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It’s almost two weeks since our visit to Chicago when the mouse is back for another cookie. Since Manuel is with his father in a meeting, I check my cell phone before answering. My heart sinks at the display.
“What do you want, Helena?”
She chuckles. “Listen to you. I’m so proud of you, all attitude and demanding. Not such a good girl anymore.”
“What do you want?” I demand.
“What I want is to be free. Now that my mother is dead, there’s nothing keeping me here in Chicago. For me and my daughter, I’m getting the fuck out of here. I can't stay in this marriage; it’s not safe for Freya.” Her voice strains as she says her daughter’s name. It tells me everything. I might hate her guts, but she needs help.
The mention of her daughter brings back the rumors Helena was too old for her husband when she married him at seventeen. My stomach turns. She can have all the money in the account. “How much money do you need?”
“Five million dollars will be enough to buy us both new identities and get lost until I can figure out where I’m going to settle.”
“Five million? Are you serious?” The amount stuns me. “How the hell am I supposed to get a hold of five million dollars?”
“I don’t know, and I don’t care. Figure it out. You’ve got a week.”
Before I can argue, she’s hung up. I want to scream and throw my phone. Five million dollars? It’s too damn much.
If I asked Manuel, I have no doubt he’d hand it over without hesitation. But if I do, then I have to tell him. Tell him I lied by not telling him when he asked for my secrets. And that I didn’t go to him when she blackmailed me the first time.
All I can think of is the way he held me tight when he refused to talk about if something were to happen to me. He might not feel love but he does feel anger. He’s going to be hurt, and it will come out as anger. There’s also the fact I don’t trust I can keep him from killing Helena. I could never live with myself if he did. Especially with the threat of her husband doing gross things to their daughter.
Women in the mafia don’t know how to ask for help. We might not hold guns and power the way the men do, but we have our own rules to follow. Beyond the, if you see something, no you didn’t. It was our responsibility to handle the life behind what our husbands did. The house needed to be spotless, our hair perfect, our hospitality envied, our children strong, and we were supposed to do it without bitching and on our own. We weren’t to bother our husbands with any of it, and we were never to appear as though we couldn’t do it on our own.
Helena was asking for help in the only way she could. I can do this. I can get her the five million in a week. I’ll figure it out.
* * *
Nicolette
Putting Ofelia to sleep, I’m distracted thinking of the money and how to hide my unease. Manuel had asked me earlier if everything was all right. I shrugged and said I wasn’t feeling well. Then he had me lie down for a nap where he held me close. Lying to him while he did what he could to take care of me causes even more shame at keeping it from him.
“Mommy?” The word is hesitant as I go to turn off the light. I wonder if a time will come when hearing her call me mommy isn’t a squeeze to my heart. I hope not.
“Yes, baby?”
“You forgot my kiss.” Her eyes are big and sad.
“I’m sorry.” I’m back at her bed, bending over and giving her a kiss on the cheek. I run my hand over her head. “Mommy isn’t thinking straight tonight. I love you, baby.”
She glows. “I love you too.” Then the glow disappears. “Mommy, does Daddy love me?”
I go still at the question. There’s no explaining him to a four-year-old. Now, I get Santa Claus. I’ve always hated and resented all the lies parents tell their children. In this moment I find how wrong I was. To tell a little girl her father doesn’t love her is nothing she should ever hear. It didn’t matter if the reason why came before or after—she won’t understand. She couldn’t understand.
So, I do the only thing I can. I lie. “Ohmija, of course he does.” I press a kiss to her forehead. “Why do you think he doesn’t?”
Little shoulders lift. “He never says it like you orabuelaorabuelo.”
“Some daddies are different. They don’t say things just to say them. Instead, they do things to show you how much they love you. Like how Sophia’s father says he loves her all the time but does he come to her games and practices the way your daddy does when he’s at home?” I’m stuck in hell, and I’m never getting out for using Sophia’s father to prove a point.
The guy is scum. An investment banker who knows nothing about his daughter. Sophia was bawling last week because her father promised he would be at her game. Only for him to stay in Bogota instead of coming home for the weekend. I feel awful for the poor little girl being raised by a grandmother who is in her last years and a nanny who often seems annoyed by the girl.
Wide-eyed, she shakes her head. I exhale in relief. She understands the difference. “Daddy shows you his love by being there when he can. He’s not always able to because he has to work to give you the things like the uniforms for your football team and the pretty shoes we bought. They cost Daddy and they cost us in the time he spends working. He does it because it’s important to him for you, me, and your brother and sister have everything we need. Do you understand?”
She nods.
I leave her with another kiss. By the time I get to Luisa’s room, she’s already asleep. I tuck the covers in around her before kissing her cheek goodnight, more for me than anything.
