*
I’d never thought I’d crave cigarettes so much. I never even knew what they were until Franco offered me one. For as long as I could remember, Franco had been around—a silent boy who alternatively followed his father around the plantation or hunted squirrels, birds, or rabbits with his slingshot. In many ways, he was like me, though, a loner. The other kids in the area always spent time together, including my brother and sister, but Franco and I were younger so we were left out of all the fun and games. Plus, there was the issue of class. Franco was the son of one of my father’s workers, so my siblings didn’t give him the time of day. It wasn’t done on purpose. They just knew that there were implied rules to follow in our micro-society. But I didn’t mind so much.
The first time he’d talked to me I was twelve and he was thirteen, I’d been taking a walk along the stream near my house. He asked me if it was true that I’d seen the Virgin in my room. I avoided the question—I hated talking about that—and asked him if it was true that his mother had magical powers and could see the future.
It seemed like he liked to talk about his mother as much as I liked to talk about the Virgin.
So we decided to talk about ourselves instead. I told him what my favorite activities were (in no particular order): climbing lemon trees, lying on the grass to make out animal shapes with clouds, looking for four-leaf clovers, playing the violin, and reading novels. His were: carving wood, swimming in the river, and playing dominoes. He said that from my list, the only thing that interested him was climbing trees for fruit and he might consider searching for four-leaf clovers, but he didn’t have any interest in playing music (or listening to me play) and he didn’t know how to read. Occasionally, he would look at clouds, he confessed, but then declared that such activity was for small children. On his end, he offered to let me play dominoes with him.
I accepted with a shrug but was shocked to hear that a boy his age couldn’t read. I made a solemn vow that day: I would teach him.
CHAPTER 19
Puri April 1920
I heard Angélica sobbing last night.
It happened after I left Catalina, on my way to my room. I could hear my sister clearly from what I assumed to be her bedroom, and Laurent seemed to be consoling her, calling her ma chère and telling her calmes-toi. I stood by their door for a few minutes but after a while, I couldn’t hear them anymore.
This event, however minor, had propelled an interesting discovery: I now knew where Angélica’s chamber was, and tonight might be my only opportunity to go inside and see if there was any evidence connecting her to Franco or the check in my possession.
During breakfast, I’d come up with the perfect plan. Tonight was Bingo Night and a few couples were coming. They did this every week, Angélica said while serving me a glass of papaya juice, and they rotated hosts and houses. I didn’t care about bingo or my sister’s friends. What this meant was that people would be so distracted they might not notice if I stepped out for a few minutes. And Julia, who seemed to have eyes everywhere, would be too busy tending to the guests. I might even be able to get a hold of my father’s journal in the study.
I wore one of Cristóbal’s better outfits: a three-piece suit with a striped waistcoat, wool trousers, and a matching jacket. The selection might be too thick for the weather, but this was one of Cristóbal’s fanciest suits and Laurent was wearing a tuxedo. It was astonishing how much confidence—and power—an elegant suit could give a person. In it, I felt like a man. I put on my husband’s gambler hat and stepped out of my room.
I could already hear the giggles and compliments downstairs. Interestingly, most of the conversations were in French. From the balustrade, I spotted men in white ties and ladies in long glittery dresses, minks, and feathers in their hair. Straightening my lapels, I descended the staircase. Angélica introduced me to all as her brother-in-law and we proceeded to the dining room, which was filled with appetizers: shrimp-stuffed avocados, conchitas asadas, corn tamales, empanadas de verde. There were also French favorites: chicken liver paté, mushroom vol-au-vent, and caviar.
I was used to always being the hostess at my chocolate shop. I would wander from corner to corner making sure everyone was well tended to and satisfied and even cracked a joke or two. I’d always enjoyed feigning voices, especially telling gallego or old lady jokes. It was so foreign to see my sister Angélica taking on that role. It bothered me somewhat. (Was I turning into a jealous person? I’d never been one. This experience was certainly having strange effects on me.) But at the same time, I felt an odd sense of pride. It wasn’t just her beauty, although people were always drawn to good-looking women, but she had an ease about her, a way to make everyone crave her attention. I could see it in the way her friends held her arm to call her attention or whispered into her ear. In return, she would reward them with a heartfelt laugh.
Laurent looked more vivacious than ever. He thrived telling stories about his travels, his many friends, his expensive purchases to enjoy his hobbies (he mentioned a Brownie camera brought from France and a pair of binoculars for bird-watching). After a while, I was ready to stuff one of those conchitas asadas into his mouth to see if that would keep him quiet for two minutes.
With her customary discretion, Julia made sure our drinks were always filled to the rim. The cook, Rosita, whom I’d just met, brought in a serving bowl of cazuela de mariscos—the main star of the evening—while her plump derrière wobbled from side to side.