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Manuel is waiting in our room, reading through some paperwork. His head comes up when I enter. Eyes narrow on me. “What’s the matter?”
I’m not sure how to say it. What to say. A frown appears as he motions me to him. I go without hesitation. I’m tugged into his lap.
“Talk to me.” It’s an order.
It comes out of me in a tumble, I wonder if I make any sense. When I run out of words, I find him studying me intently.
“I’m sorry.” I sigh.
An eyebrow goes up. “Don’t say that to me. We’ve discussed it.” A finger slides down my cheek to under my chin to tip my face up to his. “You want me to tell her I love her.”
These are the moments I hate the most. I can’t tell if it’s a question or a statement and if he’s annoyed or not. The reminder of us discussing me saying I’m sorry nudges the memory of the other thing—give him my fears and concerns and he’ll take care of it.
“She’s a little girl. Even when she’s sixteen, she’s a little girl who wants to hear her father tell her he loves her. That he thinks she’s pretty and smart and all those things we’re supposed to be yet fear we’re never going to be. Not hearing it hurts. You and I both know you don’t. It doesn’t matter if you don’t. If you say it, it will be enough for her.”
The finger under my chin traces up and over my lips. “I can do that. What about you?”
I don’t understand the question. “What about me?”
“Do you need to hear it?” The question brings tears to my eyes I had no idea were there. His forehead falls to mine. His lips are a whisper away from mine.
Shaking my head, I let the tears fall. “The words are easy to say. Love isn’t words, it’s doing. It’s the way you take care of me. It’s the way you go to the soccer matches to see how the other fathers interact with their children so you can be the same with Ofelia and Luisa. I feel your love. I don’t need to hear it.”
A hand wraps around my throat, easing me away from him as the other wipes away my tears. “I hate when you lie to me.”
“I’m not,” I try to assure him.
He sighs as his eyes meet mine. “What’s worse is when you lie to yourself.” Another sigh, heavier than the first one. “I love you.”
It’s a gut punch. “It isn’t the love you deserve. It’s nothing like what I wish I could give you. But I do. If she gets to hear it every day, then you do too. I love you.”
I’m not proud of the way I break down. He doesn’t say a word, just holds me until the tears stop. Then he shows me with every touch.
* * *
Nicolette
Over the next few days. I find out it’s a lot harder than I thought it would be to get the rest of the money for Helena. It’s even harder when Manuel could find out at any moment. For the first time, I find myself wishing he weren’t home.
I feel guilty when I’m relieved he leaves a few days later. The clock is ticking. My savings are tiny. I try selling all the jewelry my father bought over the years, and the engagement ring from Eddie I wore for years but hated. I hide it as wanting to gift things to friends. I’m still short by more than three million. Three million and seven hundred and fifty thousand dollars.
The shout of Ofelia in the pool catches my attention. I look out the window to find Joe in the pool with her. Joe’s here?
It hits me. I could ask Joe for the money. He’s the only person I can think to ask who won't blow this entire thing up. And maybe he’ll give me the money without asking me why I need it.
Joe stays for lunch. Like his son, he can tell I’m distracted and asks if everything is all right. With my mother hovering and curious, I shake my head. If my mom knew, ten seconds later so would Manuel. He doesn’t miss my eyes flicking to her. An eyebrow goes up, but he doesn’t ask again.
When lunch is over, I walk him to the door. “Can I please discuss something private with you?”
“Of course.” He ushers me into Manuel’s office. Once the door is closed, he motions to the sitting area. There’s a long leather couch and two matching leather chairs facing it. “Talk to me,mija.”
Unsure of how to say it, I just do. “I need three million seven hundred and fifty thousand dollars. And you can’t tell Manuel.”
An eyebrow so like his son’s goes up. “Why do you need that kind of money?”
“I can’t tell you.” I don’t trust he won’t tell Manuel. “I promise it’s not going…” Shit. The words run out when I realize I can’t promise anything. Could it all come out? Always.
“I have never seen my son so happy in my entire life. Whatever is going on, talk to him,” he urges me.
