9. Ashes To Ashes
9
ASHES TO ASHES
Dahlia
The Past
A ugust slips away in a hazy, golden blur, the last blistering hot weeks of summer finally simmering down to welcome a cooler, more temperate autumn. Lettie sulked about the shift in weather and the unseasonably cool evening we had a few nights ago while I rejoiced in the reprieve—summer in New York is nothing compared to summer in Barcelona. It’s a different kind of heat.
Alejandro drifts further and further away; alone at sea and kept afloat by a raft and sheer willpower. I wonder if it’s worth trying to pull him back to shore.
On the last Sunday of August, he finally takes me to see the lounge. I’ve been begging to go, if only to see the damage with my own eyes. I’m not sure what to expect—blackened windows, damaged doors, dingy walls. Part of me wonders if the fire was really as bad as everyone makes it seem. All I have to go on are secondhand accounts of an evening I have no recollection of.
Nothing could’ve prepared me for what I found waiting on the other side of the front doors.
“El Aliciente.” Karina says. “How mysterious.”
I reach for the doorhandle. “Do you think we have to buy something to sit in here?”
All the columns have burned to the core, revealing the load-bearing beams under layers of plaster and wood. Most of the ceiling panels have collapsed and the glass from the skylight is completely shattered and boarded up. The fire burned so intensely even the mosaic tiles on the walls cracked and fell apart. Now there lies a sea of ruins at my feet, colorful tile chunks mingling with charred wooden planks and cracked glass.
Behind the bar, the wall of antiqued glass is shattered and stained, most of the shelves having collapsed and the stools underneath the counter are burned beyond recognition. The doors to the kitchens are barely hanging onto the hinges.
“I’ve never seen a man that pretty in real life before.”
“Imagine he comes over here?”
I lift a hand to my mouth to stifle the sound that nearly escapes. I hadn’t expected the state of the lounge to affect me this deeply but being here makes it feel real in ways it hadn’t before.
El Aliciente was important to Alejandro and his family because it was his father’s place; the last dream he had before he died. For me, it was something else entirely.
I met my future in this lounge.
Karina and I were two clueless tourists when we stumbled through those front doors. And when I walked out of them the morning after, it had been with the intention of treasuring this place like a memory and never coming back. Except, I did. The lounge was part of our story. Alejandro and I met here and to think something as mundane as a gas leak could’ve caused this much destruction…
It’s all been reduced to ash.
“Oh, Alex.”
“We had a building inspector in here the other day.” He leans against the bar which is miraculously still standing. “What do you think?”
“You want my opinion over a professional’s?”
“Yours is the only one that matters.”
I release a breath. Closing the distance between us, I cup the side of his face in my hand and press a kiss against his cheek. Upon pulling away, I let my gaze sweep over the room one more time.
“What did the building inspector say about the structural integrity? Is it safe?”
“For now. But first priority has to be re-enforcing the structural framework. Trying to do any sort of renovation before would be catastrophic. The whole place could collapse in on itself, not to mention pose a danger to the surrounding buildings.”
“I’m not a structural engineer. I wouldn’t even know where to?—”
“Just tell me what you think. Don’t worry about the rest,” he says calmly. “I want your honest opinion.”
I stand beside him and look around once more. “The place has to be gutted. I’d focus on the cellar and then work my way up. How’s the second floor?”
“Surprisingly enough, not as bad as it could be.”
“Well then I’d start in the cellar. Re-enforce the building’s structural support and then bring in a team of engineers: civil, structural, machinal, electrical, plumbing. Hire an architect to figure out space planning. You’ll want to get a general contractor and a construction manager. Probably a materials manager too. It’s such a massive project.”
“Materials manager?”
“Someone who manages the inventory. You’ll want someone to help you pick out things like fire-rated walls and floors. Doors and windows that are fire-resistant.”
“Can I hire you?”
“I appreciate your faith in me but I couldn’t pull off a project of this size.”
“I think you’re perfectly capable. Look at what you’ve accomplished at home in less than a year and our house is ten times the size of this place.”
“That’s different,” I reply. “Our house was old and in need of a renovation—this is fire damage, Alejandro. It’s a lot of responsibility and too many moving parts. I have a degree?—”
“Two degrees,” he corrects.
“And no experience.” I give him a pointed look. “Me slathering paint on every wall in our house doesn’t count.”
“Don’t diminish the scale of your own talent. Least of all in front of me. You’re extraordinary. I refuse to hear another word.”
I can’t help but smile. “Where have you been all my life?”
“Right here,” he answers, though solemnly. “Waiting.”
I reach out and tuck a loose wave of hair behind his ear. I can’t remember it ever being this long. “Are you okay?”
His gaze drops but he doesn’t pull away from my touch.
“What makes you think something’s wrong?”
“Está en tu mirada.”
Alejandro’s eyes meet mine. Surprise flickers through them.
“I’m not going to stop until you open up your heart to me.”
He inhales deeply, never breaking eye contact. Finally, he whispers, “I often wonder what’ll happen if one day I let you see everything. Maybe I don’t because I know you’d hate me if you did.”
