Page 39 of No Greater Oblivion

“Clear conscience…” He scoffs, tightening his grip on his walking stick. “To call for the blood of your own kin es una desgracia. Una infamia.”

Diego intercedes on my behalf. “Sandro tried to kill Dahlia. He planned the fire in the lounge and intended for her to be there when it exploded. I think it’s more than justified.”

Abuelo slams a hand down on the table. “Your brother lives with that woman in sin. He moved her into his home without respect, without decency. ¡Él no le ha dado su lugar y por eso Sandro intentó matarla!”

With forced patience and control, I reply, “Don’t ever call Dahlia that woman again.”

Abuelo’s jaw loosens as he expels a breath but he is no less heated than he was a moment ago.

“She has been nothing but kind and generous toward you. She treats you like a grandfather, instead of an in-law, something she does out of love and respect for me. That woman just offered to turn her home upside down to accommodate you so don’t ever address her by anything other than her name again. Understood?”

A heavy silence lingers in the garden. My hands are clenched so tightly my knuckles pop and crack and the fabric of these pesky medical gloves stretch and begin to tear. For the last week I’ve been the picture of serenity. Quiet, controlled, apathetic. For Dahlia’s sake, I’ve kept everything inside, trapped behind impenetrable walls of steel and iron. Yet, with every second that passes I hear the incessant ticking of the timer in my head. A countdown until my inevitable rupture where I obliterate everyone and everything in my path.

And if my grandfather so much as says her name on a breath I feel is too long or too short, he’ll be the first to feel the impact. Because if I lose control now, I’ll unleash something I can never regain control of again.

“Alejandro, hijo….what you plan on doing…for sins like this, the price we pay is a high one.”

“I’m willing.”

“You won’t be the one to pay it.”

The air grows thick with tension, heavy with the weight of all the things my grandfather leaves unsaid.

Abuelo tells us, “If I had known at twenty-years-old what this life would cost me, I would have chosen differently.”

Neither Diego nor I can conceal our surprise but we quickly school our features into indifference. Abuelo has been sure and steadfast his entire life, having never once expressed regret or remorse. He makes his choices with purpose and intention, expecting a desired outcome and prepared to accept the consequences. During the conflict between our families a decade ago, Abuelo lost more than a son. He lost nephews and cousins and children who were not blood related to him but whom he’d known since they were in their mothers’ wombs. I cannot imagine all the pain he’s endured but keeps hidden for the sake of remaining strong. It isn’t a sacrifice I take lightly.

A sigh leaves my lips as I pinch the bridge of my nose. “She hasn’t even been here a year yet, Abuelo. I am not presenting her to the rest of the families, forever ruining any chance she may have of a normal life until I know I can keep her safe.”

Abuelo considers his next words very carefully. “And you can only do that if Sandro yields?”

“If Sandro is dead.”

Diego addresses our grandfather. “I know you don’t like it and for what it’s worth, I’m sorry. But I’m with my brother on this. There is no other way. Sandro’s never going to stop.”

Movement from my peripheral catches my attention. I turn my head, already on high alert and ready to reach for the gun under my suit jacket, when I realize it’s Dahlia by the kitchen window. She’s washing something and Griselda makes her laugh. When she looks back, she catches me staring. With a big smile, she lifts a hand to her lips and blows a kiss in my direction.

I smile, or at least, try to. I haven’t felt much joy lately except for earlier when she managed to wrangle a laugh from me. No matter the intensity of any given moment, she can break the ice unlike anyone else I’ve ever known.

I lift a hand to my heart and she tilts her head, still smiling, a blush creeping across her cheeks. Griselda must say something that distracts her because she turns away and disappears from view.

When Abuelo speaks next, it’s with intense resignation. “This is a mistake.”

“Maybe. But it’s my mistake to make.”

10

NOTHING EVER HAPPENS IN SANTA PAU

Alejandro

The Past

Santa Pau, Girona

Chief Inspector Miran Ferrer Idrissi of the SVA has a drinking problem.

It’s why he’s been banished to the ancient town of Santa Pau, about eighty miles northwest of Barcelona, for what his department calls “highly necessary surveillance of potential illegal activity.” Anyone with a pair of functioning brain cells would know it’s a load of bullshit. Nothing ever happens in Santa Pau.