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Keeping my voice neutral, I say, “You’ll be fine. We’re here together.”
She leans into me and sighs. I press a kiss to the top of her head. Letting the familiar fragrance of her soothe my nerves.
And just then, the door swings open and a woman, who looks to be in her late fifties, answers the door. Her green eyes glittering, her bright red lips parted in a grin that reveals tiny white teeth set in massive gums. She gazes at Lucía, her expression almost theatrical in its attempt to look genuinely happy to see us.
“Ana, come, come. Let me look at you,” she says as she rushes forward and gathers Lucía into her bony arms, giving her a bear hug.
Lucía looks up at me, raises her eyebrows and returns my questioning looking with an expression that says, Fuck if I know.
She pulls back and then looks at me, her smile even wider now. “Oh, and, Mr. Carras. What an honor it is for us to have you in our humble home.” And then she curtsies.
I don’t know whether to laugh or help her up to standing. Instead, I just say, “The honor’s mine, thank you for having us.”
She rises out of her pose and her eyes widen, and she says, “Oh, I’m sorry. Please come in. We are very glad to have you visit our home.”
Lucía told me they had two children. Two girls, who she’d practically helped raise, are about ten and twelve years younger than she is.
The house is deathly quiet and smells like vanilla. It’s immaculate and decorated very tastefully. It doesn’t look like a house where two little girls live. A short hallway leads to a large living area, where a man and a woman are sitting. They both stand up as soon as we walk in and the woman, who I know is Lucía’s mother as soon as I see her face, walks over to us.
She’s taller than Lucía, and she’s almost wiry in build. Her dark her is pulled back in a severe bun and it reveals a face that is softly lined and beautiful. Her eyes, dark and intensely sad move over us. “Mama, this is Reece,” Lucía says as her mother reaches us. If she notices her mother’s expression, she’s not reacting to it.
She presses a kiss on each of her mother’s cheeks, lingering on the second one. Her eyes closing for a second as she savors the touch.
Her mother turns to me and the weight from the sadness in her eyes lands right on my chest. She smiles though, and steps up to give me a hug. I’m surprised at first, but return it. She hugs me for a long time and then with a final squeeze lets go.
The man, who I assume is Lucía’s uncle steps forward. He’s short, shorter than his wife, with a full head of very dark hair and a full mustache that hides his upper lip.
Lucía moves to stand behind me slightly in a move that surprises me. My eyes dart back to her uncle and I don’t miss the censorious glance he gives Lucía before he turns to me and says, “Well, I see Lucía’s forgotten all the manners we taught her. I’m Jaime Rios. Welcome to our home, Mr. Carras.” And he puts his hand out. He said that like it was funny and that he thinks himself charming. I look at his hand and am tempted to refuse to shake it, when I feel a surprisingly strong finger poke me in the back.
“Thank you for having us,” I respond, without any warmth.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see her mother walk past us, back towards the couch. She whispers something in Lucía’s ear as she passes and Lucía’s eyes grow large and she looks at her mother.
She follows her and says, “What do you mean you’re sorry. Sorry for what?” Her mother doesn’t respond, only sits back on the couch and puts her face in her hands. I look around and realize that the house is still very quiet. We were invited for dinner, but if anything is cooking I can’t smell it. They look dressed for company, but something else is going on here.
An alarm goes off in my head and I forget my attempt at politeness.
“What’s going on?” I turn to her uncle and ask. He and his wife are exchanging meaningful glances, but neither one of them answers me. I walk over to her mother and put an arm around her.
“Mrs. Rios, whatever you’re sorry for, you can tell us in the car. We’re leaving,” I say and Lucía doesn’t miss a beat, standing up and grabbing her mother’s purse.
“No, we can’t go,” She says pitifully through her fingers that are still covering her face.
“She’s right. You can’t leave.” Her uncle’s echoed statement is unequivocal and I turn to look at him
“The hell we can’t. What the fuck are you even talking about?” I ask him as I turn my attention back to Mrs. Rios.
“Tell them, Marisol,” her aunt pipes in, sounding a lot less friendly.
“Tell us what?” Lucía asks, finding her voice finally as she squats down in front of her mother. She pries her fingers off her face.
Her eyes are red and glassy and she closes them as soon as she sees her daughter in front of her.
“I can’t. Lucía, I’m sorry. I didn’t know what else to do.” And then she starts to cry, hysterically.
This scene is turning very bad, very fast.
I turn back to her uncle and grab him by his arm.
