Page 30 of An Immaculate Deception

I am now at Mother’s mercy. My baby’s fate is no longer within my control. I am powerless to protect either of us. The despair is all-consuming, envelops my whole being in a pit of black. I start to feel that I’m falling, and a familiar, sickly pain comes over my muscles. The corners of my vision go dark, and my limbs feel weak, my head spins. I welcome the pain this time, and I wonder if I die, will the baby die, too, or if they can—

I feel an arm wrap around my shoulders. I open my eyes. Doctor Lobo presses me gently to him, and this simple, soft touch brings me back to the present and makes me feel better. I let out an exhale; the scent of bay leaves wafts over me and I allow my head to rest on his shoulder. Warmth spreads through my body and I almost feel good.

“All will be well, Madalena.”

His voice is comforting because there is no sadness or pity in it. It carries just the right amount of lightness and is sure of itself.

“It is Leandro’s baby.” I look up at him. “I’m not lying.”

“I know.”

“So you believe me?”

“I believe you.” He brushes the tears off my cheeks with his thumb.

He sounds like he means it, too. It makes me feel less alone, knowing that he believes me. That he understands how I have been wronged.

“Look,” he says, “we’ve arrived.”

My body goes rigid at the prospect of having to face Mother. But as I look around me, I see a row of houses I don’t recognize. Then the carriage pulls into the driveway of a mansion I’ve never seen before. Regal glass windows with their own individual porches line the polished lime-white walls.

“This isn’t my house.”

“I know. It’s my house.” Doctor Lobo steps out of the carriage and opens the door for me.

“This is…your house?”

“Your mother will be worried if you show up at such a late hour and with swollen eyes,” he explains as we cross a stone-paved path toward the front porch. “And this affords you time to cool your head prior to speaking with her.”

He opens the door and I glimpse an elegant foyer with a bronze statue of a Minotaur and a lustrous rug. It is vibrant and brightly lit; the opposite of the dreary Fazenda Santa Tereza.

“Do you mean…that I would stay the night?”

“If you wish. Your mother is not expecting you back until tomorrow.”

I hesitate. Mother would be furious to know I went into a man’s house without her knowledge or approval, but that fills me with rebellious satisfaction. A fire burns in my gut, the kind that wants to consume all in its path. The fact that Mother’s abysmal predictions about Leandro came true only makes me resent her all the more.

My heart wants nothing more than to escape into this bright, lovely mansion for the night.

“If you prefer,” he adds, “I can have the driver take you home now.”

“No. I’d like to stay here, thank you.”

We step inside. Doctor Lobo speaks to an ancient woman who looks to be a governess or housekeeper. She hardly acknowledges me, which makes me wonder if him bringing a lady guest over at this late hour is a common occurrence. This mansion has a European feel with its numerous oil paintings depicting bare-chested river nymphs, epic celestial battles, pastoral scenes, and stale fruit; velvet fabrics lined with tassels; statuettes of Greek gods; rugs with complicated patterns; and a defunct fireplace. A dog with one blue eye and one green eye looks up at me from a regal cushion. Probably a snow-sledding breed. Doctor Lobo starts up the stairs when I spot what appears to be a life-size sarcophagus.

“Is that a sarcophagus?” I ask.

He nods. “It also doubles as a cabinet.”

Upstairs he leads me to a guest room that is much nicer than my parents’ room in my own house. The walls are covered in a ruby patterned wallpaper and heavy drapes brush the ornamental rug. At the center of it all, a tall bed with a canopy and the softest blankets I’ve ever seen. Doctor Lobo is offering me a beverage—Tea? Water? Wine?—and asking how I’m feeling, and all I can think is that I don’t want him to leave just yet.

“You told me that Leandro just needed some time,” I say. “But you saw how he disavowed the baby?”

“This has been a challenging time for both of—”

“Why do you keep making excuses for him? He is the problem, not me.”

“I don’t see you as a problem at all.”