49
My father was dying again. Maybe fate had decided to give us a second chance to rectify the past.
Max tried to call him after breakfast, but his phone was off. We set off anyway, and soon, we were leaving Madrid on the A2 highway. We had twenty-four hours of driving ahead of us, and Max had barely slept on his way to Spain.
“I”ll drive,” I offered, switching seats in a service area. “And you can tell me about Lana... so you have a daughter?”
“Yes. I didn”t have the chance to tell you...”
I glanced sideways at him and raised my eyebrows, thinking of all the chances he”d had to tell me during the week we”d spent together.
“Yeah, okay,” he confessed with a sigh, “I was afraid I”d scare you away if you found out too soon. As if my mother”s awful behavior weren”t bad enough.”
“Your mom is lovely, yes,” I remarked as we passed a line of trucks. “She told me to get lost and said that you should be with Lana, not wasting your time with riffraff like me.”
The gray buildings of the Madrid suburbs became scarcer as we drove, gradually replaced by the arid landscape of the Meseta plains.
“Don”t take it personally... she cares about her granddaughter, that”s all. My ex practically won”t let me see her, and the few days she allows me to, there”s always some performance with the Kuku band that prevents me from going to Piran to pick her up. It”s quite far, and sometimes my friend Mihael helps me, but he also has his own stuff to deal with. And to make matters worse, the folk group is fed up with my excuses. I leave them in the lurch too often. The last time, they threatened to find another violinist and kick me out. I guess you noticed the tension at that party.”
“I remembered the singers, Alma and Adelina, and how my mother made fun of them. They seemed a bit immature.”
“I”m sorry for not being upfront with you,” Max whispered, wrinkling his nose. “It”s just that...”
“What?” I said, wondering which lane was the one for Zaragoza.
“That I like you, and I didn”t want to lose you so soon.”
I felt a strange warmth inside my chest and was about to respond, but after a moment, I shook my head, unable to put my thoughts in order so quickly.
“Sorry for reading your messages,” was all I managed to say.
Max reached out and put his hand on top of mine, on the steering wheel.
“It”s all right. I forgive you,” he said, smiling.
We stopped a couple of times to use the bathroom and stretch our legs. By late afternoon, we were already in France, several miles from Marseille, when Max fell asleep, his head against the window. I turned off the radio so as not to disturb him and drove in silence, lost in my thoughts. I continued for a couple more hours, skirting the south of France and following the signs to Milan. I knew that if I stopped and turned off the engine, Max would wake up, so I resolved to go as far as my body allowed.
The highway was monotonous and dark, and fatigue began to take its toll on me, and my eyes closed briefly. I reached up to take another sip of my watery gas station coffee, but the paper cup had been empty for quite some time.
I must have fallen asleep because the loud blast of a truck horn made my eyes snap open.
The very thin side barrier of the highway buckled, and I ripped it off as I passed, like a clump of weeds.
A wooded slope bordered the highway, and beyond was the Mediterranean, invisible in the night. I contemplated the darkness passing in slow motion in front of the Audi”s bonnet. For an instant, I imagined my mother flying over the Benagéber Reservoir during the final seconds of life. I wondered if she felt the same as I did now.
I gripped the steering wheel tightly, waiting for the imminent impact.
She and I were so much alike... it seemed only right that we should have a similar ending.
As I lost control of the vehicle, I wished I had made peace with my mother when she had opened her heart to me and tried to redeem herself in her own way.
The impact never came.
A powerful beam of light appeared in front of me, illuminating the asphalt. From it emerged the figure of my grandmother Carmen, her arms outstretched. She stopped the car in mid-air with her bare hands and redirected it back to the right lane.
She smiled at me and blew me a kiss.
‘Make the most of this second chance,’ her voice
whispered in my head. ‘And bon voyage.’
Then, both she and her words faded into nothingness.
When I opened my eyes again, I had a cold cup of coffee in my hand, and a few yards ahead opened the arch of the Giraude tunnel, with one end in France and the other in Italy.
***
Max rubbed his eyes and yawned softly, awakened by the abrupt swerving.
“What time is it?” he mumbled, “Where are we?”
“It”s eleven o”clock at night, and on the other side of this tunnel is the Italian border,” I answered hurriedly, my heart still jumping in my chest.
“You look so alert... it”s a good thing one of us isn”t sleepy, eh?”
I tried to smile at him but could only conjure up a tense grimace.
“We”ll have to stop to rest,” I told him. “I can”t drive anymore.”
“Sure. It”s been a long day. By the way, did you give your notice at work?”
As I slowed down to pay a toll, I threw my phone at him.
“I forgot! Can you check if there are any messages?”
Max turned on the screen and showed it to me. I had nine missed calls from Pedro, and the last one had been at 22:45.
“Your boss seems to be pretty persistent,” Max commented, raising an eyebrow. “The company can’t survive without you, huh?”
Dinner with Pedro flashed through my mind like a series of stills.
The best restaurant in the Salamanca neighborhood.
His offer to live together.
His face when I told him that I wasn’t sure.
And that I thought going back to him had been a mistake.
“Well, they”ll have to find someone else,” I said, feeling a surge of joy, “because I”m never going back.”