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She swept Maggie with a scalding glance. “I told you to get rid of the Gypsy clothes. I don’t want to see you in them again.” She wheeled around and walked toward her son’s room.
Maggie shot by Rafael and overtook her. “Rafael was concerned by the tabloid, as you were. We stepped into my room for privacy. My father doesn’t need to hear about this.”
Her grandmother raised her index finger. “One more problem and you’re gone.” She passed by her son’s room and went down the rear stairs to the kitchen, where she could be heard berating Tomas over the luncheon menu.
Rafael came up behind Maggie and spoke softly in her ear, “My grandmother may have sold worthless potions, but your grandmother is a…”
“I don’t think there is a word in any language that accurately describes her.” She turned to find him smiling as though he hadn’t just compared her to a bull. At least he didn’t sulk. She couldn’t stand that. “Do you want to come into see my father now? I hate to have you wait out here while I visit him.”
He held up the tabloid. “I’ll wait and catch up on my reading.”
Her father greeted her with an amused smile. “You look beautiful in more colorful clothes. You should wear bright colors more often.”
“Thank you.” She sat with him at the round table, took a small plate and a blueberry muffin. “I meant to ask you about my airline reservation. Is my flight home all arranged?”
“No, I left the day and time open so you could make your own arrangements on Monday.” He sat back and regarded her with a slow smile. “My mother is upset you’ve refused to attend Sunday’s corrida. I haven’t heard Santos complain, but I’m sure he’s disappointed. He’s very fond of you.”
“I’m fond of him too, but a bullfight is a bloody spectacle I’d rather not see. Does Santos know his great-grandfather died in the ring?”
“Yes, it’s no secret. Juan Diego’s death was seen as a tragic loss by the whole nation. Many women wore black for months in his honor. A few men too, I imagine.”
Reminded of her conservative classroom wardrobe, she was startled to realize she already owned a widow’s dark clothes. She blotted her lips on her napkin. “You’ve grown up with certain traditions, while I haven’t.” Thank God, she thought. “Santos will understand why I’m staying here on Sunday.”
“Will Rafael?”
“Yes.” At least she hoped he would. She’d made her feelings clear, and he hadn’t argued with her, yet.
“You should come here and be with me. I won’t insist you watch, but I’d enjoy your company.”
“If I may sit right here at the table and look out at the sea.”
“Of course, whatever pleases you.”
She kissed his cheek before she left him and nearly collided with his physician when she opened the door. “I’m sorry.”
“There is no harm, Miss Aragon,” he responded with his usual hurried smile and left her standing with Rafael in the hall.
Rafael had leaned against the wall to read and straightened up. “How is your father?”
“As fine as he can be. He complimented me on my colorful new clothes, and his opinion trumps my grandmother’s. Besides, I don’t think I look like a Gypsy.” She turned to make her skirt swirl around her feet.
“Would that be so bad?”
“No, not at all. Do people stop you on the street and comment that you resemble a Gypsy?”
He shook his head. “No, people move past me as fast as they can.”
“After Sunday, people may trail you, begging for your autograph,” she posed.
“I’ll look
forward to it. Whose name should I write?”
She laughed with him. “Your own. Maybe you ought to start signing them now.”
“I could use Post-it notes and peel them off as fans surround me.”
“Yes, what a good idea.”
