“Was she seeing a psychiatrist?”
“That was available. Horacio’s wife offered to accompany her and help her with the insurance bureaucracy, but Anita refused to go.”
“So what did you do?”
“Nothing. I was caught up in my own world. I even played squash to stay fit. Anita stayed cooped up in the apartment. I have no idea what she did all day; she slept, I suppose. She didn’t even answer the phone. My father used to go and see her. He took her boxes of chocolates and tried to persuade her to go out for walks, but she wouldn’t even look him in the face. I think she detested him because he was my father. One weekend I came to this cabin with Horacio and left her alone in New York.”
“You were drinking a lot at the time,” Lucia concluded.
“A lot. I spent the evenings in a bar. I kept a bottle in my office drawer; no one suspected my glass contained gin or vodka rather than water. I would chew peppermints to conceal the smell on my breath. I thought it wasn’t noticeable, that I had the constitution of an ox for drinking—all alcoholics deceive themselves in the same way, Lucia. It was fall, and the small square outside our building was strewn with yellow leaves . . . ,” Richard whispered, his voice cracking.
“What happened, Richard?”
“A policeman came to inform us, because we never had a phone here in the cabin.”
Lucia waited a long while without interrupting Richard’s stifled sobs. She did not take her hand out of the sleeping bag to touch and comfort him; she understood there was no possible consolation for such memories. From rumors and comments by her colleagues at the university, she knew roughly what had happened to Anita; she suspected this was the first time Richard had talked about it. She was deeply moved at being the recipient of this harrowing disclosure, the witness to his purifying tears. She knew the strange healing power words had from what she had written and discussed concerning her brother Enrique’s fate—how important it was to share one’s pain and discover that others too had their fair share of it, that lives are often alike and feelings similar.
Thanks to the unfortunate Kathryn Brown, she and Richard had ventured far from their known and safe terrain, and as they did so they revealed who they really were. Their strange adventure was creating a mysterious bond between them. Lucia closed her eyes and tried to reach Richard with her thoughts. She put all her energy into crossing the few inches between them to enfold him in her compassion, as she had done so often with her mother in her dying days to lessen her anxiety, and her own.
The previous night she had climbed into Richard’s bed to see how she felt beside him. She had needed to touch and smell him, to feel his energy. According to Daniela, when you sleep with someone the two energies are combined. This can be enriching for both, or can be very negative for the weaker of the two. “Just as well you didn’t sleep in the same bed as my papa, because your aura would have been burned to a cinder,” said Daniela. Sleeping with Richard, even when he was ill and in a flea-infested bed, had brought Lucia profound comfort. She was certain this man was for her. She had had an inkling of this for some time, possibly even before coming to New York; that was why she had accepted his offer, but she had been paralyzed by his apparent coldness. Richard was a mass of contradictions and would be incapable of taking the first step; she would have to take him by storm. He might reject her, but that would not be so serious, she had overcome greater reversals; it had to be worth trying. They had some years of life left and maybe she could convince him they should enjoy them together. The possibility of her cancer returning cast a shadow over her; all she could count on was the precious, fleeting present. She wanted to make the most of every day, because they were numbered and no doubt fewer than she hoped. There was no time to lose.
“She fell right next to the Picasso sculpture,” said Richard. “It was in the middle of the day. She was seen standing in the window, then jumping, and crashing into the pavement among the leaves. I killed Anita just as I killed Bibi. I’m guilty for being a drunk, for my negligence, for loving them much less than they deserved.”
“It’s time for you to forgive yourself, Richard. You’ve been paying for that guilt a long time.”
“Almost twenty-five years. And I can still feel the last kiss I gave Anita before leaving her on her own with her grief. A kiss that only brushed her cheek, because she turned her head from me.”
“That’s many years with your soul in winter and your heart locked away, Richard. That’s not a life. And the fearful man of those years is not you. In these last few days, when you were forced out of your comfort zone you were able to discover who you really are. It may be painful, but anything is better than being anesthetized.”
