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There’s a soft knock on the door, and I look up as it opens. Madelena stands in the doorway, her hair wet from a shower. She’s wearing an oversized T-shirt that comes to mid-thigh, and I realize it’s one of mine. Probably the one I’d put her in after bringing her home from the lighthouse. In her arms, she’s carrying the box.
“You should sleep,” I tell her, setting the letter on the desk and getting up to take the box from her.
She closes the door as I walk the box to my desk, and when I turn around, she wraps her arms so tight around me it catches me completely by surprise. When I hear her sniffle, I find myself wrapping one arm around her waist, cupping the back of her head with the other and pulling back to look at her.
“What is it?” I ask, wiping her tears.
“She was pregnant with your baby?”
I study her eyes, the golden brown so warm, so full of emotion. So honest. “It was a long time ago now.”
“What was her name?”
“Alexia.” I take her hand, then move around the desk to sit on my chair with her on my lap. “Her father killed her the night he found out she was pregnant. And I killed him for it.”
“I’m sorry,” she says.
“Like I said, it was a long time ago.” Her gaze moves to my empty plate and her stomach growls. I smile while she blushes. “Come. I’ll make you a sandwich.”
We stand and when I reach for the letter, I see her scan it. “What’s that?”
I put it back into its envelope. “My father’s cryptic letter to us, read by the executor of the will.”
“Who’s it intended for?”
I shrug. “My mother or brother. Hell, maybe me. No one knows.”
“Or they know and they’re not saying.”
I nod in agreement. That is the most likely scenario.
The image of Madelena’s face in my dream as she plunges toward those cliffs, the waters of the raging ocean, flashes before my eyes, and I have to close them for a minute.
“What is it, Santos?”
“Nothing.” I set the envelope back into the safe and remember the stone in my pocket. I take it out, turn to Madelena. I open my palm so she can see it and I watch her, wondering if it will jog a memory.
She looks at it and tilts her head, forehead creasing. She looks up at me. “Where did you get that?”
“Do you know it?”
She pushes a hand into her hair. “It makes me think, makes me remember, the hand on Thiago’s chest. And then hearing the popping sounds like when a necklace or a bracelet breaks and all the beads scatter, the sound they make.” She shakes her head. “It makes no sense.”
“Actually, it does. I found it on the catwalk when I found you.”
“Wait.” She takes my arm and pushes my sleeve up. She touches the bracelet. “You and your brother have them.” Her expression changes like she’s just realized something. “Oh my God, it was him?”
“No, Madelena. It wasn’t. His bracelet is intact. I saw it.” I take a minute because I’d thought the same thing.
“But…”
I turn to put the stone into the safe along with the letter and lock it. “Let’s go get you a sandwich.” I take her hand to walk her out of the study and into the kitchen.
“You kept all my letters.”
“I wouldn’t call them letters,” I say with a wink, switching on the light and pulling out a chair at the counter. “Chicken sandwich okay?”
“Sounds great, actually.”
