Suspicion of Deceit (28 page)

On the sofa Anthony was leaning on an elbow, rubbing his forehead.

"Digna, more sherry,
mi vida"
She refilled his glass and he touched her arm lovingly. He said to Gail, "I am sorry about the man who died. I read in the paper his funeral was today."

"Seth Greer," she said.

"Was he a friend of yours?"

"Not a close friend, but we knew each other."

"And you weren't hurt." He was frowning, wanting to be sure.

"I'm perfectly fine."

"Thanks be to God." His face sagged for a moment, then he gestured with his glass. "This other man, the one who is going to sing in the opera. What is his name?"

"Thomas Nolan."

"Octavio says he is a communist. Is this true?"

"Ernesto!" said Digna quietly.

"No, it's not true," Gail said. "Tom Nolan has no political agenda. He stumbled into this. He went to Cuba with his friends not knowing anything about the country."

"Is that so?" Pedrosa frowned. "How could he not know?"

"Most people don't. He spends his life singing. That's all he does. He doesn't watch the news, he doesn't listen to radio, and he isn't interested in politics."

"How can a man have no politics?" Pedrosa asked. "A man without politics is a man without passion."

"But Thomas Nolan has his own kind of passion— his music."

From a distance came the shouts of children, the thudding of footsteps. Somewhere a door slammed. Digna looked into the hall. "Who is that? Oh! Alicia!"

Anthony's sister came in, saying hello. She leaned over to kiss her grandfather, then went to give her brother a hug. "What a surprise! I saw your car outside. Hi, Gail." The two women brushed cheeks.

Glancing again at Anthony, Alicia said, "We dropped by to take the measurements for the party." She gestured toward the hall, "I told Octavio to take the kids to the game room. They are so noisy!"

Which was not, Gail knew, the real reason Alicia had sent her husband with the children. She wanted to keep him and Anthony apart. Gail wondered if Octavio had ever told his wife what Anthony had done to him outside the guest house.

Still smiling, Alicia said to Gail, "We're having a party here in two weeks for Maddie. She'll be twelve. You have to come. Bring Karen, too."

"Thanks. I'll see what we're doing that weekend." Both of them knew the chances of Gail and Karen showing up. Gail felt a twinge of annoyance that Alicia could simply drop by unannounced, while Anthony waited for an invitation. In the next instant she was ashamed of her jealousy. Anthony kept himself aloof; Alicia did not.

Digna said, "Alicia, you are eating dinner with us, no?"

"Of course."

Then Octavio appeared at the door in a sport shirt and yellow golf sweater that made his skin sallow and added twenty pounds. His eyes moved around the room. He didn't come in until he had located Anthony.

"Hello, Gail. How is your injury?"

"Much better, thank you."

"I'm glad to hear it."

Anthony set his glass of sherry on the tray. "Gail and I were just leaving."

"No, please," Digna said, taking his arm. "We have the most wonderful swordfish tonight."

"Please," Alicia repeated. "Why don't you and Gail stay?"

Octavio said, "They probably have things to do, Alicia."

For a second Anthony looked at his grandfather, but Ernesto Pedrosa sat silently resting his hands on his cane. His thick gray brows rose slowly, as if asking Anthony what he intended to do next.

He said to his sister, "Thank you, Alicia, but you know if we stayed no one would have much of an appetite."

"Oh, don't be that way. You can't go."

Octavio sighed with more than a hint of regret. "We'll wait for another occasion. You know, Anthony, you're welcome here anytime."

Color flooded into Anthony's cheeks, and he made a single exhalation that could have passed for a laugh. "This is your house now?"

Digna put her hand on his arm again, tugging till he looked at her. "Alicia and Octavio and the children are going to live with us. They will move in as soon as they sell their house."

"What?"

Alicia twisted her hands together. "It's my fault. I was supposed to talk to you about it. Nena can't run this house by herself anymore."

Anthony stared across the room.

Octavio looked back at him over the top of his glasses, then spoke calmly in Spanish. Gail struggled to pick it up. Something about helping Ernesto with the businesses.

Then Anthony asking whose decision this had been. He turned to his grandfather.

Ernesto lifted his head and tiredly replied, "He's a good businessman."

