Page 29 of After the Fire
“I mean, maybe? I know that the ransom was paid. Well, at least I wastoldthe ransom had been paid. And then they never heard back so after a few years, they just assumed he was dead.” I grew up adoring this man, hearing all about how my eyes were identical to his, how I took after him with all my reading. I became a lawyerbecauseof him. To honor him. To honor his memory. “Do you think that if we go to the police, maybe someone can help us out?”
It was a stretch. It had been decades since the incident. What were the odds that anyone was still working there? But Santiago knew half of this town, his grandparents the other half, so maybe his connections would pan out.
“It’s a stretch, for sure,” he said, reading right into my thoughts. “But it doesn’t hurt to ask. I also think we should stop by the community center and see if they have anything there. The woman that runs it has been there for over thirty years, so I’m sure she must have known him.”
Santiago had always been a step ahead of everyone. Even in college, during our first year, he knew exactly what the professor would say ahead of time. He was always prepared. When he looked at you, hesaw. He paid attention to details and knew where to look. It was probably the most annoying thing about him because it seemed effortless, like it was completely natural for him to be so consumed by whoever or whatever was in front of him.
“I’m going to call Cata,” I mumbled as I turned to find my phone. “She told me she was looking into it.”
“Catalina Sánchez from law school?” he said with a smile on his face. “I haven’t seen her in years.” His smile was genuine.
“She’s a prosecutor in San Isidro now,” I said. “Also married my brother three years ago, so I can’t get rid of her.”
“Really?”
I lifted my brows and widened my eyes in response, a smile on my lips. At least he could make me smile, despite the shitty situation. I propped my phone on a used glass that was on the coffee table and clicked on her name. She answered immediately.
“¿Qué pasó?” she blurted. “Oh.” Her eyes went wide. “Santiago Williams?” I could see her eyes shining. She was enjoying this a little too much. She grinned and looked at me, then turned back to face him. We were sitting side by side, Santiago’s hand resting casually on my knee. “How are you? I haven’t seen you in years,” she screeched.
“I’m good, how are you? Heard you’re a prosecutor now?” he asked, paying close attention to her. “You’re pregnant too? Congratulations.” He turned to look at me, studying my face. I neglected to tell him that small fact, but we hadn’t had time to really go into details.
“Due in a few weeks, actually. I’m on bed rest and bored to death.” She scrunched her face. “Victoria’s been keeping me busy though.”She turned to look at me and mouthed “wow” and wiggled her eyebrows.
I could feel my face blush, Santiago’s gaze fixed on my face. “You would have found something to do either way,” I said, trying to manage the conversation.“Cata, have you heard back from your guy in Córdoba?” Catalina was still looking at Santiago, studying his face, a small smile on her lips. I bit my lower lip; the whole thing was very amusing. “We have some more information.”
Santiago squeezed my knee and then moved a little closer to me. Our thighs were already flush against each other’s, but the movement made my body tingle. He nodded and then smiled at me. “Okay, so this man, this Enrique Aguirre, he died in a fire in December of 1988.”
“It was ruled accidental,” Santiago interjected. “The official cause was smoke inhalation, but essentially his house caught fire and he was the only casualty.”
Catalina took notes. She had a notebook propped on her belly and nodded her head as we spoke. “I haven’t heard back from my contact in Córdoba, but I’ve been doing some research about the kidnapping, and I haven’t been able to find it anywhere. It’s not necessarily something to be concerned about, but maybe I’m not looking in the right places. I have a call with someone with the police tomorrow, so I’ll dig deeper then. Vicky, check your email because I’m going to send you a few notes. And I expect more stuff to come in shortly, so we can look at it together.”
“This is so weird,” I said. “I can’t understand this. It’s just fishy.”
“Yes, I agree,” Catalina said. “Your brother said he would talk to your dad, but he hasn’t been able to contact him.”
“Oh my god.” I closed my eyes and lifted my head towards the ceiling. “Do you want me to call him?”
Catalina sighed. “Honestly, I think Agustín is just going to go and find him tomorrow. He’s probably hiding in his house. Maybe he feels guilty? Who knows,” she added.
My father had been an alcoholic for the majority of our lives. It was the main reason why we moved into Susana’s home: so that she could take over. I always thought that the trauma of suddenly being a widower, topped with his father’s disappearance and the stress of running the law firm, broke him. He was unreliable, to say the least. We all worked around him to prop him up. It was no secret, of course, his addiction. But Susana worked hard to victimize him, to make sure no one spoke ill of him in our circle.
“Fuck,” I said. “I didn’t even think of that.”
Santiago furrowed his brow and looked at me, searching for answers in my face. I smiled, but I was sure my expression betrayed me. He kissed my temple and then stared at me for an instant. Someone—Catalina—cleared her throat, and the moment was interrupted. I turned to look at the screen and saw she was biting her lip, trying to contain a smile. “Oh, your brother is on the other line. I’ll call you later,” she said. A lie, of course. “Bye, Santiago, nice catching up.” She winked. “Hope to see you soon.”
I sat there in absolute silence until Santiago interrupted my thoughts. “What are you thinking?” His hand was still draped on my leg, and his thumb was moving slowly back and forth across my inner thigh. It was hard to breathe, hard to think. My whole body was afire with his touch.
“Uh,” I replied clumsily and shook my head. “Um…”
“What’s wrong with your dad?” He was either trying to change the subject on purpose, or he hadn’t noticed the effect he had on me. It was probably the former because this man paid close attention to everything.
“He’s an alcoholic,” I blurted. “It’s honestly fine most of the time, and we don’t really do anything about it except occasionally my brother will go kick his ass for a minute, and then he’s fine.”
“I’m sorry,” he said. “That sucks.”
“I guess.” I shrugged. “It’s not a big deal anymore.”
It wasn’t; it was the truth. My brother and I learned to rely on other people. My brother relied heavily on Pedro, and I relied heavily on Susana. It was how things were, and I never questioned them. But I wondered if the entire thing had been too much, that I had been too focused on what Susana said to me, what she said I should do, and I followed that blindly without ever wondering if it was the right thing to do.
