28 - ANYSSA
28
ANYSSA
H e’s so frail lying in that hospital bed. Orenthia sits at his side with tear-filled eyes. I can tell that she loves him. Maybe he did become a different person than the one that my mother knew, but I can’t help but fault the man who broke our family apart. The one who caused decades of heartache and wasn’t there to pick up the pieces, not only in my mother’s and my life but also in Camila’s.
His physical and mental abuse caused Mommy to run from him, leaving her child behind. She’s flown into Sonoma after many reassurances that my father couldn’t hurt her. Even with those reassurances, it took a few days to convince her to do so.
Camila was okay with visiting her in Atlanta but said it would be awhile before she could get away. The man known as my father, Christopher Martinez, is dying. Camila wants to be around to say her goodbyes. She knew him as a loving father, and he took good care of her despite his faults.
Orenthia looks up, sees me, and waves me in. I’ve visited him three times in the last few days, but he is always asleep, or maybe he’s pretending.
I watch as she leans over his bed, kisses his forehead, and then walks to the door.
Opening it, she hugs me and kisses my cheek like she’s always known me. She calls me “Chris’s baby girl.”
“He’s waiting for you,” she says now, squeezing my hand before stepping out of the room.
I turn and watch as she closes the door behind her. I’m rooted in the same spot for the longest, unsure how to put one foot in front of the other. Then I hear a warbly voice that I don’t recognize.
“Hija, you did not come this far not to have your say,” he rasps.
Turning around and taking one step and then the other is the hardest thing I’ve ever done, aside from letting that damn car take me away from Belle Baie and the love of my life.
His round, brown face is weathered and aged by the sun. Silky grey hair shades his jaw, chin, and upper lip. Even in his condition, he’s handsome. Dark, nut-brown eyes peer back at me through narrowed slits.
His lips are full and dark from years of smoking.
“ Ven aquí ,” he orders.
I take a step closer, and his mouth tilts in a tremulous smile.
“ ?Habla espanol? ”
“ Un poquito .”
His lips turn down, and he says proudly, “I taught Camila. Insisted that she speak it at home until she was fluent.”
I sit in the chair beside him.
“Would have taught you too.”
The rest goes unspoken. If I had grown up with him is what he meant. From what I’ve heard from Camila and Orenthia, he loved Camila dearly and would have loved me just the same. He didn’t know how to care for a woman, not her heart. It took several failings before he got it right with Orenthia.
“I would have liked that . . . I think.”
He nods and closes his eyes.
“Did you . . . Did you ever wonder about me?”
He starts coughing, and I’m alarmed, but before I can do anything, he waves me off and then points to the water pitcher. I fill his cup and help him put it to his lips.
I want to be angry at him so badly, but I’m not. I’m curious, confused, and hurt but not angry. We’ve wasted too many years to be angry at this point.
“I did. I wasn’t sure your mamá was pregnant, but I suspected it. Orenthia confirmed it.”
“What did you think when she came up missing?”
“I knew. Knew she’d left my sorry ass. Didn’t regret it at the time.”
He pauses and struggles for breath momentarily, placing the oxygen mask over his face. When he removes it again, he says, “Just regretted Cami got left behind.”
“You could have prevented that.”
“I know that now. Didn’t think so then. I searched for her all over California. I wanted my wife and my child back. I loved your mother more than I ever loved another being. I can’t take any of it back, though. After a while, I thought maybe she didn’t keep the baby. Didn’t want any reminders of me.”
“Why didn’t you let Camila go with her?”
Mommy had told me this morning when she arrived that he was good friends with the local police and a couple of the social workers at the Department of Family and Children Services, who happened to be married to cops.
He had done an excellent job of painting her as depressed, angry, and suicidal. He’d made people believe she was a danger to herself and their child.
“When she first came up missing, everyone wondered if she’d killed herself, but I told them she didn’t.”
He takes several puffs of air again before speaking.
“Told them she’d taken her clothes. It was just the baby she left and me.”
“People hated her, I bet.”
He nods.
The coughing takes over again, and this time, it lasts a bit longer.
“I was an evil man, what with the drinking back then. Didn’t do right by your mamá, you, or your sister.”
The coughing starts once more, and when it doesn’t calm down, bells start ringing on his equipment. I nervously glance around as a nurse comes bustling in and pressing buttons. She checks his oxygen and says, “I think he’s had enough company for today. It’s time for Mr. Martinez to get his rest.”
Her smile is warm and kind, but I want to rage at her. I want to tell her he hasn’t had enough company, and we haven’t had enough years together, but I don’t.
I back out of the room to where Orenthia waits with a worried and sad smile, and Camila hugs herself, biting back her tears. My mother stands beside her, and I can tell they were deep in conversation before I came out.
“Why don’t you all go get something to eat and return later,” Orenthia suggests.
I look at Camila, who nods and reaches out her hand to me. I take it, noticing how calloused and rough her hand is for a woman. It’s the vineyards.
“Mamá,” Camila says.
“I’ll meet you all. I need to do something first,” Mommy says.
“Mamá, we’ll be down the street at the café waiting for you.”
“Okay,” she replies.
I watch as she walks back into my father’s hospital room.
Camila and I go to the elevator and don’t speak even after the doors close. We stand side-by-side, holding hands.
We’re both lost in our thoughts.
“You two look like twins.”
Mommy beams at Camila and me.
“That’s how she was able to pull off her little stunt,” Camila says, jerking her thumb at me.
“Mommy and I are often told that we look alike,” I reply.
“And yet, you look like your father, Nys. Cami, you look just like me,” Mommy says, her eyes tracing Camila’s facial features.
Camila’s smile is sad and regretful.
