I don't know how long it goes on for. But with every painful heaving sob, something lighter expands in my chest. I think, perhaps this is what they call relief.
A hand on my shoulder startles me, and when I snap my gaze up, I am shocked to find Antonia standing beside me. Our eyes lock, and humiliation burns my face as she slowly comes around to sit beside me, sliding across the bench like she's approaching a wounded animal.
I dip my head when I feel her studying the broken glass on the floor, the photo of my father lying in tatters.
"I always thought this place could do with some redecorating." Her fingers come to rest on my forearm, a gentility she has always offered me, even when I did not deserve it.
Slowly, I bring my focus back to hers, and I see something I never expected in the softness of her smile. I think she is proud.
"You are a good man, Santiago De La Rosa," she says. "You have always had it in you."
"I think you give me too much credit." I sit up straighter, discreetly wiping my face dry.
"I give credit where it is due. It is long past time you let go of these demons. You are beginning a new life. A life with so many possibilities. You have a beautiful wife who cares for you. A baby on the way. It's a new season. Time to clear away the old growth and make way for the new."
When she reaches down to squeeze my hand, I don't stop her. It reminds me of when I was a boy, how so often it was Antonia who looked after me. She tended to my wounds, and helped me with my homework, and taught me how to ride a bicycle and tie my shoes. She has always been there, more of a parent than my own in many ways. I have not given her adequate respect for that role. For the sacrifices she has made to work for my family for as long as she has, forgoing a family of her own. Dreams of her own.
"You are always here when I need you," I croak. "I don't suppose I have ever thanked you for it."
"You have thanked me," she answers warmly. "In the ways you knew how. You have never been just an employer to me, Santiago. I think you should know by now, I love you as a mother would love her own son."
A fresh wave of emotions chokes any response I might offer, so I simply nod, which she accepts with understanding and grace. It is twice now someone has offered their expressions of affection for me. It is a strange new world I find myself living in.
"Antonia?" I say after a few moments, when I've collected myself enough to speak.
"Yes?"
"Does love go away?"
Her eyes crinkle at the edges as she considers it. "Why would it?"
I turn my focus back to the floor, studying the shards of glass. "What if you wanted to protect someone, but to do so means to hurt them?"
She is quiet, her presence reassuring, even though I know she couldn’t possibly have the answers I need. Not until she turns to look at me, determination steeling her features as I've never seen.
"If it's real, pure, and true, Santiago, love will never go away."
24
Ivy
Santiago is distant. He’s here, physically, and I understand the weight he is carrying. He eats meals with me. He sleeps in our bed. Or at least he lies beside me until I fall asleep because by the time I wake in the morning, his side of the bed is empty, his pillow cold.
Eva spends her days with a tutor. I spend mine with Antonia in the kitchen baking now and again or swimming when Eva can join me. Santiago finally allowed for that. I still do the exercises Dr. Hendrickson taught me, but I know the balance issues are amplified by anxiety now than anything else.
And I am anxious.
I’ve been able to talk to my dad and Hazel over video calls. Santiago finally relented and gave me a cell phone. He has increased security at Hazel’s house as well. Seeing my nephew is still strange especially never having met him in person. But it’s not just that. It’s that I don’t know this person. I don’t know the first five years of his life and never will.
But Hazel seems all right. Not quite happy, but not unhappy either. I think once this is all said and done, she may come back home. Now that I am married to Santiago, now that we are family, I am sure he can help where IVI is concerned. In the past, I’ve heard of people returning. There’s usually some penance to be done, some payment in skin, but surely Santiago’s status will help her.
I’ve spoken with Colette over the phone, too. I know she’s still shaken up even though she tries to put a good face on it. What happened scared her. Just the thought of it terrifies me. And the fact that Abel was somehow involved makes me feel sick.
It’s the middle of the night when I knock on Santiago’s office door before opening it a little to poke my head inside. I heard him get home about fifteen minutes ago.
“Ivy,” he starts, not expecting me. He’s just taken off his jacket and tossed it over the back of a chair, and is undoing his tie. “Is everything all right?” I see and hear the anxiety that creeps into his voice.
“It’s fine. Everything is fine.”
I close the door behind me and walk toward him as he nods. Rolling his shirtsleeves up, he exposes strong, tattooed forearms that send a shiver through me. When I look up at him, I find him watching me, eyes moving over me to stop on my protruding belly. It’s popped straight out almost like I shoved a small basketball under my shirt.
“You’re so late,” I say.
“I needed to get some things sorted.”
“What things?”
“Work,” he says almost absently.
“This time of night?”
“I always work at night, Ivy. You know that. And now, with all that’s going on, well, I don’t sleep much anyway.”
He wraps one arm around my waist and sets his other hand over the bump before kissing my cheek. He then pulls me in for a hug, and there’s something strange about it. Something distant.
“Why are you still up?” he asks.
“I was worried about you.”
“I can more than take care of myself.”
“Did they find the men who took Colette and Ben?”
“What? Oh, no, not yet. I don’t want you worrying about them. I’m not going to let them hurt you.”
“I know. I just thought maybe you found something out.”
“Not yet, but we’re getting there. Why don’t you go back up to bed? I’ll be there soon.”
“I…I wanted to ask you about something you said.”
He sighs. “It can’t wait?”
“No.”
“All right.”
“You said you talked to Jackson about something, but you never said what. The other day at the pool.”
“Ah.” He walks over to his desk, picks up the bottle of scotch, uncorks it, and pours himself some. He turns back to look at me. “Should we go into the kitchen? Get you something?”
“No, I’m fine. What did you talk to him about?”
He studies me, and I find myself shifting beneath his gaze. He steps closer, and I take a seat on the couch. “I wasn’t going to bring it up, but since you did, I talked to him about his uncle. About his uncle’s involvement in the explosion to be very straightforward.”
Staring up at him, I watch him swallow another sip of his drink before setting it down.