Chapter 64
Once I began to walk, I became steadier.
There were no windows on the front of the house, no chance of being seen.
My mind was working now. I narrowed my gaze.
I honed my focus to a single point, Ida, alert to her voice, to Louise’s.
But no, there was only birdsong, the droning of insects, the distant whine of the dirt bike.
At the door, as I was about to knock, I changed my mind.
Better to arrive unannounced. I tested the knob.
It was unlocked, and I pushed it open, stepping inside.
As my eyes adjusted, I saw that I was standing in a long hallway hung floor to ceiling with paintings.
Ahead was a bit of light toward which I cautiously shuffled.
A short step, another. The floor was uneven; I stumbled.
At the sound of my heel striking down, a man called out in Spanish:
“Hello? Who’s there?”
Hearing his voice, deep and forceful, I involuntarily edged back.
“?Quién es?” he repeated more loudly.
“Estoy buscando a mi hija,” I said. I’m looking for my daughter. Then, “I’m looking for Ida.”
“Mia?” came the quick response.
It might have alarmed me, hearing that name called by a stranger into the dimness in which I stood.
Something in the way his voice softened around the syllables reassured me.
I stepped forward, stopping at the edge of a large open room where books lay scattered, a few teacups and saucers of a blue-and-white-patterned ceramic, potted plants arranged on a heavy wooden table.
Mostly I noticed the paintings that covered every wall.
In particular, my eye was drawn to a series that, though I’d never seen them before, were familiar by their palette and the whispery limbs sprouting from geometric shapes.
I thought, strangely: Ida must like it here.
He had remained beside the large back window—the room’s only visible source of light—looking at me uncertainly: the man from the path, whom I’d later seen from my balcony. Presently he said, “Mia, is that you?”
“Yes.” I had decided it was the best way. “It’s me.”
For moments, we stood looking at one another, reticent, each with our separate hunger.
He was the first to break the silence. “It’s so good to finally meet you.”
“Yes,” I agreed. “It’s nice to meet you, Allan.”
As soon as I spoke his name, it was as if he’d been called into being.
Timidly at first, then with increasing liveliness, warming to his subject, he began to speak of his life here since returning from Italy, his hope of sharing it with me, all the ways we would make up for lost time.
I held my smile, careful to let him think this was a beginning and not an end.
It was difficult, keeping my desire in check, although it was a long-practiced skill. I was good at it.
“Can I see the house?” I said when the moment arrived. It would be useful to understand how things were laid out.
“Yes, of course,” he said, pleased.
Following him across the room, I noticed the Navarro propped beside a doorway.
Allan was still explaining things to me.
I let his words spool out, strands of the story.
Louise had not told him she was pregnant; he had not known he had a daughter until recently.
My eyes flashed to the windows, the front hallway.
He gestured to a back hallway, saying there were only some bedrooms there, a small enclosed courtyard.
“Is Bella here?”
“Oh, yes, she’s about.”
“And Ida?” I asked, careful to maintain my warmth and ease. “Where is she?”
“Out with her nonna, buying a few provisions. Actually I’m surprised they haven’t come home yet.”
In sudden panic, I thought of my car at the other side of the field. What if they had seen it? What if they were in the field now with the women to whom I’d been unable to conceal my anger, making plans to disappear once more?
“Carol—” He checked himself, casting me a beseeching look. “Your mother said that you and Ida might come and live with me.”
I smiled my agreement; yes, we would see.
“I want you to know that your mother and I only recently reconnected. We were estranged for many years. If I’d known about you, I never would have stayed away—”
We had not moved for several minutes, and to relieve my tension, I looked again at the Navarro. Noticing, Allan brightened, saying, “Carol tells me this was a gift from you. It’s very generous.”
I opened my mouth, but instead of answering him, inexplicably my body betrayed me. I began to cry. “I’m sorry,” I said, sniffing, averting my face slightly. “I’m just so happy we’re together, and I’m going to see Ida again.”
“You’ve missed her,” he said knowingly, patting my arm. “I have, too, and I didn’t even know I had a granddaughter.”
For a bizarre moment, I thought, But what about Henry? and was wounded on his behalf, that Louise had excluded him, discarded him because he’d proven un-useful.
“They’ll be home soon.”
“That’s nice,” I said, mustering a smile to keep everything from dissolving. He was staring at me longingly, as if I should fall against him, let him hold me. No, it was too much. I began to tremble, admonish myself, Pull yourself together! Don’t be weak; it’s only a little longer.
“Shall I get you some water?”
I nodded, clumsily wiping at my face. “May I use the bathroom? I just want to freshen up a bit before they come home.”
“Of course, of course,” he said in a tone almost of rebuke, It’s your home, too, gesturing along the back hallway.
I hurried to the bathroom, closed the door, turned on the tap to mute the sound, took the phone from my pocket.
Tom answered immediately, “Well?”
“I’ve found her.”
Quickly, in lowered tones, I gave the necessary facts: Our daughter was being held in a house in La Cieneguita.
She was with Louise and her lover; his name was Allan Pearlman, I thought.
There was a field nearby where people washed clothing.
As I panted out these words, I was aware of what I kept back, that I had yet to see or touch her, telling Tom only that I was here at the house, to go to the police, to hurry.
“Ida’s okay, though?” he interrupted me. “She’s all right?”
I could hear the fear taking him from his purpose. “Tom, listen to me,” I whispered urgently. “The house is at the farthest end of the field, at the end of an overgrown dirt road. Tell them you need to find the house of the painter. Say it back to me.”
As soon as he repeated the words, we hung up.
I replaced the phone in my pocket. Seeing my face in the mirror, I had a horrifying moment of unrecognition—not of myself exactly but reality.
A sudden sense that this was all an illusion, the field full of women, the house full of paintings; I had slipped into a pretend land where Tom would never find me, and from which I could never escape.
Allan had begun calling to me. Was everything all right?
I turned off the tap, answering, everything was fine! I was able to smile and thank him when he handed me the glass of water a moment later. The first sip I remember vividly. The feel of it washing into me, cold, leaving an aftertaste of iron.
I was still drinking when I heard the dog begin to bark. I couldn’t contain myself then. I ran to the door, threw it open. I could just see her at the narrow opening of the lane. Not Ida, Louise. She was speaking, presumably to Ida, though I didn’t yet see her.
“Why not wait inside?” Allan said behind me. “It will be nicer that way, we’ll surprise them.”
“Yes,” I agreed, thinking: That’s better. The house is more contained. Once they’re inside, they won’t be able to get away so easily. They won’t be able to see Tom arriving.