Page 43 of After the Fire
I knew back thenthat the life that I had would never be the same again. Forget about traveling and the latest fashion and the events—those I could cover. But the pity. The sad eyes, the whispering when I walked into a room.
I vowed to never be humiliated again. Was it petty? Maybe. But I was also protecting myself and my family. I needed to take matters into my own hands, to finally have a semblance of control.
“Señora,what should we make for dinner tonight?” one of the staff asked. She had consistently been one of the best ones we had. I had never been able to retain the good ones; they always left to pursue other opportunities. Maybe to go to a house with less work. “I was thinking a lentil stew, but it might be too hot for that.”
“Nothing too elaborate. I will be out tonight.” It wasn’t uncommon for us to dine outside of the house on weekends. But since my husband walked out, the invitations had stopped. The woman raised one of her brows in question. “My daughter can have whatever she wants. Maybe make her atarta. That’s fine.”
I drove all day, left right after breakfast. Pedro was preoccupied with a few business affairs and was out of town. He wouldn’t return until the end of the week, so this really was the only moment I could attempt to do what I was going to do.
The town looked charming but was a little rundown. Some of the roads were still rustic, but I could see a few large houses in the distance. There was a particular one on the edge of town that called my attention—the large structure loomed over the other, more basic ones.
The car was parked a few streets ahead, in a spot where no one could trace it back to me. I still had to kill time, so I headed to a small café in the center of town. I ordered a cup of tea and a few pastries and looked through a few outdated magazines. Was it because I was from the city that I kept up with the gossip? Or did it have to do with my social standing? In any case, everything I read was old news to me, but it was refreshing to know that my name was still out there, even after the chaotic past few months.
A few minutes past seven, I made my way to the address I had memorized all those weeks ago. The stack of letters kept growing as the days turned to nights and the nights turned to weeks, all of them addressed to my son, the return name a familiar one. This behavior needed to stop, for my well-being and that of my family.
I started moving through the streets, strolling slowly under the shade of the large trees. The street was tucked by the corner of the town square. All of the houses were one level and painted white with similar styles. It looked very much like a pocket of a city where the working class lived, all coming back to their small homes after a long day of manual labor.
The large structure that I had admired earlier inched closer to me as I moved towards my destination. The front door was visible from the end of the block, either side of the house adorned with barely blooming hydrangeas in different shades of blue and purple.
I knocked and waited. If he was the same man I thought I knew, it would take him no less than three minutes to get to the door, and he would greet whomever was standing outside with a scowl and those serious eyes.
“Can I he—” he said, stopping mid-sentence in surprise. He opened the door wider and signaled for me to enter the house with his hand. “¿Qué pasó?Is everything alright?”
“Nada,” I said quickly. Even though I was furious with this man, I knew he cared deeply about his family. The last thing I wanted right now was for him to be concerned and decide to return to the city. “Everyone is quite well.”
Roberto closed the door behind us and walked ahead of me. I stood in the hallway, taking in the simple home, the spaces furnished with modest, cheap furniture. The complete opposite of the home we had created for our children.
“Is this your home?” I asked, my tone neutral. “It is rather… austere.”
“It is a summer home. They will be remodeling it soon, so all of the remaining furniture is in storage. It serves its function.”
This man had always been unassuming, unimpressed with material possessions.
“Why did you do it?” I asked, straight to the point. There was no need to ease into conversation with this man. He had always been blunt and honest, sometimes brutally so. “I don’t fully understand your reasoning.”
I walked further into the room, searching my purse for the stack of still unopened letters burning a hole inside it. “Here,” I said as I extended my hand and offered them to him. “We don’t need these.”
“These are not yours, Susana,” he said. He was calm, standing in front of me in his work clothes. The top button of his shirt was open, his sleeves rolled up. From my vantage point, I could see the kitchen table, a large glass of club soda, and the bottle right next to it. The table was set, and a few lit candles were peppered on the tablecloth.
“Are you expecting someone?” I asked. In the many years since I’d known him, he never cared for much. He was a serious man, kept his head down and provided us with what we needed. I didn’t think he ever cared what our home looked like, so the candles were a surprise.
“No,” he said seriously. “Why do you have those letters?”
“I need you to back off.”
“That is not what we agreed on,” he said. His eyes were on fire. His exterior was cool, like ice. But his eyes spoke a different language, sang a different tune.
“I didn’t agree to anything,” I said, recalling the night he had left. He walked into our home in silence and left it in silence too. Didn’t care to utter a word to me. “In fact, I don’t think we ever spoke a word on this matter.”
“Didn’t Pedro tell you the plan?”
“What plan, Roberto? Please, enlighten me with your wise words.”
“Susana,por favor, don’t be crass. It is beneath you,” he said as he moved to the table and took a seat at the head. I trailed him with my eyes, sure that my emotions were written on my face and that they would easily betray me. “This is absurd.”
“We are finally in agreement,” I replied. “You’re being absurd.”
He sat in silence, looking firmly in my direction. I knew what he was doing. It was most likely his favorite power move: intimidate them with silence.
