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“Papá,” she continued, “our regrets have nothing to do with giving Amara her child. There is no reason to keep the boy from her. She is his mother.”
Lightning fast, he turned on his daughter and hissed, “There is every reason to keep him from her! She does not know, but we do. She does not know how to deal with the illness, the furor. We can make up for our wrongs with this boy. We know now what not to do. This time, it will be different.”
Amara and Quint shared a questioning glance. Gabriela also appeared confused.
“I think, perhaps, the shock has been too great for you,” Gabriela said. “You are not a young man and —”
Rodolfo slammed his hand down on the arm of his chair. “I am not in shock. I know exactly what I am doing. Now remove these people from my home. I have nothing more to say to them.”
“You can’t steal a baby because your son is dead and you want a second chance. He isn’t your child. He belongs to them.” Gabriela waved at Amara and Quint.
“He does not. She would not know how to handle him,” Rodolfo insisted with a glower. “And he does belong to me, because he belonged to Federico. This child is my grandson, and I have rights, too!”
Gabriela, Amara and Quint stared at the angry man. His grandson?
“He is not your grandson,” Amara said. “Were you not told that Frederik lied to you about being Hampton’s father?”
“I told him that,” Gabriela said, “before we came down here. Do you remember, Papá?”
“I remember you tell me lies.”
“No, Papá. It’s true. The child’s father is sitting right there. Hampton is Señor Forbes’ son.”
Rodolfo jumped up from his seat. “I will hear no more of this. I cannot help these people find what is not theirs. I will right the wrongs of the past, and they will thank me for it because we are the ones who will know how to deal with this child if he is like his father. And I think he will be. We will be the ones to make it right. We must, or it’s all for nothing. My son’s death. It would be all for —”
The door to the sitting room swung open, and a small, older woman dressed in black glided into the room.
“Mamá,” Gabriela said as she rushed to the woman, taking her arm.
The woman brushed her off. She was a lovely woman, her hair hidden under a beautiful lace veil, her delicate features awash with concern for the large man nearby. She spoke a few, low sentences in Spanish to her husband.
He responded fiercely, but the small woman shook her head and turned to Gabriela.
“The child is with Isabela. I will call and prepare her. Leave now, and let us begin to mourn our son.”
“No!” Rodolfo exclaimed.
“Rodolfo,” the gentle woman said, imbuing the name with all the compassion and love of a faithful wife. “It is over. Done.”
And with that, the elder Orlando’s fire was snuffed. He slumped into his chair, his lined face a shattered mask of devastation.
Amara
’s heart soared. She opened her mouth to thank Frederik’s mother, but a sharp look from Gabriela stopped her. Quint stood, bringing Amara up with him, and he rapidly led her past the older couple and out the door.
Gabriela followed behind them as their clipped footsteps echoed down the empty hallways.
“Was she telling the truth?” Amara asked as they rushed toward the front door.
“My mother does not lie,” Gabriela said in clipped tones. “Isabela is my cousin, a trusted cousin.”
“Where does she live?” Quint asked.
“In Paso de Carrasco with her family. It’s about fifteen kilometers outside the city. I don’t know how I’m going to tell her or anyone else about the loss of Federico. It will be hard for her, as it was for me. Mamá will prepare her, I hope.”
“Carrasco … like the airport?” Amara asked.
Gabriela nodded, though she seemed a bit confused.
