Chapter 16
It’s true: I hoped to find her. I hoped for proof of our connection, that my longing would compel her to appear, secured at the end of my glance, even if I turned away, remaining at the table with my husband.
That afternoon of looking for her in the park seems to me now a fulcrum.
One of those nearly imperceptible turning points, on the other side of which were formless days in her company, mornings scribbling in the black notebook, arguing with her, joking with her, lying on the bed in the living room sharing secrets, or hiding them.
For, the very next day when I came to pick up Ida, dashing through the gate because the bell had already rung, there she was, standing in front of the stone bench where several mothers still sat waiting for their children.
“Louise? What are you doing here?”
“Nice to see you, too,” she said with a smoky laugh, as if there was never a question that eventually everything would resume between us. She looked me up and down. “I love those jeans, by the way. The cut of them. You look terribly chic.”
Mindlessly I returned the compliment. She was wearing one of her tailored shirts with a pair of high-waisted menswear slacks, her hair gelled wetly back.
I couldn’t stop myself glancing around to see if people were noticing my speaking to her, certain we were breaking some sort of rule by Louise being inside the gate.
“The look on your face,” she laughed. “Don’t worry. I’m not here for your lovely self.”
I ejected a little snort, As if I would think such a thing, at the same time doubting her; what else would she be here for?
But a few seconds later, Adriana, the daughter of Fabiola, who had given us the ride, came sauntering up to Louise.
Since then, I’d bumped into Fabiola once or twice, in the morning.
She always greeted me by name, the only mother to do so, kissing me on the cheek.
It pleased me, even though I sensed she was looked down on by the others, a single parent who worked.
Louise was speaking briskly to the little girl: Did she have everything?
Was this her only bag? The girl nodding, saying, “Sí, sí, es todo.” I was amused by the way the two of them interacted—in this context especially, where most of the mothers doted on their children as though they were prized dolls, shiny emblems of their wealth and success.
Between Louise and Adriana, it was more like haggling over a price at the market, the way the girl announced in Spanish, “We’ll go now,” and Louise countered, “Two more minutes,” Adriana responding that she was hungry and Louise saying briskly that was too bad, she didn’t have any food.
“But where are your manners, Adriana? Say hello to my friend.”
“Hola, senora,” she said in a defeated way.
To children, adults are either an impediment or a tool for the attainment of their wants and needs.
I glanced into Louise’s face, turned toward the tiled corridor where children were still streaming from the classrooms. I still didn’t understand what she wanted, why she’d insisted on lingering, beyond the obvious of asserting the upper hand with the girl. Certainly she could be petty like that.
I got my answer a moment later. She lifted up her chin, her face rearranging in recognition. Following her gaze, I saw Ida striding slowly toward us, something majestic and apart about her, like a cat stepping slowly through a field of pigeons.
“Ida, how lovely to see you,” Louise said to my surprise, as if they’d already met, she’d known my daughter all her life.
To my even greater surprise, Ida accepted the intimacy. Ida, who was so contained, so deliberate, smiling, saying, “It’s very nice to see you as well.”
The two of them regarded each other steadily.
Mostly to break the strange charge of the moment, I said to Louise, “I didn’t realize you and Fabiola knew each other.”
Louise nodded; they worked together at the Fábrica Aurora.
Of course, I thought, remembering how Fabiola had said she was curious about me, wondering if Louise had mentioned me to her?
But no, that was impossible. Louise and I hadn’t yet met.
“Actually,” Louise said, still looking at Ida, “we’re heading back there now; would you like to come? ”
Immediately Ida began to beg me. “Please, Mommy, can I go with them?” Not, I noted, Can I play with Adriana? Clearly it had nothing to do with the girl, who was looking around impatiently and kicking her brown school shoe at the ground.
“I don’t know, my love. Louise has work.”
“Nonsense, I’d be happy to take her. Why don’t you come, too? Oh, but your husband must be back in town,” she said with an air of regret, adding, “How is it I’ve not met him?”
“You’ll have to come to comida someday.”
“That would be marvelous. When?”
Thus, I found myself proposing dates, going back and forth a few times before settling on the Saturday after next.
“In the meantime,” Louise said, “you have to come to my house for drinks. I’m having a few friends over this Friday.
” Seeing my hesitation, she added, “Bring Tom, if you like.” I made a show of being uncertain we were free, although we had no plans.
“I’ll be terribly upset if you don’t come. Eight o’clock?”
Ida wanted to come, too, Louise saying yes at the very moment I said no, it wasn’t really for kids. Fixing Ida in her gaze, Louise mockingly repeated that moniker. “Kids,” she scoffed, Ida beaming back at her.