"You have managers for all your companies," Anthony said. "They do an excellent job. I don't understand this."

"Los
managers
no son familia
," Octavio said.

"Neither are you. You're in the family because you married my sister. You sell furniture. What do you know besides bed frames and cheap sofas?"

"Anthony,
por favor,"
Digna said.

Unable to look at the others, Gail put a hand on his shoulder and said in a low voice, "We should go."

For a long moment he seemed frozen, staring at Octavio Reyes as if Reyes had struck him across the face. Then he let out a breath. "Yes. We should." He glanced at his watch. "Nena, thank you for inviting us. Grandfather." He made a slight nod in the old man's direction. Ernesto Pedrosa did not reply.

Passing by his chair, Gail stopped to say, "Thank you."

His pale blue eyes lifted to meet hers, and he took her hand. "Come back to see us anytime."

Her heart beating erratically, she glanced around the room. "I hope to see you again soon. I'll tell my mother that you asked about her." Her gaze seemed to snag on Octavio Reyes just long enough for her to see the quick smile of satisfaction that vanished back in like the tongue of a snake. She knew that he had taken only the first step to destroy Anthony Quintana, and that his revenge would be total.

In the hallway, Gail had to hurry to keep up with Anthony's fast pace. She told him to slow down, but he seemed not to hear her. A vein stood out in his forehead. His skin seemed drawn to the bones of his face as if pulled from inside. They had reached the front door when they heard someone calling his name.

Alicia ran into the foyer. She went around him and leaned on the door. "Anthony, please."

He said quietly, "Get out of the way, Alicia."

"Don't leave like this. They're getting so old. It was my idea to help them. Mine. Please don't leave until you tell me it's all right."

His laugh ended in a sigh. "It wasn't your idea. I know whose it was. And why are you asking me now? You could have asked beforehand, if it mattered."

"It does! I didn't think you would care." She moaned. "Oh, my God, I saw your face when Nena told you—"

He held up his hands and spoke in a low, calm voice. "Do what you want. But don't expect to see me walk through that door as long as Octavio Reyes lives here."

Alicia stared at him. "Why?"

He smiled. "Would I be welcome?"

"You're crazy. You hate Octavio so much you'll hurt everyone else. How do I tell Nena? What are you going to do when your children come for Christmas? Drop them off and wait outside?

He studied his car keys. "All right. I will come in and speak to the family as long as Octavio is not here at the time."

She was close to tears. "I can't tell my husband to get out whenever you decide to come over."

"That's up to you. Alicia, move out of the way, please."

Gail felt ill. "Anthony—"

"No. He won't listen to anyone!" Alicia pushed herself away from the door, broke into sobs, and fled down the hall.

They drove the few miles to Gail's house in near-total silence. Her head was a storm of emotion, and her chest was so tight it hurt to breathe. She glanced at Anthony from time to time. He seemed deep in thought but otherwise unaffected by what had occurred. She was afraid to speak until she had decided what to say.

He wheeled into her driveway and turned off the engine. "Did you say that Karen is with your mother tonight?"

"Yes. She has a school holiday tomorrow."

"Good. Let's have a drink. We'll have some dinner and go to bed early."

She felt her head pounding as she got out of the car. He locked it, and they went inside. The house was eerily quiet.

He took off his jacket and hung it neatly on the back of a chair at the table, then took a bottle of white wine from the refrigerator and the opener from a drawer. Expertly he cut the foil off the top of the bottle, then twisted in the corkscrew. "What do you want to eat? We could go out or have something delivered."

Rubbing her temple, Gail set her purse on the kitchen counter and opened the cabinet for the bottle of pain reliever. "Look and see if there's some frozen lobster."

He left the corkscrew half in the cork and opened the freezer door. She heard the rustling of packages.

At the sink she tossed back two pills and drank some water. Her hands were shaking. "Let me say just one thing, Anthony, then I won't say anything else about it tonight. I hope you can calm down enough to reconsider what you said to Alicia. She was right. If you cut yourself out of your family, everyone will be hurt. Everyone but Octavio."

"I am calm." He frowned at the instructions on a package of frozen lobster tails. "And I'll say one thing, too, then maybe we can enjoy the rest of the evening. My grandfather is letting Octavio in for a reason. He is still punishing me for the past. It has become part of his character, and he is too old to change. I won't keep slamming my head against a wall. If my kids want to go over there, I have no objection. And that's all we need to say about it." He read the other side of the bag.

