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“About my father?” he scoffed. “She probably can’t recall who he was, let alone his name.”
“The only name I need is yours,” she assured him. She closed her journal, slid it into her bag and made coffee while he was in the shower.
Dr. Moreno had no receptionist or nurse working on Saturday and welcomed Maggie into his office himself. Rafael waited for her downstairs, but she hadn’t expected to be alone with the physician and wished she’d asked Rafael to accompany her. Moreno showed her into his private office, gestured to the black leather armchairs in front of his desk and took the swivel chair behind it.
His suit jacket was draped over the back of his chair, and in his shirtsleeves and tie, he looked more relaxed than he’d been on his visits to the house. They’d talked briefly in the hospital, but not at the funeral reception, and she didn’t really know him. His eyes were gray, and with silver hair and pale skin, he could have been a black-and-white illustration.
She opened her journal. “Do you mind if I take notes?”
“No, not at all. My pa
tients frequently do. Miguel did not let anyone know how ill he was until this year, and his death came as a dreadful shock to many who loved him.”
“He was a proud man,” Maggie added.
“Yes, and with good reason.”
She jotted notes as Moreno provided details on her father’s illness. He referred to the plastic model of a heart he kept on his desk. When he sat back, apparently finished, she closed her journal. “He was still in his forties. Why do you suppose he refused to put his name on a transplant list?”
The physician frowned. “He had the peculiar notion it would change him.”
“What if he’d been given a matador’s heart?” she asked.
“He might have wanted a unicorn’s heart,” he countered. “It was equally unlikely to become available.”
Color flooded his cheeks, and his hands fisted on his desk. She’d gone too far. He’d been her father’s confidant, and he’d keep Miguel’s secrets. “I’m sorry if my question sounded presumptuous.”
“That kind of thinking could lead to the worst sort of rumors. You mustn’t repeat it. Your father often lived on the edge of scandal, and he doesn’t need vicious rumors circulating about him after his death.”
He made it sound like a real possibility. “Are you referring to his multiple affairs and marriages?”
“Yes, what else could I mean?”
She kept her voice soft and low. “I wasn’t raised here, so I’ve no idea. Now that my grandfather and father have died relatively young from heart disease, is there a danger all the Aragon children may suffer the same fate?”
For a long moment, he gazed toward the beautiful day beyond the window. “That was also Miguel’s concern. He asked me to examine Santos, and his heart is sound. I don’t know about Enrique and his sister, or you and the twins.”
Apparently her father had concerned himself only with Santos’s health. She could think of only one reason why he wouldn’t have cared about all his children. He wouldn’t have wanted to go through the pain of a heart transplant to receive a new heart only slightly better than the old. She either had a desperately dark imagination, or the physician had confirmed the horrible truth. Gaining Rafael’s heart or Santos’s would have satisfied him. She stood. “Thank you for your devotion to my father and your excellent care.”
“Thank you. I miss him.” He rose to walk her out into the hall. “You must be going home soon.”
It was a statement, not a question. “I haven’t set a date.”
“As long as you’re here, you mustn’t allow a careless word to damage your father’s reputation. All of Spain would be deeply offended.”
It was a plainly worded threat, and rather than respond in kind, she nodded as though he’d given her excellent advice. She walked down the hall to the women’s restroom. She leaned against a sink and considered her mission successful. Moreno’s hostility alone had confirmed her worst suspicions.
A woman came in with a little girl, and they entered a stall. Maggie washed her hands, relieved they weren’t shaking noticeably, and went downstairs to meet Rafael. She thought about all the stories she’d written on the first day of school in September, but she’d never tell a soul how she’d spent this summer’s vacation.
Rafael took her hand. “What did he say?”
“I hadn’t realized my father had had two heart attacks prior to the final one. Moreno understood my concern for all of my father’s children, but he’d examined only Santos.”
“Did he want to examine you?”
“No, he believed I’d be going home soon.”
“You didn’t ask him for tranquilizers?”