“You’re beautiful, just like he was,” Mommy says, looking at me. “And you’re beautiful too, my love,” she says, glancing back at Camila.
Camila’s smile broadens. “I missed you for so long. It hurt, and I never thought I would see you again.”
“I hoped one day that we would,” Mommy replies, squeezing Camila’s hands across the table.
“It was fate,” I interject.
“Are you still angry with me?”
Camila pulls her hands back, wipes her tears, and pulls her hair behind her ears.
“Not anymore, but I was for a long time. I know the anger stemmed from fear and hurt. All I wanted for a long time was you.”
“Did he treat you well?” Although she knows the answer, Mommy needs to hear it from Camila.
“He did. He loved and protected me and tried to give me the world.”
The smile on Mommy’s lips does not meet her eyes. “Good. He always adored you. You were his favorite person in the world, and while I wanted to take you with me, I knew he would hunt me down to the ends of the earth. The punishment for leaving with you would have been more severe than if I’d stayed, and he learned that I was pregnant against his wishes.”
“He didn’t want you to be pregnant?” I asked.
Shaking her head, she squeezes my hand and places it on her lap. “Not because of his inability to love another child, but because he couldn’t take care of us already. He was in jeopardy of losing the vineyard that had been in his family for years. He was a proud man and never wanted help from anyone.”
Looking at Camila, she says, “Your father used to love me. He absolutely adored the ground that I stood on. He changed when we were in jeopardy of losing the house and the vineyard and barely putting food on the table. He became mean to me, and I feared for my life. He got worse with time, and he’d already pushed me down the stairs a few times. If I was to survive and if Nys were to survive, I had to leave.”
Camila looks like she wants to apologize on his behalf, but Mommy continues.
“From what I’ve heard from Orenthia, he’s a changed man. He’s not the same as he was then. She would know.”
I don’t hear the bitterness in my mom’s voice that I would expect from a woman scorned. Her husband beating her and running her from her home and her best friend marrying him three years later was enough to make any woman bitter and angry. Not my mother, though.
“Do you remember anything about those days?” Mommy asks Camila.
“I remember you crying. I remember Daddy shouting. That’s all I really remember. And then you would send for Orenthia, and she would come and get me and take me to her house for a few hours. When I returned home, you would smile again, and Daddy would be gone.”
I look to Mommy, and I can’t help but ask, “Do you think that they were . . . Daddy and Orenthia, I mean, do you think—?”
“No!” she says harshly. “I may not love or trust the man anymore, but he never cheated on me, and Orenthia was a great friend. She wouldn’t have even if he wanted to.”
I’m unsure how she can be so sure, but I don’t want to continue raking over old wounds.
We talk some more, and Mommy and Camila make plans for the holidays as I pull out my phone and continue searching for more news about Nazár.
It’s still the same: more rumors about him, and they’re starting to spread like wildfire.
“What’s wrong?” I hear Camila ask.
I look up to find her and Mommy’s eyes on me. Holding my phone up, I wave it around.
“These rumors about Nazár are outrageous. It pisses me off because he’s not the man they’re painting him to be. He didn’t get a good rep over this.”
“You said that he didn’t care, though, right? He didn’t want to address the issue,” Camila reminds me.
“I know, but he’s a beautiful soul, and I want better for him. He’s had enough hurt and pain, even at my hands, that he doesn’t deserve to continue getting raked over the coals. He needs a fair break,” I point out.
My mother smiles, rubs my shoulders, and angles her head. “Then give it to him.”
“What do you mean?”
“You have the platform, Nys. Spread the word. You have just over twenty-five-thousand subscribers on your channel. That’s enough to get started. Then you have the articles and your show, which, by the way, aren’t you starting to shoot for the fall season soon?”
Sighing, I say, “Yes. In a week, to be exact.”
“Use your platform to get the word out,” Mommy says.
“Even if it goes against what he wants? He never wanted the attention on him or his resort.”
“It’s out there now,” Camila says. “The only thing you would do is address what’s being said. You can do that by sharing a clip from the other sites and then politely calling them out on it.”
“You’ve got a point,” I agree.
“Honestly, it’s the least that can be done for him,” Camila says.
I hear the unspoken part where she’s implying after I hurt him the way that I did. I’d finally told Camila everything that happened with Nazár and me. I shared parts with her that I hadn’t even shared with Kayla.
I love the closeness she and I have developed, almost falling into the role of siblings like it’s always been this way. I was afraid it would be awkward at first, and we wouldn’t follow up on promises of calling each other. But we’ve both upheld our end, and it feels great.
“How long are you two staying here?” Camila asks, changing the subject.
“For as long as you need me, baby,” Mommy says.
I squeeze Camila’s hand and say, “Yes, and I’m here for you too. As long as I have my computer, camera, and iPad, I can work wherever in the world that I want.”
“Must be nice,” Camila says, laughing.
Mommy squints and asks, “Do you ever regret being tied down to the vineyard, Cami?”
“No, ma’am. I love it. I’ve even been able to travel a lot and enjoy my life. Daddy’s worked hard to make sure that happens. Things are changing obviously with his declining health. But I am ready to start a family.”
“So, you’ll hire more staff to take over?” Mommy asks.
“Yes. I’ve been trying to get a certain someone on board with my marketing team,” Camila teases, grinning at me.
“Chile, if you can get that girl to settle down for two minutes, you’ve done more than I have in a lifetime,” Mommy says, laughing.
Camila squeezes my hand, smiles, and says, “It’ll come in time.”
I bite my bottom lip as my heart squeezes in my chest.
I can only hope her words are an indication of things to come.
Maybe it won’t be with Nazár, but one day, I will have my dreams. My mind instantly turns to ways that I can help Nazár, and the sun takes over my heart, blocking out the rain.