“I doubt it. Maybe one or two.” Nick sighs. “Life’s a river, Dan. It moves and it flows. So, is there anything specific Cristina would like to do?”
Daniel follows Nick’s gaze to his sister, chattering away to the porter handling her towers of luggage. “Well, think of us when we were eighteen. I’m sure Cristina wants to see as much as possible.”
“And what about you?” Nick studies his face. “As much as possible?”
Daniel scans the lobby. The opening to the staircase and the double basements is still there. Dinner with Ana in the staff cafeteria flashes before him. The same narrow elevators are still there. Her reflection in the mirrors blinks through his mind.
“I know you won’t ask, so I will,” says Nick. “I’ve reconnected with Ana since I’ve returned to Madrid. Do you want to see her?”
The question has such an easy answer, yet Daniel stands, frozen. He thinks of his mother’s words, that feeding memories is dangerous.
“Let me rephrase,” says Nick. “I’ve reconnected with Ana since I’ve returned to Madrid. We’re friends. She’s single. Are you single?”
Daniel nods.
“Okay, then. I’ll speak to her.”
“Wait, when?”
“Probably today.”
“Today? That’s so soon,” says Daniel.
“Don’t worry, I’ll give you plenty of notice. I have to speak to her anyway.”
“How is she?” asks Daniel. “How’s her family?”
Cristina comes running, waving a key. “We’re in suite 760!”
Daniel looks to Nick. He shrugs. “A little bird reminded me.”
“We stayed on the seventh floor when we were here,” he tells his sister.
“Ruth says Ava Gardner used to stay on the seventh floor and that she held wild parties. I’m so excited, I could just burst!” says Cristina, hugging Daniel.
Excited. Is that what he’s feeling? No. It feels more like the old unholy ghost of Spain.
Fear.
136
Cristina unpacks her luggage and chatters nonstop. “Your bag is so small. You did bring shoes other than boots, didn’t you?”
Daniel assures his sister that he brought clothes and won’t embarrass her. He also brought his camera, and for the first time in years he feels an incredible desire to use it.
The layout of the suite is exactly the same. Only the furnishings are different. Two beds are situated in the bedroom. In addition to a radio, there is now a television in the suite and a modern rotary dial phone. The Castellana Hilton crest is gone, replaced by the InterContinental logo.
Eighteen years ago he stood in this exact room, taping photos to the wall. He looks to the floor in front of the sofa, where he and Ana sat for hours after their room-service dinner. He sees the wall where Ana pulled him in for the kiss that never let go. He thinks of the knife and fork she smuggled to the room. It makes him laugh.
“What’s so funny?” says Cristina.
“The amount of luggage you brought,” he replies.
Daniel takes a seat on the terrace. Madrid’s heat wraps him in its arms, stirring anticipation from ash. He’s excited, scared, and nervous. He’s never felt this way, not even during a dangerous photo assignment. Nick seems exactly the same, just a bit more mature. Is his unpredictable nature the same? Will he show up tipsy at the hotel room door with Ana in tow? He hopes not. Should he shower and shave just in case?
Cristina joins him on the balcony. She reclines, lifting her long, dark hair and dropping it to hang off the back of the chair. She closes her eyes.
“It’s so odd,” she says. “I only spent a few months of my life here. But as we drove from the airport, I felt this magnetic tug toward the city. I felt . . . emotional. Do you think I’m having a midlife-adoption-identity crisis?”
Daniel looks at his sister. She doesn’t resemble him nor their parents, but doesn’t stand out in Dallas as different, either. “Well, I think you’re a ways from midlife, Cris. But identity, sure. Roots and heritage, they’re powerful. I’m glad you feel a connection here.”
“It’s more than a connection. I can’t describe it. Maybe I’m just excited to be here. Or excited to be out of Texas. Or maybe I’m creating emotions to fill the gap of Mom.”
At times his sister displays surprising insight for her age. Sometimes it’s as if she’s observing and commenting on her life from above, rather than living inside it as an eighteen-year-old girl. He raises his camera and takes her picture.
* * *
Nick calls and insists on taking them for a late dinner and a brief walking tour. He says nothing of Ana. Daniel feels too awkward to ask. When they return to the hotel, it’s after midnight. They’re exhausted but Madrid is just beginning to rouse. Nick and Ruth suggest an outing the following day for Cristina.
“Ruth and I will take you to the Prado Museum and for tea at the Ritz.”
“And what about Daniel?”
“I’ve imposed on Dan to take a meeting tomorrow afternoon,” says Nick. “He’ll join us for dinner.” Nick looks to Daniel, his face completely sincere.
“Tom Collins will meet you at the Sorolla garden tomorrow at three,” says Nick.
137
Daniel arrives an hour early, telling himself that he wants to photograph the gardens and fountain. He also tells himself he’s not nervous, he’s not sweating, and he’s not hopeful. So much can happen in eighteen years. She’s probably an entirely different person. Maybe he’s an entirely different person. That’s normal, isn’t it? Ana told him that he couldn’t understand her. How could he understand her now, with nearly two decades between them?
Visitors stroll and linger amidst the lush, richly scented gardens of the museum. The trickling sound of the fountain is familiar, the figures still whisper, but the courtyard has been slightly altered. The bench they sat upon is no longer there. New benches have been added. He momentarily worries, unsure where they’re supposed to meet. The feeling resembles an anxious dream, but one you’re able to wake yourself from. They no longer have to hide, he reminds himself. They can be friends openly. Yes, they’ll be friends.
He chooses a bench that allows him to remain slightly concealed while still having a view of the entrance. This way, he’ll see Ana before she sees him.
The hour approaches. He feels nauseous.
His mother’s words return and issue warning. The divide was too wide, tesoro. I’d hate to think that a teenage fling might leave you alone for the rest of your life.