Page 25 of After the Fire
Santiago’s grandmother wasexcellentat small talk. She asked me about my family, about my hobbies, asked Santiago about work and details of his recent cases. She even filled us in on some new town gossip—although nothing like what my grandmother would do. It seemed like Susana would gossip with malice—like knowing things about other people and sharing them with others would make her feel superior.
As soon as the dishes were taken back to the kitchen, Santiago stood up and walked out of the dining room and into the hallway. The silence was awkward, but he was back moments later with the exact picture I told him about, the picture that had been hanging in the library all this time.
“Granny, can you tell us who this is?” he asked her, straight to the point. I didn’t want to look at her, scared that whatever she had to say would shatter my very existence. “He looks familiar, but I don’t think I ever knew his name.”
She took a moment to gather herself, dabbing at her lips with her cloth napkin and then resetting it back on her lap. She grabbed the picture and looked at it, slowly focusing on my grandfather’s face. Her eyes softened and her lips parted a little, like her thoughts were taking her by surprise. My heart started beating faster than I’d ever felt it beat. The only sound I could hear was my hard breathing.
Santiago’s hand found mine and he squeezed, not letting go. He inched a little closer to me, showing me that he was there for me.
“Oh,” she said, a small, sad smile on her lips. “This is Enrique, your grandfather’s friend from law school.” Her voice was small and weak, longing for something I couldn’t pinpoint.
I cleared my throat and blinked, trying to contain the tears that were right at the edge, about to spill over.
“He lived in town for a while in the eighties,” she added, much more firmly. “He actually worked at the firm for a few months. Moved here from the city.”
So far everything added up. Enrique was his middle name. He was a lawyer. He moved from the city. Without a shadow of a doubt, this was my grandfather. But what was he doing here?He was kidnapped!My thoughts moved quickly. The tension was palpable. I opened my mouth to ask a question, but I was interrupted by Santiago’s grandfather, who walked right in.
“Oh, hello! Victoria, so nice to see you.” He walked over to me and bent at the waist to give me a small kiss on the cheek. “I didn’t know you were coming; I would have joined you sooner if I’d known you were coming for lunch.”
He made his way across from me to the other side of the table and took a seat right next to his wife. I could tell he had been handsome. Santiago had his eyes and his smile. He looked at his wife and reached over, giving her a chaste kiss on the lips.
My eyes filled with tears again. Knowing I’d never see my grandparents interact like this. Not even my own parents. It was such a happy image, stirring all these feelings inside me.
“The kids were just asking me about Enrique,” Adelaida interrupted. “You can probably tell them more since you knew him the longest.”
Turns out, the man in the photo was indeed my grandfather. Santiago’s grandfather told us how they’d met the first day of college, sat together in one of the introductory lectures their first year, and then had been inseparable for the rest of their schooling. In third or fourth year of law school, they went their separate ways—my grandfather focusing on corporate law and Santiago’s grandfather, Carlos, focusing on family law, mostly divorce and estate planning since that was what their family firm catered to in town.
“Honey, do you remember the wild games of Scrabble we used to play?” he said, almost like he was peeking right to the past. He laughed one of those giant laughs, so similar to Santiago’s. “He was the most serious man, a man of very few words, but he came alive when he was doing anything related to language. He used to school us at Scrabble. The man had the dictionary memorized.”
I took a deep breath. That was something that Susana had repeated ad nauseam growing up.He had the dictionary memorized.He knew obscure words, and healwayswon at Scrabble. Carlos also said that he was an avid reader, preferring crime and mystery novels because he liked the challenge of solving the mystery before it was revealed by the author.It’s him. They’re talking about the same man.
“Did he move back to the city?” I asked, seeing if this could take me somewhere in my search. Maybe if he had left a forwarding address, I could reach out to him. Santiago’s gaze was planted firmly on me, his hand still holding mine tightly. I’d never been one for physical touch, but his warmth was a welcome gesture.
Carlos turned to look at his wife and both their faces went blank, the smiles immediately erased from their mouths. Adelaida cleared her throat and shifted in her seat; Santiago tensed and squeezed my hand a little tighter.
“Um…” Carlos started to say.
“Would anyone want coffee?” the housekeeper interrupted. “I’ll bring out dessert soon too.”
He’s dead. He has to be, right? Otherwise, they would have said something.
“Thank you so much for the invitation. I actually have to run back to the hotel and finish off some work,” I said quickly, letting go of Santiago’s hand and standing. “The food was delicious, and I had a great time.Muchas gracias.”
I shuffled quickly over to both of them and gave them a quick hug, not being able to linger for a second longer, even though my body kept wondering what it would feel like to be hugged by such lovely people.
“Si,I have to run too,” Santiago added, walking quickly to my side. “I’ll see you tonight at dinner?”
I walked out of the dining room and into the hallway, directing my shaking body to the front door. The world was vibrating from under me, walls closing in.
“Hey, I got you, okay?” he said as he rubbed soothing circles on my back. “Sit down for a minute?”
I didn’t remember how, but we were suddenly outside, down the driveway and on the sidewalk. I could hear myself trying to get air into my lungs, my breathing heavy and erratic as I tried to stop myself from hyperventilating. I sat, putting my head in between my knees and shutting my eyes, letting my thoughts run rampant.
He’s dead.I knew as much, although never confirmed. That was what we were told growing up. He was kidnapped, the ransom was paid, but then he was never returned to us, so it was assumed he was killed. But had he not been kidnapped?Should I have asked them directly if this was the case? About the whole kidnapping specifically? Susana would hate that because there was no point in doing it. He was dead, and that was that.
“I don’t understand,” I told Santiago in between breaths. “He was kidnapped. I mean your grandparents didn’t mention any details, but I would know if he hadmovedhere in the eighties, right? Like, the numbers don’t add up.”
Santiago kept running his hand up and down my back and held me tight to him with his other arm. He kept making soothing sounds, trying to calm me down, avoiding pushing me off the ledge.
