Page 25 of Morena
I felt something twist in my chest. I had always pitied the old. They had watched the world move past them. They saw love, pain, and sacrifice, yet were left stranded, waiting for an ending that might mean nothing. Maybe there was heaven for the pure, or hell for the rotten. But if all souls fell into the same nothingness, then what was the point of being good? In the end, everyone is afraid.
Still, choice was important. If kindness gave your heart a pulse, then you were good. If cruelty hollowed you out, then you were bad. No one forced your hand. It was always you, your body, your mind, standing alone on judgment day.
1“¿Todo bien?” Carlos asked softly.
I nodded.
“Tomorrow I’ll be leaving early. Maria will prepare the bedroom for you. After you finish work, you can sleep here,” he said. “I’ll be away for a month. I must reach you when I call.”
“I don’t have a phone,” I admitted.
He pointed to the black rotary telephone on a side table beside a golden lamp with a glass shade.
“I’ll call every day. Noon and five. Answer at least once.”
“I will.” My eyes flicked back to him. “Anything else I should do for the house?”
“You have already done more than I expected.” His shoulders fell with a breath. “Finish the doors. When I return, we will see what is next.”
I nodded.
“Any questions?” His gaze pressed into me.
“No.”
“Good.” He stood, motioning for me to follow.
As we walked, he said, “2Mi mamá se llama Lucía. Thought you should know. You have seen the living room and kitchen.Down this hall are the bedrooms, mine, my mother’s, and one for Maria’s son.”
“Her son?”
“Yes. Sebastian. He is out of the country, but keeps the room locked. Paco and Maria were together once. She was seventeen when she had him. He is around your age now, born in 1985.”
“Oh, I didn’t know Paco had a son.”
“He pretends he doesn’t.” Carlos’s mouth tightened. “My mother and I raised him. That is why Maria helps. She feels she owes us.”
“Not every family is normal.” A chuckle escaped me. “I had none.”
I lied.
Carlos pressed his lips thin, then placed a hand on my shoulder. “There is still time to build one.”
I laughed. “Not me.”
“You never know,” he said with a smile, laughing too. He showed me the bathroom, then a door leading outside.
The garden was bare except for a single oleander tree with pink blooms moving gently, out of place in Barcelona.
“Isn’t that poisonous?” I asked.
“More than one flower,” he said. “My mother brought the seed from Italy. She named the treeRosa3, maybe because of the blossoms.”
I stared at it.
“Paco knows you are here,” Carlos added. “He may visit, but he won’t try anything. I told him you are looking after Lucía now.”
I nodded. Paco was the least of my concerns.