Richard had practiced meditation for years, and it had kept him sober. He had attempted to learn the principles of Zen, to be aware of the present moment, to start again with each new breath, but the ability to empty his mind escaped him. His life was not a succession of separate moments, it was a tangled story, a changing, chaotic, and imperfect tapestry he had woven day by day. His present was not a blank screen, it was packed with images, dreams, memories, shame, guilt, loneliness, pain, all his damned reality, as he told Lucia in whispers that night.
“But then you turn up and allow me to feel hurt for all I’ve lost, to laugh at my idiocy, and to weep like a small child.”
“It was time you did, Richard. Enough wallowing in the sorrows of the past. The only cure for so much misfortune is love. It’s not the force of gravity that keeps the universe in balance, but the binding power of love.”
“How could I have lived so many years alone and disconnected? I’ve been asking myself that for days now.”
“Because you are an idiot. What a way to waste time and life! You must have realized that I love you, haven’t you?” she laughed.
“I don’t know how you can love me, Lucia. I’m no one special, you’re going to be bored with me. And I carry with me the exhausting weight of my mistakes and omissions, and they’re a sackful of rocks.”
“No problem. I’ve got the muscles to sling your sack across my shoulder and throw it into the frozen lake so it disappears forever along with the Lexus.”
“Why have I lived, Lucia? Before I die I have to find out why I am in this world. What you say is true: I’ve been anesthetized for so long I’ve no idea where to start to live again.”
“I can help you if you’ll let me.”
“How?”
“It starts with the body. I suggest we bring the sleeping bags together and sleep curled up with one another. I need it as much as you do, Richard. I want you to put your arms around me, to feel safe and protected. How long are we going to tiptoe about so timidly, waiting for the other to take the first step? We’re too old for that, but perhaps we’re still young enough for love.”
“Are you sure, Lucia? I couldn’t bear it if—”
“Sure? I’m not sure of anything, Richard!” she cut in. “But we can try. What’s the worst that can happen? More suffering? That it doesn’t work out?”
“Let’s not think that, I couldn’t bear it.”
“I scared you . . . I’m sorry.”
“No, on the contrary, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before what my feelings are. This is so new, so unexpected, that I don’t know how to deal with it, but you’re much stronger and more clear-sighted than me. Come on, get into bed with me and let’s make love.”
“Evelyn is only a couple of feet away, and I’m a bit noisy. We’ll have to wait, but in the meantime we can cuddle with each other.”
“Do you know I spend hours talking to you in secret like a lunatic? That I picture you in my arms the whole time? I’ve wanted you for so long . . .”
“I don’t believe a word of it. You only noticed me last night, when I pushed myself into your bed. Before that you weren’t even aware of me,” she said with a laugh.
“I’m so glad you did,
you shameless Chilean,” he said, crossing the short distance between them to give her a kiss.
They brought the sleeping bags together on one bed, joined the zips, and embraced each other fully dressed with unexpected desperation. That was all Richard was able to recall clearly later on. The rest of that magical night was preserved forever in a perfect nebula. Lucia on the other hand swore she remembered every last detail. In the following days and years she would tell him them little by little, always with a different version and more audacious with each retelling, until her story verged on the unbelievable, because they could not have performed all the acrobatics she described without waking Evelyn. “It’s true, even if you don’t believe me,” she would maintain. “Perhaps Evelyn pretended to be asleep but was spying on us.” Richard thought they must have kissed long and hard, then taken off their clothes in the restricted space of their sleeping bags, explored each other’s body as best they could without making any noise, as stealthily and excitedly as two youngsters making love in some dark corner. What he did remember was that she climbed on top of him and he could run his hands over her, surprised at her taut, warm skin, at this body he could only dimly make out in the flickering candlelight, a body that was slenderer, more docile, and younger than it seemed when she had her clothes on. “These chorus girl’s breasts are now mine, Richard, they cost me enough,” Lucia whispered in his ear, suppressing her laughter. That was what was best about her, that laugh like clear water that cleansed him inside and swept his doubts away.
