2. Secret Keeper, True Deciever
2
SECRET KEEPER, TRUE DECIEVER
Alejandro
Barcelona, Spain
The Present
T he last time I stepped foot on this street I was wearing a bloodied morning suit and had a pair of wedding bands in my pocket.
A hideous yellow Fiat is parked in front of the corner house across the street, owned by a seventy-something year old couple who never waste an opportunity to complain to the neighbors about their neglectful children who rarely visit. The house two doors up, once occupied by an American World War II veteran and his Spanish wife, has been vacated and remodeled, currently inhabited by a young couple recently returned from the hospital. Watching the father drag a pair of toddlers up the front steps while the mother gently cradles a newborn against her chest is proof that the more things change, the more they stay the same.
When I finally reach a familiar red gate, I pause.
Regina’s house is different.
The vibrancy of the stucco exterior has aged and faded with the time, the once rich tan color now washed out by the Mediterranean sun. Red and green shingles cover the roof, some the same shade of fire engine red as the shutters and balcony. Built into the hillside, the property has many layers, surrounded by stone walls and greenery, with a view of the city that is nothing short of spectacular.
Regina always said she wanted to live as far north as possible, on an estate with a farm and an old stone castle she could hide away in, safe from everyone and everything. Up here in Sarrià is as close as she’ll ever get.
I lift my hand to knock but pull back at the last minute. Should I have come? Was it a mistake to come all the way out here? Regina and I have history going back almost twelve years—I think it’s time we finally clear the air between us. Either that or I’m an idiot for thinking this was a good idea and I should leave before anyone sees me. Before I can muster up the courage to make a decision, the gate opens and Regina stands on the other side.
We stare at each other.
“I saw you…” She presses her lips together. “On the camera.”
Regina, unlike her house, is exactly as I remember her—not the woman she grew into after we separated but the girl she was when we first met. Rosy-cheeked and soft-spoken. For a moment, a decade feels no longer than the sliver of time between breaths.
“Have—?”
“How—?”
Our voices overlap. We plunge into uncomfortable silence once more.
Regina steps aside. “Come in.”
I follow her up the stone steps and onto the back patio where the pool has been emptied for the winter and a large umbrella shields a small iron table and two chairs. There’s a teapot, laptop, and a scribbled-in journal resting on the table. She must’ve been out here working.
I pull out a seat for her before taking my own. We sit and watch the sun for a little while, resisting the urge to occupy ourselves with inane conversation. Sitting in discomfort somehow allows us to ease into each other’s presence. A half hour passes before Regina brings out coffee and bread and for a moment, I feel twenty-three again.
“How are things?” I ask finally.
“Quiet,” she replies. “Have you been sleeping enough lately?”
“A little.”
She draws her shawl around her shoulders and sinks back in her seat. “And Dahlia?”
“What about her?”
“Is she still wreaking havoc in New York or have you figured out a way to bring her back?”
I put my coffee cup down. “I don’t want to talk about her.”
“No? What should we talk about then?”
I blurt the first thing that comes to mind. “Eurovision.”
She quirks a brow. “Eurovision?”
“The draw for semi-finals is happening in a few weeks. Lettie’s very excited.”
Regina’s lips part as if to speak. I consider it a kindness when she eventually decides otherwise.
We converse for a little while longer, reminiscing over simple, safe things. People we knew in university, our favorite places to eat in London, what happened that one time I tried helping her dye her hair and it turned green instead. All the while I’m struggling to muster up the courage and tell her why I really came.
“…my birthday. Do you remember?” Her voice snaps me out of my stupor and I realize I haven’t heard a word she’s said. “One of your cousins forgot the candles and so we?—”
“I’m ready,” I announce abruptly.
She turns her head and pauses, cup halfway to her lips.
I swallow the lump in my throat. “I think…I think I’m ready. Please.”
Regina lowers her gaze and sets the cup down. She readjusts the shawl around her shoulders a second time, nods, and rises to her feet. I follow without protest.
Several footpaths run through the property, some dirt, others stone, all of them lined with trees and overgrown foliage. Numerous trails connect the main house to the gardens to the guest house and back again. We follow the paved walkway on the side of the main house to the backyard where a small waterfall sits in the center of an open space. To the left is a pergola built around a knotted, winding tree whose elongated branches cast shadows across the table and chairs beneath.
A set of stone stairs overgrown with vines and half covered in fallen leaves takes us up to where the guest house and gardens are, situated against the west end of the house. From here I see the balcony of her old bedroom and the small capilla sitting at the edge of the property. Shrouded by bushes of flowers and trees whose branches haven’t been cut in ages, the small stucco building is as unassuming on the outside as it appears to be on the inside.
When I reach the threshold, I stagger back, something like a bolt of lightning running clean through me.
Fear .
With trembling hands, I reach for something to steady myself but Regina catches me first.
She doesn’t acknowledge my misstep. She keeps hold of my elbow and waits patiently for me to collect myself but I don’t think any amount of time could ever prepare me for what’s on the other side. My breaths come in short, erratic pants and my vision blurs around the corners. Is this what a panic attack feels like? I lose control of my legs and suddenly I can’t carry my own weight. Regina anchors herself by my side and it’s a miracle she’s able to keep us both upright.
“It’s all right,” she whispers. “I’m here.”
I think I nod—say something like “okay”—but can’t be sure. All I’m able to register next is the movement beneath my feet and the space between me and the capilla diminishing one step at a time.
