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Ana entered the ballroom with Fox, adding two to the count. “Only the ones I met at the beach house. Should I assume the men I don’t recognize are all famous matadors?”
Rafael nodded. “Most of them are, but none were as good as your father. Who’s the man with Cirilda?”
Santos spoke softly. “That’s her second husband, Alfonso Rivera. I liked him. He’s a pediatrician, and the fact they didn’t produce any little ones might have caused their problems.”
Rafael turned his back to Cirilda. “How can he have imagined she’d tolerate a baby spitting up on her?”
Maggie wondered about that too, but her aunt was regarding Alfonso with a rapt gaze. He smiled widely, apparently appreciating her attention. Her aunt’s private life didn’t interest her, however.
Santos also quickly dismissed the couple. “Come, let me introduce you to Father’s friends.”
She took Rafael’s hand and brought him along with her. The first man regarded her with a befuddled stare, and the second looked equally perplexed. Understanding their confusion, she pulled Santos aside. “Apparently my father never mentioned he’d had a daughter with an American wife. There’s no point in introducing me to anyone else when they’ll be as embarrassed as I am.”
“This is your first opportunity to meet them, and there’s no reason for anyone to be embarrassed,” Santos argued. “You want to meet everyone, don’t you, Rafael?”
“Do you mind?” he asked her.
Maggie checked her watch. They were so close to the basilica there was no reason to leave an hour early, but she couldn’t face another blank stare. “No, you’re the one who ought to meet everyone. I’d rather have something to eat with Ana and Fox.” She walked away before either man could object.
Ana and Fox were moving along the buffet, and she stepped in behind them. Ana held only a small glass of cranberry juice, while Fox piled his plate high. Maggie took a tiny sweet roll and a cup of tea and followed them to a vacant table.
Ana kept her voice low. “Why are you having the reception prior to the service? Isn’t that a bit odd?”
Fox looked at Maggie, but she didn’t warn him to be still. “The funeral was at seven.”
“What?” Ana asked so loudly everyone in the room turned toward her. She flashed the smile that had made her famous, and after a strained moment, the conversations around them resumed. “Why were you all at the ranch, then?”
Maggie let Fox explain while she sipped her tea. Carmen’s actions went way past insulting, but it hurt worse to discover her father’s close friends hadn’t known about her. If she’d been overlooked in a biography or film, it had to be due to careless research. What Miguel had or hadn’t confided to his friends was a personal ma
tter. Fox had described himself as a leftover kid, and that’s what she was too. She hadn’t realized how badly it hurt.
“Magdalena?” Rafael was at her elbow. A line of men trailed him, all waiting to be introduced. She rose to meet them.
A few spoke English and described how much they had admired her father. Others began hesitantly in Spanish until she responded in their language, and they could express their sorrow more fully. They were all kind, their emotion clearly genuine, and by the time the last man had spoken to her, it was time to go.
She squeezed Rafael’s hand. “Thank you.”
“It wasn’t my idea. Once they learned you were here, they all wanted to meet you,” he insisted.
“They’re gentlemen who pretended they wanted to meet me, but thank you anyway.”
“What man wouldn’t want to meet a beautiful woman?” he countered.
“Exactly. Did you read any of my father’s obituaries? Were Santos and I included among his survivors?”
“I’ve been too busy to look through the papers.” He took her hand. “Now, let’s go. I’ll tell you about the basilica on the way.”
She welcomed the distraction. “Does it have an interesting history?”
“It most certainly does. When the apostle James came to what is now Spain, he had little success finding converts. He prayed for help, and angels carried the Virgin Mary from the Holy Land to comfort him. This was her only magical appearance before she was raised to heaven. She descended atop a jasper pillar and gave James, or Santiago, a carved wooden statue of herself, and directed him to build a church where they stood. He built the first chapel, and over time, larger churches were constructed around it.”
They had reached the plaza, and the monstrous, baroque basilica was an amazing sight. In addition to a large central dome, there were ten smaller cupolas and four corner towers topped with colorful tiles reminiscent of circus tents. “So that’s why this is the Basilica of Our Lady of the Pillar?”
“Yes. I looked it up while you were going through the picture albums,” he admitted with a shrug. “The pillar and wooden statue carried by the Virgin are on display and draw a constant stream of the faithful.”
They were on the edge of the crowd pressing in toward the wide-open doors of the cathedral. Three mobile news vans were parked on the opposite side of the plaza. Maggie knew Santos was prepared to deal with reporters and television cameras, but she felt completely out of place. There were seventeen hundred students at Catalina Foothills High School, and while she’d seen them all gathered for pep rallies and football games, there were many more people waiting here to enter the basilica. She sent Rafael a frantic glance, but he misread the cause of her concern.
He pressed close. “I’m not Catholic either, but they won’t ask for a password. Like most Gypsies, my grandmother held a different view of virtue than the church holds, and she refused to allow religion to confuse us. Many matadors travel with their own small altars and pray before a bullfight. It would make more sense just to stay out of the ring.”