LUCIA AND RICHARD WOKE to the timid light of that Tuesday morning still in the warmth of their sleeping bags. They had been buried in them all night long in a tangle of arms and legs, so close there was no telling where one began and the other ended, breathing in unison, perfectly at ease in the love they were just beginning to discover. The convictions and defenses that had sustained them until now collapsed faced with the magic of true intimacy. When they poked their heads out, the freezing cold of the cabin hit them. The heaters had gone out. Richard was the first to pluck up the courage to peel himself away from Lucia’s body and face the day. He checked that Evelyn and the dog were still asleep, and took advantage of those minutes to kiss Lucia, who was purring beside him. Then he got dressed, filled the heaters with fuel, put water on to boil, made tea, and took it to the two women. They drank it semireclining, while he took Marcelo outside for some fresh air. He was whistling as he went.
The day had arrived radiant, with the storm no more than a bad memory. Snow covered the world like meringue, and the icy breeze bore the impossible hint of gardenias. The cloudless sky took on the light blue color of forget-me-nots. “A good day for your funeral, Kathryn,” Richard murmured. He was happy and full of energy, like a puppy. This happiness was so new he had no name for it. He probed the feeling carefully, touching it lightly and then retreating, exploring his heart’s virgin territory. Had he imagined all those midnight secrets? Lucia’s dark eyes so close to his? Perhaps he had invented her body between his hands, their lips joined as one, the joy, passion, and fatigue in the two sleeping bags that made their nuptial bed. He was sure they had been in each other’s arms, because that was the only way he could have caught her slumbering breath, her provocative warmth, the images of her dreams. Again he wondered if this was love; it was so different from the flaming passion he had felt for Anita. This new emotion was like the hot sand on a beach with the sun high in the sky. Could this subtle, unmistakable pleasure be the essence of mature love? There was plenty of time for him to find out. He walked back to the cabin with Marcelo in his arms, still whistling.
All that remained of their provisions were a few miserable leftovers, and so Richard proposed they go to have breakfast in the nearest town, and from there continue on to Rhinebeck. He had completely forgotten about his ulcer. Lucia had explained there were maintenance staff at the Omega Institute during the week, but if they were lucky there would be nobody there now because of the recent storms. The road would be clear and the journey should take them three or four hours; they were in no hurry to arrive. Complaining of the cold, Lucia and Evelyn crawled out of their sleeping bags and assisted Richard in tidying up before leaving the cabin.
Lucia, Richard, Evelyn
Upstate New York
In the unheated Subaru, with two windows cracked open and the three of them bundled up like Arctic explorers, Richard Bowmaster told his companions that a few months earlier he had invited a couple of experts in human trafficking to give a talk at his university. As Evelyn had explained, this was what Frank Leroy and Ivan Danescu were dedicated to. Nothing new in that, said Richard, supply and demand had existed ever since slavery was officially abolished, but the business had never been as profitable as it was now; it was a gold mine matched only by drug and arms dealing. The tougher the laws and the stricter the border controls, the more efficient and ruthless the organization of the business became, and the greater sums earned by the agents, as the traffickers were known. Richard suspected that Frank Leroy connected the criminals with clients in the United States. Men like him did not get their hands dirty; they knew nothing of the faces or lives of the migrants who ended up as slaves in agriculture, manufacturing, industry, or brothels. To him they were mere numbers, an anonymous freight to be transported, worth less than livestock.
Leroy maintained the facade of a respectable businessman, with an office on Lexington Avenue in Manhattan. There he dealt with clients keen to employ slaves, cultivated politicians and compliant authorities, laundered money, and resolved any legal problems. In the same way as he had obtained a Native American’s driver’s license for Evelyn Ortega, he could obtain fake identity papers for the right price, although the victims of human trafficking did not need them: they existed under the radar, invisible, silenced, in the shadows of a lawless world. He was bound to charge a hefty commission, but the people who moved this human cargo on a large scale paid it in order to be safe.
