Page 4 of After the Fire
“Oh, don’t be dramatic,” I replied. Catalina had a flair for drama. She loved telling wild stories, embellishing everything that came out of her mouth. In the years since I’d known her, she had told hundreds of stories, each one more preposterous than the previous one. It was incredible. “You sound like my grandmother.”
“Speaking of, she called me about eleven million times,” she said. I could hear concern in her voice. “And came to my house.”
“Why would she go to your house?” I asked. I would have never expected Susana to leave her home, even during such an important day like that. Hermodus operandiwas for people to meether, even Catalina, a thousand months pregnant with Susana’s first great grandchild.
“I don’t know, but I’m glad I actually don’t know where you are because her fucking death glare gave me shivers.” She was probably one of the only people I knew who wasn’t terrified of my grandmother, who, granted, had a gaze that could melt a grown man. Catalina and Susana never got along, and my brother never really cared. It definitely created some strain in the relationship and the family dynamics, Susana choosing to exclude Catalina at times. “She should be a professional interrogator. Wouldn’t even have to lift a finger to get the truth out of someone.”
“Oh, believe me, I know,” I said. It was impossible to lie to her growing up. Like me, she could sniff a lie a mile away. The first time I got drunk, I was in my mid-twenties, when I already lived alone and there were at least ten miles of distance between us, just enough space to make sure she wouldn’t call me to question me about my actions. “I’m okay. Sorry I left so suddenly.”
“You could have called me, and I would have gone to pick you up,” she said. Her voice was soft, almost apologetic, as if she could have done anything for me to make it better. “Where are you?”
“Um…” I looked around me. Right above the bus stop there was a sign—Tres Fuegos—which I assumed was the name of the town. “In Córdoba. Tres Fuegos is the town?”
“How’d you end up there?” she replied, a tinge of confusion in her voice. I could almost picture her, already looking up where this small town was. Catalina was the go-to-person when you needed any sort of information. It was her job as a prosecutor, of course, but also, she was passionate about it. Her phone was always close to her, and she would look anything up during a conversation. “Hmm, okay, looks picturesque!”
“Is that your way of saying it’s ugly?” I laughed. “Maybe rustic?”
“No, really, I’m being honest. Looks cute.” She sighed. “When are you coming back?”
I shrugged like she could see me, as if we were in front of each other. “I need a few days to clear the air. Some space from them would be nice.”
I tucked my phone between my shoulder and ear and grabbed my suitcase. I dragged it across the town square where some kids were playing hide-and-seek. It reminded me so much of the long summer evenings with my brother when we were young. We used to stay playing out on the street until well past dusk, coming back home sweaty and filthy and running up the stairs directly to the bathroom so Susana wouldn’t yell at us for not being presentable. The memory made me smile; it reminded me of a simpler, happier time.
“Okay, well, if you need me, let me know and I’ll come get you.”
There were still a few people at the bus stop, waiting for their friends or family to come pick them up. How lonely of my existence that I not only had no one to pick me up, but also, I had almost no one to talk to about what was happening. Catalina was my best friend, but her life path was drifting from mine—in a great way—and there were moments where I couldn’t fully relate. I was happy, ecstatic even, that my best friend was also going to be the mother of my first niece, but at that moment, she felt miles away.
“I’ll call you tomorrow,” I said. “Beso.” Kiss.
I switched off my phone and headed towards what looked to be a restaurant. I could hear the laughter and see the lights twinkling from my location. Like I told Cata, I needed some space, time to think about my next step, and this town seemed sleepy and quiet. Just what I needed.
The restaurant had a few tables set up outside on the sidewalk adorned with little candles in the middle and a centerpiece of a few flowers and some greenery. The table was set informally, with a paper place setting with the menu written on the side. It reminded me of the many times Manuel and I had gone to breweries, where I felt completely out of place. Manuel had so many friends. I think that was what attracted me to him in the first place—the way he lived life, like nothing or no one depended on him, his ability to start up a conversation out of nowhere about anything at all with anyone who crossed his path. In contrast, I was a person with few friends—by choice, of course—because my career always came first. That was what mattered to me and to my family.
But you are lonely.
“Are we waiting for someone else to join you?” the waitress asked while setting down a basket of bread and a plate with butter. She filled the glass with ice water from a pitcher. “Maybe I can get started on some drinks for you while your friend gets here.”
“Um… It’s just me today, thank you,” I said with a small voice. I knew if I tried to speak louder, I would start crying. “Just the water for me, please.”
“Great. I’ll be right back to take your food order,” she said as she cleared the second place setting across from me.
And that was what did it. That was the straw that broke the camel’s back. The tears welled in my eyes and fell in big blobs as soon as I blinked because my life was over, and I was the only one to blame for this.
“Victoria?” a voice said behind me, and I immediately knew who it belonged to. I could recognize that voice even underwater.
Standing right behind me, in the most unlikely place in the country, was Santiago Williams, my nemesis.
3
THE ENCOUNTER
I wasn’tsure how he recognized me. The last time we’d seen each other had been probably close to a decade ago in college. We did the first few years of law school together, but by the third or fourth year, our paths widened, mostly because I went into corporate law and he chose family law.
“What are you doing here?” he asked, stopping right by my side and slightly leaning his strong body on the table, making my glass of water shake in its place. His hair looked almost the same as when we were in our twenties, except that maybe it had a little white peppered in now. He wore faded jeans and a tight-fitting white shirt, his long sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Time had served him well.
I blinked my eyes at him, unsure if this was a trick my mind was playing on me—not the first one that day. He hadn’t been top of mind for years, and in that moment, he was probably the last person I wanted to see, right behind Manuel and Susana. I’d heard about him in passing, some people mentioning his name here or there because he had represented a few celebrities in their divorces. He was notorious, recognized, and always far enough away from me that I only had to hear or read about him, never see him in person.
“Um, what areyoudoing here?” I replied a little childishly. This man had the ability to turn me into the heartless bitch I was sure many of my colleagues said I was behind my back. He was so easygoing, his limbs were so free, that it made me envious. Jealous of his ability to be and live serenely. No expectations of him.
