Page 9 of After the Fire
“Yes.” No. “Yes, I’m fine. Just tired.”
But I wasn’t alright, and at that moment, I realized I was in trouble.
6
SUSANA (1988)
For the entiretyof our marriage, my husband had taken Saturdays off to play golf at the club with his business associate and best friend, Pedro. And that day, like every other Saturday, Pedro was at our door.
“He’s not here, Pedro,” I said to the man who had once been my childhood best friend. I could immediately notice that my tone of voice wavered. His eyebrows shot up; I assumed because I was never an anxious mess. “I’ve been calling you nonstop for three days, and you haven’t had the decency to return my calls.”
Desperate.
Three full days had passed since he had gotten in his car and driven away, without having the decorum of telling me where he was going. Pedro remained silent, his expression unreadable, but I could almost hear him thinking.
“I saw him leave a few days ago. He didn’t utter a single word—not that that is uncommon for him. But he hasn’t even called me to tell me what is going on. I thought maybe you were with him, out of town for work.”
He moved inside the entryway, taking a seat in one of the small chairs by the large painting of an old family home in Europe—one of the few family heirlooms we actually kept and the only thing that was actually worth anything—which made him look like a giant. Even at sixty years old, Pedro still looked like he was at his prime. He had a large back and wide shoulders, and his hair was full, albeit peppered with white strands. He had some expression lines, the most notable ones being the ones around his gray eyes that really tattled on his joyful demeanor. He was very attractive still, and dare I say was even more attractive now than in our youth. He had never married; no one ever understood why.
“Susana, why don’t you take a seat? Let’s talk this through,” he said, his voice extremely calm for the situation. Maybe he knew what was happening and had waited to see me in person to tell me. My face remained blank although my patience was being tried. I worked very hard to avoid showing my emotions on my face—in part because I knew that it wouldn’t help with my appearance, and in part because this way, I could remain in control longer.
“No. I know you know, so might as well tell me right now,” I added sharply. “Tell me right now.”
“Do you remember that young girl we hired back a few years ago to man the phones? I can’t confirm this with certainty, but I have a suspicion that they left together to start a new life. I’ve seen them looking at each other adoringly throughout the years. Maybe those looks meant nothing or maybe they meant a lot.”
“Wh-what? He wouldnever,” I said. “He might be many things, but he is loyal to me and our family.”
“Susana, don’t be naïve! No one can keep up with you or your lifestyle. Do you think that he’s married to you because he isin love?”
His comment was supposed to be a punch in my gut; it was anything but. I knew he wasn’t in love with me. I wasn’t in love with him either. But it was convenient, and it gave me everything I wanted and more. Specifically, it gave me notoriety, a society push. And it was probably why, since the day I saw him, I altered all my plans to be married to him. Back then he was a rising star, and I was a nobody, and today we were considered to be members of one of the best families in San Isidro. We had an idyllic life. We had a gorgeous, large family, we were active socially and recognized by everyone in the area, and we had everything we needed and more. I was definitely being taken care of—exactly my intention when I married him.
“Ay, Pedro. Who is being naïve now? Of course he’s not in love with me. People with money don’t marry for love, they marry for convenience. It’s transactional. But that doesn’t mean that he could afford to be disloyal. We have a reputation to maintain, and it goes both ways between him and me.”
In any case, this needed fixing, and Pedro was a fixer.
“What are you going to do about this?” I asked him, planting myself firmly in front of him, showing him that this was serious. “We need to fix this. Evenifhe ran away with another woman, that can’t be what we say. Do you have any idea how that will make me look? No one cheats on me. No one.”
Pedro sucked in a breath and scanned the room. I looked around, confirming that the only daughter that still lived in our home wasn’t close by and that the help was out of earshot. He was clearly avoiding my gaze, an indication that he knew something else I didn’t.
“Pedro, don’t lie to me. What else do you know?”
“Dios mío,woman, you are relentless,” he said, a small smile etched on his lips. “You could have been an excellent lawyer if you had wanted to.”
Yes, I knew that.
I turned and walked to the kitchen, and he followed in my footsteps. Pedro and I had been close, once upon a time. His family had moved to the house next to mine when we were in our teens, and we had attended many events together. In a way, it was like we had been in an arranged relationship—the friendship felt easy, the families got along well, and we shared many similar views. But then Roberto came along, and I instantly knew it had to be him. The man who would later become my husband showed promise. Where Pedro was joyful and carefree, Roberto was serious and focused. He had finished his law degree in record time and by the time he was in his early twenties, he was employed at a large firm in the city, working on some very notorious cases with his team. He was named in the front page of all the newspapers, mentioned in the society magazines, and had a long list of women waiting to dance with him at events.
The maid was in the kitchen, preparing our dinner for that evening. “Leave,” I said as I moved towards the stove to heat up some water for tea. This was something I used to do with my girlfriends on the regular. We would sit at the kitchen table, having dismissed the help, and catch up on the recent developments in society. Gossip, some people would call it. But it was far from it because it really was beneficial to us to know what happened and to whom.
“Would you like some tea?” I asked Pedro, not expecting an answer.
He sat at the table and rested his hands on his lap. Ever since he walked in, he couldn’t look me in the eye. This had only happened a few times early on in my marriage. He’d been hurt because I chose Roberto over him. Occasionally, I would catch him watching my children with a look that could only be explained as longing. Longing for what we could have had together, maybe even some anger because I didn’t end up marrying him.
“¡Mirame,Pedro! What is this nonsense? We are not in our twenties anymore,” I said, almost a little out of control. I needed to get a handle on the situation. “What do you know about this woman? Do you know where they are? Are they coming back?”
“Well, I think she’s from Córdoba, although I can’t confirm because I never had the inkling to check. I think the affair has been going on for a few months now. I’ve caught a few looks here and there and some smiles coming from him.”
“Do you think I’m stupid? He doesn’t smile; he’s a serious man. Please give me some credit and don’t treat me like a child. Where is he?”