Gail grabbed the wine bottle by the neck to finish opening it. "Oh, I see. He's punishing you for the past. And you aren't doing the same?"

Anthony tossed the lobster into the sink, where it hit with a clunk. He unfastened his gold cuff links and rolled up his sleeves, each fold quick and precise. "What else should we have with this? Potato? A salad?"

Twisting the corkscrew, Gail said, "Really, it's a mutual misery society. For years you and Ernesto have held grudges for sins in the past. In some weird way maybe you both enjoy it. It's how you get to each other. But if he lives another year, it will be a miracle. Then what? You've just walked away, and I don't think he's going to beg you to come back."

Hand on his hip, Anthony looked at her for a while, then said, "Are you finished?"

"Yes."

"Good." He took the wine bottle from her and levered out the corkscrew, which ripped through the cork.
"Cono cara'o."

"Octavio can slide in there like the snake he is because you left a vacuum. He's going to take everything, and you don't care?"

Anthony poked at the cork. "Is that what you want, Gail? The house? All that money?"

"Dammit! How could you—I don't
care
about that, and you know it!" She leaned against the sink.

He closed his eyes. "I know. I'm sorry I said that to you." He touched her shoulder and let his hand slide off. "We shouldn't talk about this tonight."

"What I want—" She grabbed a paper towel and blew her nose. "I want you and your grandfather to get along. That's all. Forget Octavio, if he lives there or doesn't. This is your
family.
Don't pretend they don't mean anything to you. Until you fix what's broken, you will never have anything right with them. And maybe not right with us, either."

"Until
I
fix it? You saw how he is." Anthony set the bottle down so hard the toaster oven clattered.

"He's an old man! The past is all he has. What do you want him to do, say he's sorry? He won't. He will grow old and die and you'll keep insisting it's up to him. That is so
selfish!
You're blaming him for sins he committed when you were thirteen years old—taking you out of Cuba! He did it because he loved you. And now—oh, yes, he's as much of an idiot as you are— he blames you for going to fight for the Sandinistas." She laughed. "I mean, it's all so incredibly stupid."

Anthony smiled at her. "Have you said everything now?"

"You want me to ignore it, don't you? Just be a good girl and agree with you."

"Right now, yes, that would be very nice."

She felt herself sliding toward the edge. "Well, I won't. That is not who I am. I do not ignore things—" Her throat ached. "—that matter to me . . . and to the people I care about. I don't understand how you can. Ernesto doesn't know what really happened in Nicaragua, does he? You gave him the censored version. You're afraid to admit that somebody died. You took your girlfriend to Los Pozos and she was murdered. You wouldn't let her go home, and you think you're responsible."

His black eyes narrowed to slits. "I told you not to bring that up again."

"Why? Because you don't have the guts to face the truth?" He pointed at her. "Don't."

"You know what Rebecca said? The bones are rising from the earth. You can't keep them buried. They haunt you." She followed him to the chair where he had hung his coat. "I want to know who shot her. Tell me the truth."

He leaned on a hand braced on the back of the chair. His knuckles were bloodless.

"It wasn't Pablo, was it?"

He shook his head.

"Then who? Oh, God. Did you—"

"No. It was Felix." He squinted as if the kitchen was too bright, and held his hand over his eyes. "Pablo wanted to kill all of us. Felix convinced him that Emily was to blame. Seth broke down crying. He fell on the ground and shit his pants. Rebecca was screaming. And I . . . couldn't ... do anything."

Gail looked at him for a few moments, then asked, "Are you telling me the truth?"

"What the hell do you want me to do, get down on my knees and beg you to believe me?"

"I just need to know I can trust you."

"Trust?" His face was red and twisted, a man she didn't recognize. "
Tu
hablas
all that bullshit about trust and feeling. You want control,
esto es lo que tú quieres
—a man you can control.
No soy americano como tu esposo.
I will never be an American, forget it, I don't take this shit from a woman. I am what I am. Okay?
¡Yo soy como soy!
If you don't like it, too fucking bad.
¡No me hace falta esa mierda o tú tampoco!"