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“Sure, he knows who I am, and I’ll have to come back for my car. I hope you haven’t changed your mind about sailing.”
“No, let’s go,” Maggie encouraged, and she was the first into the boat. Santos swiftly guided the sleek sailboat out of the marina into the cool blue Mediterranean. The ocean spray wet her clot
hes, and the breeze tangled her hair, but racing along the coast was as exhilarating as she’d hoped it would be. Santos kept them in sight of the shore for a wonderful afternoon, but her head ached with the effort to live in the present rather than worry herself sick over Rafael’s chances of surviving the day.
They were seated at a table in a seaside café when Santos’s friend called. He left them to take it privately, but Maggie could hardly wait for his return. She’d asked for tea while Fox and Santos had ordered huge seafood platters. She wondered if the Aragon trust allowed for the cost of food for the teenager, who never got full for more than an hour at a time.
When Santos returned wearing a huge smile, her vision misted with tears. “Is Rafael all right?”
“Of course. Our father taught him well, even if he taught me more. The crowd loves him, and he was awarded a couple of ears.”
“What do matadors do with the ears?” Fox asked. “Do they make them into something?”
“I suppose you could skin the ear and make a coin purse out of it, but most men just toss them into the crowd. You should have been there, Magdalena, and he would have tossed the ears to you.”
“I’ll pass on that grisly honor.” She reached for her teacup, but her hand shook so badly she couldn’t bring it to her lips. Spain held bullfights from May through October and the rest of the year, a matador could travel to Mexico and South America for fights. With fifty-two Sundays a year, and two bulls per event, Rafael would face one hundred four bulls a year. He might as well dance in front of a firing squad. “I’m never going to get used to this,” she murmured.
Santos picked up a shrimp. “Break his heart now. Don’t string him along.”
“What about her heart, Mr. Sensitive?” Fox asked.
“She’ll find another man.”
Maggie knew there were other men, but she wouldn’t make Augustín’s mistake and marry someone she didn’t love.
Once they were seated on the patio behind the beach house, Maggie slipped her watch on her wrist. She expected Rafael to be there within the hour but was too excited to rest. Santos stretched out on a chaise and closed his eyes, and Fox lost himself in a game on his phone. When Mrs. Lopez came outside to bring her a note from Carmen, she was surprised her grandmother wished to see her. She’d said all she cared to to her, but, hoping Carmen wanted to apologize, even if it were a dim possibility, she’d give her a chance.
“Fox, if Rafael arrives, please tell him I’m talking with my grandmother.”
He didn’t look up. “Sure.”
She followed the housekeeper through the appropriate door to the house behind the main staircase and on into the den. Carmen was dressed in one of her neat black dresses with a demur lace collar, and Maggie regretted not bringing an extra set of clothes to wear after sailing. At least her clothes were dry now, if a bit wrinkled. She was glad she couldn’t see her hair, which had to resemble dark straw.
“Please sit down, dear,” Carmen said, with the first hint of a smile Maggie had seen from her. “I had Tomas make his special hot chocolate for us. He uses a bit of cinnamon and another spice he refuses to identify. Won’t you have some?”
Two delicate china mugs were already filled on the tray. “Yes, thank you.”
Carmen topped both mugs with a spoonful of whipped cream and handed one to Maggie with an embroidered napkin. “You were right. I made no effort to welcome you, and I should have done so for Miguel’s sake.”
Maggie took a sip of the hot chocolate and found it as delicious as described. She licked the whipped cream off her lip and took another sip. She was elated her grandmother was making an effort to apologize but didn’t dare gloat. “This is a difficult time.”
“Yes, in every way. Do you like the chocolate? Can you tell what the mystery ingredient is?”
Maggie took another swallow. “In Mexico they use chili, but this has something different. A dash of nutmeg?”
“Nutmeg? Perhaps. Years ago, I spoke with your mother on the telephone, and Miguel sent photos of them together, but we never met. I expected you to favor her.”
Maggie had to cover a yawn. “I’m sorry, it’s been a very long day.”
“Yes, Sundays are especially tiring.”
Maggie felt dizzy and set her mug back on the tray. “Perhaps we could speak another…” She knew what she meant to say but produced only a jumbled slur. Something was dreadfully wrong. Her thoughts were as blurred as her speech, and Carmen now wore a triumphant grin. A scream dying in her throat, Maggie wished for Rafael with her last conscious thought and slipped into a drug-laced hole.
Rafael cleaned up and changed into his street clothes at the arena and left through a side door rather than exit where aficionados of bullfighting would lurk, his mother and half brothers included. He drove to the beach house taking great care not to drive so fast he’d be stopped. He parked out front and jogged around to the patio, where he found Santos sound asleep and Fox busy with a video game.
“Where’s Magdalena?” he asked.
Fox nodded toward the house. “With Carmen.”