Once we’re inside, she lets go of me. About a dozen wooden chairs fill the space, six on either side of an aisle only wide enough for two people. A stained glass window behind a modest altar allows red and purple light to fill the room. I count six small alcoves and above our heads, the Stations of the Cross are painted along the perimeter of the ceiling.
Regina brings me to the last alcove, closest to the altar. A short metal gate and a single step lead to what I can only assume is a makeshift crypt. There’s one window, stained glass like the others, and the space is adorned with flowers and lit candles. Unlike the rest of the capilla, this little corner is frequented and maintained with love.
“Go ahead.” Regina sits on a nearby chair. “You should go alone.”
I can’t breathe.
“I don’t think I can.”
She doesn’t reply.
Somehow the gate gets opened. My legs move of their own volition and I step over the slightly elevated threshold. It smells like lavender and rosemary.
Beneath the statue of a glowing cherubim is a plaque and small effigy. So small it can be contained within the palm of my hand.
Aurelio
Mi angel que nació durmiendo
I come so close to touching it but like many times in my life, I lack the valor to do so.
I don’t bother leaving the alcove. I collapse right there and sit for what feels like a century. Eventually, Regina comes to join.
She sits across from me and leans against the wall. “I?—”
“How could you?” I ask—whisper—in the darkness. The light is fading outside. How long have we been here? Minutes, hours, days, time is bleeding together and I have no sense of it anymore. “How could you keep a secret like this from me?”
“I didn’t see the point. He was already gone?—”
“I should’ve been there. I should’ve…I should’ve held your hand in the hospital, I should’ve been given a chance to say goodbye. You shouldn’t have suffered alone—” I can’t seem to catch my breath. My vision blurs to the point of blindness. “ He was my son too. ”
I can’t stand to hold this secret any longer. I can’t hold any of them any longer.
“I should’ve never lied to Dahlia. I should’ve never let her leave.” I blink against the tears gathering in my vision, feeling the wetness on my cheeks. “All those years ago when I had the chance to make peace with Sandro, I should’ve done it. I’m filled with so much regret, Regina. Tormented by mistakes I made and cannot change. And now, I have one more death to carry on my conscience.”
She shakes her head frantically and crawls to me, eyes glistening with tears of her own. “Alejo, he was stillborn . There was nothing anyone could’ve done.” She reaches out and drags her thumbs across the apples of my cheeks, chasing away my tears while having little regard for her own. “I didn’t tell you or anyone because there was no one I could trust. My mother was dead and you and Sandro were at war with each other. I couldn’t risk either of you finding out I was pregnant.”
Regina swallows the lump in her throat before continuing. “I went back to Corsica with my grandaunt and she took me to Calenzana, where our family is from. I thought that if I stayed there long enough and waited for the baby to be born then maybe things would calm down. My grandaunt wouldn’t let me have access to any of the phones in the house so one of the housemaids helped me send letters but…you never responded.” She sniffles and drags the back of her hand across her cheek. “Sandro intercepted one of those letters and eventually, he found me. I had another few weeks left and he tried to bring me back but I went into labor early…”
She doesn’t finish and I’m glad for it. I can’t listen to another word.
“What did he look like?” I finally turn my head to meet her gaze. “Our son.”
She tries to smile but it never quite takes form. “He was…a beautiful little boy. He had dark hair that curled around his ears and a birthmark on the inside of his right wrist. And he was so small and so perfect and I remember that when I held his hand, his fingers were tiny enough to curl around my thumb.” She sniffles again and as if just remembering, starts to shuffle around in her pockets. “The midwife took a photo of us?—”
“ No. No.” I shake so fiercely the pot of flowers behind me topples over. “I can’t. I can’t, Regina . ”
Her hand drops.
“I loved you. My God, I loved you. I’d have done anything in the world for you. I killed Sandro for you.”
“ No, ” she responds harshly, voice rough with tears. “You did that for Dahlia. To protect her.”
“I did. But I did it for you too. Look at what it cost me,” I tell her. “The woman I love in exchange for what? Nothing.”
“Alejandro—”
“I thought you were finally done lying to me. But this…I don’t know if I can ever forgive you for keeping this secret.”
Regina releases a sob. She cradles my face in her hands but I turn away, repulsed by her touch. “I did it because I loved you, because I was trying to save you from this. I still love you…in my own way.”
Gently, I take hold of her wrists and push her away. “You don’t know what it is to love someone. Ten years ago, you were with me because you thought I could save you from your brother. What you love now is only a memory. A romanticized version of what we could’ve been. This isn’t love. Love is what I had with Dahlia. It’s what I threw away in my misguided attempt to save you out of guilt and spite.”
“ Enough! ” she cries and pulls away. “You’re being cruel.”
“I’m not being cruel. Regina .” I grip her by the shoulders and force her to look at me because I need her to feel and understand every word that comes out of my mouth. “You need to let this go. You need to let us go.”
“Why?”
“What do you mean why?”
“Why can’t it be us? Dahlia’s gone and she’s never coming back. She was barely here a year before she ran back to New York and she’s been gone just as long. And do you know why? Because she’s a coward. ” She seethes, her words laced with poison. “Because when she finally saw you, all of you, she got scared and ran away. We’ve known each other almost half our lives, Alejo. And I have never once shied away from the truth. I’ve never been afraid.”
Regina pushes herself away from me and rises to her feet.
“So maybe I’m not the one who has to let go. Maybe it’s you .”