“Very pretty, but don’t call her that. Her name is Sissy. And remember, no Spanish. It’s unfair. She doesn’t understand.”
Cristina sighs. “Mom would hate that the house staff speaks English now. It’s weird.”
It is weird, but he doesn’t comment.
“And . . . do not go upstairs. Sissy redecorated. Everything is chintz charming. Dad doesn’t like it but won’t say anything. Last weekend I found him long-faced, rooting around in the attic. He claims things are missing. Did you steal some of Mom’s stuff?”
“I didn’t steal it, I rescued it.” He smiles.
Cristina grabs his arm. “Oh, Danny, please let me come live with you. My friends, they all love you.”
“Shh,” he says. “Here they come. Remember, no Spanish.”
Daniel’s father and his wife circulate toward them through the crowd.
“Happy birthday, Sissy,” says Daniel.
“Thank you, Daniel, darling. And thank you for the beautiful flowers!”
“Well done, Dan. You’re showing me up,” jokes his father. Mrs. Draper, the party sovereign, appears.
“Good evening, Daniel.” She surveys his attire and pinches a smile. “So handsome and . . . individual. Funny, I know you were born here but sometimes you seem more Spanish than your sister.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” he replies, sliding a grin to Cristina.
Ann Draper takes Sissy by the elbow, pulling her toward a newly arrived guest.
“¡Ay, por favor! No me vengas con tonterías,” whispers Cristina. “You are not more Spanish than me.”
“It’s not a competition,” laughs their father. “All well at the office today, Dan?”
“Yes. Delta Drilling sent numbers over.” Daniel accepts a glass from a waiter and tries to sound casual. “Say, Dad, did you hear? General Franco died.”
“I heard it on the news. Must be quite the shock in Spain.”
“What do you think Mom would say?” asks Cristina.
Daniel has wondered the very same thing.
Their father pauses, enjoying the memory of his wife. “Honestly, I think María would be very sad.”
“Really? Was Mom a fascist?” asks Cristina.
“No,” says their father quickly. “Your mother was romantically old-fashioned about Spain. That doesn’t mean she was a fascist. I don’t think you’d understand. It’s difficult.” He sighs and leaves to join Sissy.
Cristina stares at the floor.
Daniel slings an arm around her. “As if being adopted from a foreign country and losing your mom isn’t difficult,” he says.
His sister nods, grateful. “Exactly. Just because I’ve never been to Spain doesn’t mean I won’t understand. Don’t forget. You promised, Daniel.”
“I know.”
“We better start planning now. I’ll be eighteen before you know it. Adventure in Madrid!” Cristina hugs him and sashays off to rejoin her friends.
Of course Cristina wants to visit her birthplace, that’s natural. His mother’s adamant refusal to take her to Spain always puzzled him. Perhaps her health was a factor. She felt so compelled to hide her illness.
Jorge, his father’s elderly butler, approaches. He’s well past retirement age but refuses to consider it. “Hola, Jorge.”
“Buenas tardes, señor. You received a phone call very early this morning. It was an international call and the connection was quite poor. Or perhaps the caller was inebriated. He kept repeating, ‘Tell Danny boy, Franco ha muerto.’”
“Did the caller give his name?”
“Indeed. It was Dick. Or Nick. Or maybe Rick. Lo siento, I can’t remember.”
Jorge has worked with the family for decades. He left Spain just before the Civil War. Daniel wonders what he thinks of the news. “Jorge, Franco ha muerto. ¿Qué piensas?”
Jorge releases a slow, content smile. “Every opportunity lies ahead, señor.”
133
“Your sister runs a mile a minute. I’d never keep up with her. You’re sure you don’t mind this?” asks his father.
“Not at all. Just a bunch of sightseeing. It’ll give me a chance to use my camera.”
“Sissy wants to take a vacation too. But of course Spain isn’t appropriate for us. I think I’ll whisk her away for a weekend.” Daniel’s father appraises him. “It’s been a long time since our trip to Madrid. Think it will all come back to you?”
“Maybe,” he lies. It’s never left him.
“Have a good trip, son. Give a call if you need anything. Do you have enough travelers checks?”
“Plenty. We’ll be fine, Dad. I traveled for the magazine with just a backpack.”
“I know. But Cristina’s hardly a backpacker.”
His father is uncharacteristically attentive. There’s a quiet sadness in his eyes. “I hope this won’t be too emotional for her,” he says.
I hope this won’t be too emotional for you, thinks Daniel.
His father gives a defeated sigh. “I know you didn’t want to leave National Geographic, Dan. But having you here these past years, well, I couldn’t have done it on my own.” His gaze turns to his daughter. “And I think we did a mighty fine job.”
Cristina stands near the TWA gate in red culottes and large sunglasses. She’s speaking Spanish to the gate agents. Cristina has the strength of their mother but a warmth and sense of humor all her own. She comes bubbling over to them.
“Dad, don’t look so serious. It’s only two weeks. I’ll be back before you know it. I just learned that our hotel, the InterContinental, used to be the Castellana Hilton. Isn’t that where you stayed? The gate agent said it was quite a scene back in the day. Do you remember much about it?”
“Of course I do.” Their father’s eyes become misty. “Your mother loved it. She loved everything about Spain. It was her true home.”
Daniel’s eyes begin to well.
“Good grief. You two are worse than a pair of debutantes. Enough of that or I’ll start crying and we’ll all be a puddle. Mom wouldn’t like it.”
She’s right.
His father hugs Cristina to him as if she might blow away. Without making eye contact with Daniel, he gives an extended handshake and pats him on the shoulder as they board the plane.