Page 18 of After the Fire
“Well, believe it or not, I don’t like being a lawyer,” he said, like he was spilling this deep, dark secret that would change the world. “I guess I just got swept into my family’s legacy. I don’t know if I’m able to name a person in my family that hasn’t been a lawyer, except for maybe my sister, but my dad and his dad andhisdad before them… every single one of them has been a lawyer. And I… I just do it because I’m good at it, but it doesn’t mean I enjoy it. Remember when we started college? The plan had always been to graduate and then move back here and start working at my family’s firm—it’s small and only handles a few things like divorces and estate management and whatever. But I couldn’t envision myself here. So I told my dad and grandfather that I would stay in the city for a few years to get more experience and then come back, and I’ve been stuck. And then I look at you, and you make it look effortless and I…” He sighed.What?“I’m too far in to tell my family that I want out, but not only that, I have no idea what I want to do. Like, what does a former lawyer do if they are tired of the professional paththeychose?”
Stunned. That was what I was. My mouth was open, gawking at him like, in fact, this deep, dark secret would change the world.
“I’m sorry, what?” I shrieked, my voice pitchier than what I was trying to go for. “But you’regood. Like, good, good. Great even. Your name pops up everywhere I go. I’m so confused.”
He laughed. One of those deep, throaty laughs that made everything inside me vibrate with energy.
“Yeah, but being good is not enough sometimes. Being selfless is not enough. Sometimes we also have to think about what we actually want and put that above all else.”
Huh.
10
SUSANA (1988)
“Ay,Susana,que terrible noticia.How are you handling this?”
Such terrible news.
Of course it was terrible news. But rumors in this town ran fast, and many of the people in our social circles had shown up in support. Exactly like planned.
It was rare that I opened the door to our house—the staff usually took care of that—but in this case, it seemed fitting. I welcomed these ladies into my home and invited them to mourn with me. We grieved together.
“Thank you very much for coming, Josefina,” I said as I closed the door behind her. She was wearing all black, almost as if she were attending a funeral. Her expression was grim, and she scanned the room as she moved further into the home. “It’s been difficult, certainly, but our friends and family have really been here to support me.”
We walked in silence toward the sitting area. There was a group of approximately twenty wives of our friends already in our living and dining rooms, sipping tea and eating little treats the maid put out. Groups had been coming and going for the past weeks, concerned for the well-being of my husband and obviously there to support me. The air felt tense—I wanted to treat the impromptu get-togethers like our normal gossip time, but I had been restraining myself to save face, of course. Staying in character proved to be hard, even when I’d done it in some way or another throughout my life.
“Have you heard anything?” Josefina said. She sat furthest away from me and set her purse on the floor. She then placed a cloth napkin on her lap and looked at me with pity in her eyes. “I can’t imagine what you are going through.”
“Nothing since that first time, but we are still hopeful, as you can imagine,” I replied. It had been four weeks since my husband willingly walked away, but these women were still convinced he had been kidnapped. “It feels like I haven’t slept in weeks. So much waiting.”
On this day, the group of ladies organized a prayer circle, led by Marta, who spent a significant amount of her free time volunteering at the church and went to mass every day. I couldn’t really imagine what praying could do to help me, but it was serving well to keep up with appearances, and it was definitely in line with the narrative I was trying to sell.
“They said not to contact the police, and we haven’t yet, but I’m sure Pedro will connect with his contact if we don’t hear soon.” They all knew Pedro to be a fixer, finding solutions to problems everywhere. Whether it be additional funds needed to reach a fundraising goal or even if an event was running low on food, he was the first one to take action. “Although I’m terrified, it could affect our chances of getting him back.”
Pedro was not convinced of what we were doing. He agreed, yes, during our intimate moment the days after my husband left, but since then he took some distance; he was sure the lie would come back to bite us. So far, there had been no signs of Roberto.
“¿Mamá?” I heard my son scream from the entry, followed by a sharp slam to the door. “¿Dónde estás?”
“Ah, Robertito,” I replied, my most saccharine smile pasted on my face. He deadpanned at the nickname; we hadn’t called him that in years. “What a pleasant surprise,” I added, standing up and expecting him to bend down to kiss my cheek. He looked so much like his father. The stern, stoic look was uncanny. His eyes were brown, after me, but everything else seemed to be his father’s. Including his name.
“You’re not canceling the party?” he said, his voice raising with every word he uttered. “What is wrong with you?”
“Roberto.” I widened my eyes, looking around at the women in my home. They were frozen in place. “Por favor,keep it down,” I said with a smile plastered on my face and for his ears only. “Of course we are not canceling the party. Your poor sister.”
My youngest daughter was engaged to be married, and we had been planning her engagement party for months. Her father’s disappearance was a surprise, of course, so I had decided to move on with the plan despite his absence. My husband very well knew what he would be missing out on when he walked away from me. “We’ve all been through so much recently, and we need a little happiness. There is nothing better than to celebrate love, don’t you think?”
My son turned around and walked out of the dining room where I was sitting. My friends were still silent, looking stunned and speechless at the scene in front of them.
“Discúlpenme. Ya vengo,” I said to them with a small smile on my face.
I followed him as he went up the stairs, straight to Cristina’s bedroom. She was lying on the bed reading one of the many magazines I received on a weekly basis. Her name had been in the media recently, the announcement of her wedding a big deal.
“Cristina, tell her,” he said without looking at me. Cristina sat up and sighed, then looked at me. She was beautiful, probably the prettiest of all my daughters. She had her father’s eyes, a light blue that looked almost translucent in certain lights. Her pupils were rimmed with silver threads that made her eyes look gray when it was overcast. Her skin was white with a rosy undertone and when she blushed, she looked like a doll. Her hair was long and blonde after years of perfecting her color at the salon.
“Roberto, I already told her, but she’s not listening,” she said. Cristina was the most distraught of all my children. She had taken her father’s disappearance badly and had been adamant we cancel the party.
“You are both being ungrateful, spoiled children,” I said. My temper rose with every word uttered, and I ran the risk of losing control any second. “Why would you not want to celebrate in a moment like this? It’s the least we can do.”