I lift to the tips of my toes, or at least, as best as I can with my injury. I kiss each corner of his mouth before pressing my lips against his.
“Never.”
“ B endición, Don Salazar.”
I lean down and he takes my hand as we exchange kisses on both cheeks.
“Que Dios te bendiga, mija.” He smiles and pats my wrist with affection. “?Cómo te sientes?”
“Fine,” I reply, easing into the seat across from him. “The boot isn’t too bad. Just a little bulky.”
Alejandro stops to greet his grandfather in the same fashion. I catch a glimpse of Diego across the gardens deep in conversation with two guards in all black attire. He points somewhere in the distance and one of them nods as the other asks a question. I almost think to wave and announce our arrival but Diego and the second man turn around and disappear into the bushes, likely to walk the perimeter of the property.
Don Salazar invited us to Vallvidrera for dinner this evening and after our visit to the lounge, I’m grateful for the reprieve. A bit of family time will bring some much-needed levity to everyone’s somber mood.
“How are you feeling?” I ask. “Griselda says you haven’t been taking your medicine.”
Don Salazar all but rolls his eyes when I inquire about his health. A small laugh leaves me but Alejandro’s jaw tightens.
“You had a stroke, Abuelo.”
“A minor stroke,” his grandfather counters. There’s a tray on the round table between us and I take a moment to admire the colorful mosaic underneath. Don Salazar serves each of us a cup of coffee from a steaming porcelain pot. “Griselda should try swallowing one of those pills if she’s so concerned. Although, I doubt the nasty thing would make it halfway down her throat before she choked.”
“I know you enjoy your freedom and living alone.”
Alejandro cuts me a look. “ Dahlia. ”
I ignore him. “But have you considered coming to live with us? We have plenty of room and no one will be in your way. You’ll have privacy and I can section off one of the floors so you can have your own quarters. Plus, we have Do?a Ana! And we can hire more help around the house and?—”
Don Salazar smiles. Reaches across the table to squeeze my hand. “Gracias, hija.”
I smile back at him.
“But I would rather die.”
Alejandro laughs so abruptly he chokes on his coffee. My head whips around and it’s the first true laugh to come out of him in weeks. I’m so thrilled I almost don’t care it came at my expense. He struggles to clear his throat and resume his brooding but there’s a glint in his eyes and a dash of humor in his voice as he speaks.
“I told you.”
I press my lips together. “What if, God forbid, this happens again?”
“Then I die,” Don Salazar answers bluntly.
I suck my teeth. “You’re just like your grandson. Neither of you takes their own well-being very seriously.”
Still recovering from his earlier outburst, Alejandro takes my hand and kisses it. “Te amo,” he tells me with laughter in his voice.
“Mira, tomatina?—”
I frown and whisper, “What’s a tomatina?”
Alejandro continues to snicker.
“It’s one thing to have me saddled with a babysitter.”
“Griselda’s an at home attendant and she’s very nice!” I defend.
“It’s another thing for me to invade your home. Ustedes son una pareja joven que está comenzando sus vidas juntos,” he explains. “No hay lugar para un viejo como yo.”
“That isn’t true,” I tell him. “Of course there’s room for you. There’s room for everyone!”
He’s already shaking his head. “It is very kind of you to open the doors of your home to me. But no. I will stay here hasta que Dios decida.”
“Well, technically, it’s your grandson’s house. He foots the bill, I just live there.”
He scoffs at me and lifts a firm finger in admonishment. “No, no, no! The woman owns the house. The man just pays for it.”
Alejandro sighs as he sips on his coffee. “Are you trying to get me killed?”
I turn, confused. “Why, what did I say?”
Before Don Salazar can reply, Alejandro interjects. “Her name is on the deed.”
His grandfather gives a firm nod and then we descend into pleasant, light conversation for the rest of the afternoon. Around dusk, Lettie arrives and after greeting us, returns to the house where she helps Griselda prepare dinner. Sensing Alejandro and Abuelo might want a moment alone together, I bring the tray inside.
“How is he today?” Lettie asks when I enter the kitchen.
I shrug in response and place the dirty dishes in the sink. “I don’t know what’s wrong with him. He’s been like this for weeks. He won’t talk to me.”
“Diego and I tried having an intervention on Friday.” She frowns and wipes her hands on the apron around her waist. It’s rare to see Lettie in a state of domesticity but like her older brother, she finds comfort in the simplicity of the kitchen. Never mind the fact that she can only cook a handful of dishes without causing extreme harm to herself, others, or any of the kitchen appliances. “He wouldn’t budge. It’s strange…watching him pull away from everyone.”
“Do you think the fire triggered it?”
Lettie’s pale brows pull together. After a moment of contemplation, she returns to the stove and continues stirring a pot of pollo guisado, one of Alejandro’s favorites.
“You’re suspiciously quiet.”
“Alex told you how Dad died…right?”
“Vaguely.”
