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I take out what I need and begin to assemble a sandwich, then set it in front of her.
She picks it up but doesn’t bite into it. “My mom’s memorial service is next week. It’s been sixteen years.”
“I know.”
She meets my eyes. “I want to go. There’s a ceremony at the church, then my dad hosts a lunch in her memory.”
“Do you think I’d say no?”
“It’s at my father’s house.”
“It’s the anniversary of your mother’s death, Madelena. Of course you’ll be there, and I’ll be at your side.”
She smiles. “I’d like that. You being with me, I mean.”
“Can I ask you a question?” She nods as she eats a bite of her sandwich. “You said once you wouldn’t have a baby.” Alarm has her stop mid-chew. “Don’t worry, I’m not talking about now. I was just curious because you said, if I recall, you wouldn’t have oneever, not with anyone.”
She swallows the bite in her mouth and puts the sandwich down.
“Why not?”
“Santos—”
“I just want to know your reasons. That’s all.”
Her face flushes, and her eyes fill up with tears. “Isn’t it obvious?”
“Tell me.”
Her eyes grow darker, and she doesn’t hold my gaze as she answers. To hear her say it, to watch her muster up the strength to, makes my chest tighten and my throat close up.
“What if I hurt her?” she says so quietly I almost can’t hear her.
“Madelena—”
She shakes her head. “You couldn’t be sure. I could be sick too, you know? Damaged goods. Hate to break it to you,” she adds, trying for a smile but shifting her gaze down to pick at the bread of her sandwich as a tear drops onto the countertop.
I walk around the counter to take her face in my hands. “You’re not damaged goods. And you’d never hurt a child, not yours, not anyone’s. You are incapable. It simply is not in you. Not at all.”
12
SANTOS
The next week passes strangely peacefully. My mother and Caius stay away for the most part as they settle into life at Augustine’s. Thiago is still absent, and the Avery family is quiet. But it’s not as though they would call the police or file a missing person’s report. I’m sure Bea Avery has been in touch with the Commander’s old friends, but if they couldn’t find the old bastard’s body, they’ll never find Thiago’s because I have a feeling it’s at the bottom of the ocean by now.
The thought bothers me, but I shove it aside as Madelena comes down the stairs dressed in black from head to toe, which is her usual, except that today it’s more elegant. Not so contrary. She’s winding her hair into a loose braid as she heads down and doesn’t notice me. I’m happy to say I think the move to the house was a good idea. She looks better, not glancing over her shoulder all the time.
What she told me that night in the kitchen a week ago, though, upsets me. Does she truly believe she could have the same mental illness as her mother? Is the thought of it on her mind more often than I realize? I have been doing some reading on the matter. While it’s a fact that these things do run in families, I don’t like that she’s worried about it, that she’s already decided, probably at a far younger age than I even realize, that she will never have children just in case.
“You look nice,” I tell her.
“Thanks. Shit.” She begins to undo her braid and shakes her hair out to start again.
“What is it?”
“I keep messing it up.”
“It looked fine.”
