limp, his eyes closed.
“Maria,” I whispered, stumbling toward the stairs, but Carmen caught me. She pulled me against her chest, keeping me from taking another step.
My sister had dropped to her knees beside him, her cries spilling out in broken sobs.
“Why?” she cried, again and again.
Carlos rushed down the stairs, then to the kitchen to find a phone. I could hear his voice as he called for an ambulance. Lucia was already with Maria, clutching her, both with tears streaming down their faces.
I lifted my head from Carmen’s chest, trembling, desperate for something to hold on to. She said nothing. She only held me tighter.
Not even a few minutes had passed before they were all gone to the hospital, leaving only Carmen and me in the house. She took my hand gently and guided me into the kitchen. I sat down at the table while she moved to the stove to set water to boil for tea.
“I know it is hard, mi vida,” she exhaled, “but you have to learn how to be strong.”
I shook my head, tears spilling freely down my cheeks.
“Your mother, before she passed, came to visit,” Carmen said. She reached into her pocket and pulled out an old photograph along with a boat ticket, laying them gently on the table in front of me. “She wanted you to go to La Maddalena. She wanted you to find your happiness.”
“Why?” I whispered, my throat tight. “What about Maria?”
“Maria will stay here with me.” Carmen’s breath caught, and she exhaled slowly. “There are a few more things. I did not want to burden you before, but after all that has happened, and after seeing the way Francisco looked at you…” She reached for my hand. “You have to know.”
“You are scaring me.”
The kettle whistled softly as the water began to boil. Carmen rose, moving to the stove. The quiet clatter of cups woke me up even more as she set them on the table, pouring hot water over chamomile tea bags before turning off the stove. She slid one cup toward me, then sat again, her eyes locking on mine.
“Maria is pregnant,” she said finally. “With Francisco’s child. He promised to marry her, but only when she turns eighteen.”
A tear slipped down my cheek. “She is not ready, Carmen,” I cried.
“Lucia will help her,” she said. “But I want you to be far away when it happens. I want you to begin a new life, far from here.” She brushed away one of my tears with her thumb, her hand trembling now. “Be happy,mi vida.Fall in love. Try something new.”
A tear slid down her face then, breaking her calm.
“It feels like betraying myself,” I laughed, a sound that broke into tears. “It feels like I do not deserve it.”
She pulled me into a hug. “Just live, Morena,” she murmured against my hair.
There was something in the way she spoke, as if she already sensed something coming for me and wanted me far away until the air cleared. I could feel it in the squeeze of her fingers.