Lettie avoids meeting my gaze head on. “When you were in the hospital, he was…talking. In his sleep.”
“What was he saying?”
“He was calling out for Dad.”
I’m not sure what to make of this revelation. Instead, I do what most Latin women do in times of crisis.
I start cleaning.
Waking up in the hospital was triggering because of what I experienced with my mother, but the feeling was short-lived. Once I removed all those wires and tubes and had a moment to calm down, I was able to keep the panic attacks at bay. Not to say the few days I spent there were easy, but it would’ve been much harder if I hadn’t been so distracted by Alejandro and his own self-neglect.
I keep the memory of the fire at a distance and the reality of my near-death experience is whittled away by having been saved. But it was Alejandro who saved me.
And maybe the fear of almost losing someone he loved, abruptly and traumatically, for the second time in his life opened a pandora’s box for him.
I wonder what other chaos awaits us in the weeks to come.
Alejandro
“ A ll I want is your blessing,” I say.
Abuelo’s jaw is tense as he sits erect in his seat, avoiding my gaze.
“Gaspar was like a brother to you and Gregorio a son. I imagine my waging war on Sandro must be a difficult pill to swallow.”
“With or without my blessing, you’ll do as you please.”
“That’s true,” I confess. “But at least with your blessing, I can move forward with a clear conscience.”
“Clear conscience…” He scoffs, tightening his grip on his walking stick. “To call for the blood of your own kin es una desgracia. Una infamia. ”
Diego intercedes on my behalf. “Sandro tried to kill Dahlia. He planned the fire in the lounge and intended for her to be there when it exploded. I think it’s more than justified.”
Abuelo slams a hand down on the table. “Your brother lives with that woman in sin . He moved her into his home without respect, without decency . ?él no le ha dado su lugar y por eso Sandro intentó matarla!”
With forced patience and control, I reply, “Don’t ever call Dahlia that woman again.”
Abuelo’s jaw loosens as he expels a breath but he is no less heated than he was a moment ago.
“She has been nothing but kind and generous toward you. She treats you like a grandfather, instead of an in-law, something she does out of love and respect for me. That woman just offered to turn her home upside down to accommodate you so don’t ever address her by anything other than her name again. Understood?”
A heavy silence lingers in the garden. My hands are clenched so tightly my knuckles pop and crack and the fabric of these pesky medical gloves stretch and begin to tear. For the last week I’ve been the picture of serenity. Quiet, controlled, apathetic. For Dahlia’s sake, I’ve kept everything inside, trapped behind impenetrable walls of steel and iron. Yet, with every second that passes I hear the incessant ticking of the timer in my head. A countdown until my inevitable rupture where I obliterate everyone and everything in my path.
And if my grandfather so much as says her name on a breath I feel is too long or too short, he’ll be the first to feel the impact. Because if I lose control now, I’ll unleash something I can never regain control of again.
“Alejandro, hijo….what you plan on doing…for sins like this, the price we pay is a high one.”
“I’m willing.”
“You won’t be the one to pay it.”
The air grows thick with tension, heavy with the weight of all the things my grandfather leaves unsaid.
Abuelo tells us, “If I had known at twenty-years-old what this life would cost me, I would have chosen differently.”
Neither Diego nor I can conceal our surprise but we quickly school our features into indifference. Abuelo has been sure and steadfast his entire life, having never once expressed regret or remorse. He makes his choices with purpose and intention, expecting a desired outcome and prepared to accept the consequences. During the conflict between our families a decade ago, Abuelo lost more than a son. He lost nephews and cousins and children who were not blood related to him but whom he’d known since they were in their mothers’ wombs. I cannot imagine all the pain he’s endured but keeps hidden for the sake of remaining strong. It isn’t a sacrifice I take lightly.
A sigh leaves my lips as I pinch the bridge of my nose. “She hasn’t even been here a year yet, Abuelo. I am not presenting her to the rest of the families, forever ruining any chance she may have of a normal life until I know I can keep her safe.”
Abuelo considers his next words very carefully. “And you can only do that if Sandro yields?”
“If Sandro is dead. ”
Diego addresses our grandfather. “I know you don’t like it and for what it’s worth, I’m sorry. But I’m with my brother on this. There is no other way. Sandro’s never going to stop.”
Movement from my peripheral catches my attention. I turn my head, already on high alert and ready to reach for the gun under my suit jacket, when I realize it’s Dahlia by the kitchen window. She’s washing something and Griselda makes her laugh. When she looks back, she catches me staring. With a big smile, she lifts a hand to her lips and blows a kiss in my direction.
I smile, or at least, try to. I haven’t felt much joy lately except for earlier when she managed to wrangle a laugh from me. No matter the intensity of any given moment, she can break the ice unlike anyone else I’ve ever known.
I lift a hand to my heart and she tilts her head, still smiling, a blush creeping across her cheeks. Griselda must say something that distracts her because she turns away and disappears from view.
When Abuelo speaks next, it’s with intense resignation. “This is a mistake.”
“Maybe. But it’s my mistake to make.”