“Do you think Frank Leroy really intends to kill his wife and son, as Cheryl told you? Or were they simply threats?” Richard asked Evelyn.
“The señora is scared of him. She thinks he might inject Frankie with an overdose or suffocate him.”
“That man must be a monster if that’s what his wife thinks of him,” Lucia exclaimed.
“She also believes Kathryn was considering helping him.”
“Do you think that’s possible, Evelyn?”
“No.”
“What motive could Frank Leroy have for killing Kathryn?” Richard asked.
“Maybe Kathryn had found out something about him and was blackmailing him,” speculated Lucia.
“She was three months pregnant,” Evelyn said.
“What a shock! Why didn’t you tell us before, Evelyn?”
“I try not to gossip.”
“Was Leroy the father?”
“Yes. Miss Kathryn told me so. Señora Leroy doesn’t know.”
“It could be that Frank Leroy killed her because she was putting pressure on him, though that seems a very weak motive. It could have been accidental . . . ,” suggested Lucia.
“It must have been on Thursday night, before he left for Florida,” Richard said. “That means Kathryn died at least four days ago. If it weren’t for the freezing temperatures . . .”
THEY ARRIVED AT THE OMEGA INSTITUTE at around two in the afternoon. Lucia had described a place where nature flourished, with woods dense with bushes and ancient trees, but in the winter many of them had shed their foliage and the park was less secluded than they had hoped. If there were any guards or cleaning personnel they would easily be spotted, but they decided to run the risk.
“This place is enormous. I’m sure we’ll find the ideal site to leave Kathryn,” said Lucia.
“Are there security cameras?” asked Richard.
“No. Why would they want security cameras somewhere like this? There’s nothing here to steal.”
“That
’s good. And afterward, what are we going to do with you, Evelyn?” Richard asked in the paternal tone he had come to adopt with her over the past two days. “We have to keep you safe from Leroy and the police.”
“I promised my grandmother that just as I left, so I would return,” she replied.
“But you left to escape the MS-13. How can you go back to Guatemala?” said Lucia.
“That was eight years ago. A promise is a promise.”
“The men who killed your brothers are dead or in prison. Nobody lives for long in that gang, but there’s still a lot of violence in your country, Evelyn. Even if no one remembers the vengeance on your family, a pretty young woman like you will be in a very vulnerable position. You understand that, don’t you?”
“Evelyn is in danger here too,” Richard interjected.
“I don’t think she’ll be arrested for not having documents. There are eleven million immigrants in the same situation,” said Lucia.
“Sooner or later they’re going to find Kathryn’s body and there will be an in-depth investigation into the Leroys. The autopsy will show she was pregnant, and a DNA test could prove the baby was Frank Leroy’s. The disappearance of the Lexus and Evelyn will come out.”
“That’s why she has to get as far away as possible, Richard,” said Lucia. “If they find her she’ll be accused of stealing the car and could be linked to Kathryn’s death.”
“In that case all three of us will be in a spot. We’re accomplices in concealing evidence—disposing of a dead body for starters.”
“We’re going to need a good lawyer,” said Lucia.
“However smart, no lawyer can get us out of this mess. Come on, Lucia, spit it out. I’m sure you’ve got a plan.”
“It’s just an idea, Richard . . . what’s most important is to make sure Evelyn is safe somewhere where neither Leroy nor the police will find her. I called my daughter last night, and it occurred to her that Evelyn could disappear in Miami. There are millions of Latinos in the city, and more than enough work. She could stay there until things calm down, and once we’re sure no one is looking for her, Evelyn could go back to her mother in Chicago. In the meantime, Daniela offered to put her up in her apartment.”