“Manuel, let me introduce my wife, Laura. You’ve already met Antía, the little one who attacked you at the door.” He turned toward a young woman who’d just entered the room. “And here’s my older daughter, Xulia.”
The handsome young woman was a teenage version of her mother, although she wore her long hair loose. She gave him a firm handshake and gazed at him with dark eyes that resembled her father’s.
Manuel offered the flowers to Laura. “These are for you,” he said.
“They’re lovely, but you shouldn’t have,” she answered with a charmed smile, almost cradling the flowers in her arms. “I’m flattered,” she said with a glance at her husband. “And I love your novels!” Her face colored with a bashful blush that captivated Manuel and astonished Nogueira.
Antía came into the kitchen carrying Café.
“Oh! I’m very sorry, but I don’t have anywhere to leave him. If he’s a bother I can take him out to my car.”
“No, please!” the little one pleaded.
Laura was happy to reassure him. “Don’t be concerned. I love dogs.”
Manuel glanced at a boy who was already seated at the table. The kid hadn’t looked up from his cell phone and seemed oblivious to them.
Nogueira jutted his chin toward the boy. “That’s Alex, Xulia’s boyfriend.”
“Friend,” the boy instantly corrected him. Nogueira was offended, but the boy’s face remained blank.
Manuel could see very well why the kid’s presence made Nogueira uneasy. Putting up with this zombie must be unbearable for anyone as temperamental as the lieutenant.
Nogueira busied himself opening the wine while Laura ushered Manuel to his place at the table.
“Alex, dear,” she said to the boy sitting at the head of the table, “move next to Xulia and give that chair to Andrés.”
Manuel was somewhat surprised by this. He detected a tension in the air.
“But I always sit here,” the boy protested.
“But not today,” the hostess replied, unyielding.
The teenager got up, making no secret of his reluctance, and plopped himself down two chairs farther along.
Nogueira took his place at the head of the table. Manuel realized he’d never before heard the officer’s first name.
The policeman had told the truth: Laura was a superb cook. Manuel ate as he hadn’t done in a long time, enjoying the conversation and the presence of the family, the joyful profusion of brilliant, fragrant dishes, an offering of Galician cuisine that manifested the typically excessive generosity of Galicia. Laura was pleased to introduce him to it. They talked a great deal about his novels, his beginnings, how he’d started writing, and literature in general. Laura had read extensively, had a similar taste in books, and appreciated his favorites. During the conversation Manuel saw her glance repeatedly back and forth between him and her husband.
“And tell me, Manuel, how did you get to know Andrés? He was terribly mysterious about it.”
Manuel looked over at him. The lieutenant took the opportunity to get up to open another bottle of wine.
“In fact, he hasn’t said anything because I asked him to be discreet,” he said, well aware of the effect his words would have.
“It’s for the next novel!” Xulia exclaimed. She exchanged a complicit look with her mother and turned enthusiastically to Manuel. “Tell me, am I right?”
“Well, you all understand that for now it’s a secret, right?”
“Of course!” the women answered in chorus, clearly delighted with this confidence.
Manuel saw their admiring expressions when they looked toward Nogueira. That made him feel good.
“So your next novel will be set here in the Ribeira Sacra?” the girl probed.
Manuel smiled but didn’t confirm it. “It hasn’t been decided yet. It’s at a very early stage and I’m getting to know places and events; your father is helping me a great deal with all that.”
“Excuse my daughter,” Laura said with a smile. “I’ve followed you from the first, but Xulia discovered your novels only a little over a year ago. She read every one of them in no time at all, and I’m afraid she’s become a real fan.”
“You don’t say! Thanks, Xulia. What else do you read?”
“About thirty-five books a year, mostly detective stories and history, but I like yours the best.”
“What?” put in Nogueira. “They must be novels then, since you never open your schoolbooks.” His comment provoked a grimace from his daughter and a stupid little snicker from Alex, who didn’t look up from his phone.
Laura gave her husband a reproachful glance. She got up to clear the table and serve dessert. Nogueira was quick to volunteer his assistance.
“Xulia wants to become a writer,” Laura said as she placed before Manuel a tray with slices of cheese, slices of pie, and quinces.
He let the girl see he was intrigued to hear it. She blushed but nodded to confirm her mother’s comment. The teenager with his cell phone snorted in derision and slumped so low in his chair that his chin was at the level of the tabletop.
Nogueira was clearly offended by the youth, but he spoke to his daughter instead. “That’s a good one! And with the kind of grades you get in school, how could you even hope to be a writer?”
Laura, again seated beside Manuel, sat looking on without comment, apparently amused by her husband’s growing exasperation. She seemed to be counting the seconds till he blew his top.
“Oh, Dad, there you go again!” Xulia complained. Ignoring her father, she turned to Manuel. “This year I got distracted from my schoolwork,” she said, lowering her chin in a penitent expression that looked rehearsed, “so I have to repeat the year. But from now on I’m going to take it seriously.”
“From now on,” Nogueira mimicked her. “That’s exactly what you’ve been saying all year. And what happened? You all but dropped out.”
“Except for literature.”
The teenager next to her guffawed, and Nogueira turned to glare at him. “Like to share what you think’s so funny?”
The boy grinned and wagged a finger at Xulia. “A writer?” he asked, and snorted some more. “Wait and see how they laugh their asses off when she tries to tell ’em that!”
Xulia flushed deep red, and it wasn’t from embarrassment. Her chin lifted; her demeanor was calm and dignified. She addressed the boy imperiously. “Alex, why don’t you go home, and we’ll talk about that later.”
“What?” he replied, stunned. “I thought we were going out.” He raised his phone to show her the screen. “The Panorama Band’s playing in Rodeiro!”
Antía saw Manuel was baffled, so she explained. “He’s looking at Galician Bands.”
Manuel shrugged to show he was clueless.
“Galician Bands,” the little girl said. “It’s an app that tracks which bands are playing, every day.”
Nogueira elaborated. “That’s all they think about. They spend their summer running after the bands from town to town, from one village to another. But when it comes to studying?”
“Dad!” shrieked Xulia. But she immediately turned back to the boy. “You heard me. It’s time for you to go home. We’ll talk about it tomorrow.” She spoke with a chill finality, an attitude that Manuel assumed she’d inherited from her father. It reminded him of the lieutenant’s tone when warning him he’d take a blabbermouth writer off behind a mountain and shoot him.
The teenager looked unhappily at the platter. “But I haven’t had dessert yet!”
Xulia refused to be moved. “Get out of here, Alex!”
Laura got up, fetched a piece of aluminum foil from the pantry, wrapped up a slice of pie, and handed it to the boy. He accepted it gracelessly, scowled, and left without saying goodbye. When the door closed behind him, the girl, who’d watched his every step, turned back to Manuel.
But it was the little girl who spoke first. “Sorry about him. The poor kid’s kind of a dummy. One time he stapled his pants to his ankle.”
Xulia was not amused, and she elbowed her little sister. Manuel saw the closed expressions on the sisters’ faces and smiled slightly. “He stapled his pants to his ankle?”