25. Sweet And Simple Pleasures #2
“Murdered. My elder three brothers as well.” He doesn’t elaborate and I don’t ask.
“My desire for safety became an obsession. Obsession morphed into fear. I clawed and scraped my way to the top but when I finally got there, nothing truly changed. I feared we’d one day lose the roof over our heads and the meals on our table.
I feared losing my siblings, my wife, my children.
Fear propelled me to dangerous heights and I paid a high price for my sins.
First, I lost Lisandro. And then I lost Aurelia a few years later. ”
“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you talk about your wife before.”
“There are some losses too painful to bear. I must bear hers in silence.”
“What was she like?”
“My Aurelia?” His eyes brighten at the sound of her name. “How does one describe a sunset to the blind? Or the sound of music to the deaf?” He shakes his head. “You cannot. Some things in life can only be experienced. My wife was one of them.”
I smile, unsure of what to say.
“Mi Aurelia era única.” He tells me.
“How did she die?”
“Cancer. It crept up on us.” He replies. “One moment she was fine and the next, she was suffering from migraines, dizzy spells. By the time they found the tumor, nothing could be done and she chose to die with dignity.”
A moment passes and I remain quiet.
“She had the most beautiful hair—like a fountain of ink spilling over her brown shoulders and down her back. Her eyes were dark like coffee beans. In certain lights, Diego resembles her the most of all our grandchildren, save his cousins Belinda and Arias.” He looks out over the garden.
“She was spirited—like you. And a dancer like Karina. She ate her apples the way Lela does, without the skin, and wrote poetry. She was…the loveliest thing I had ever laid eyes on. Radiant, joyful, willful, and strong. Yet even with all her beauty, she had a temper like a Hell storm.”
I chuckle a bit. “Did she?”
His eyes widen a bit as if remembering. “Aurelia had a mouth and a right fist like a man. I underestimated her once and never again.”
“How long has it been now? Since she passed?”
His brows furrow a bit. “Eight years perhaps. She died only a year or so before you and Alejandro met. It’s hard to remember. After a time, grief makes all the days and weeks blend together.”
“You must miss her.”
When he smiles it’s with a sorrow I feel deep in my bones. “No sabes cuanto.”
I reach across the table and squeeze his hand. “I’m so sorry for bringing her up. I didn’t mean—”
He’s already shaking his head. “No, no, no. Me hace bien recordarla. Es como…” he struggles for the words. “It’s like she’s still here. And one day you’ll be able to tell Lela all about her when I’m gone.”
“I hope there are still many more years before that happens.”
“With the number of headaches your husband gives me, I suspect I’m not long for this world.” He smiles and squeezes my hand. “You’re exactly what my grandson needed. Sharp and gentle in all the right places.”
I consider him a moment. “Do you have a hard time letting go?”
“I respect Alejandro’s place in this family. I retired because I trust him.” He gives a light shrug. “In a few years, my opinion won’t matter. I won’t live to see the next twenty years of our family and the rest of you will.”
“But?”
“But…” he relents. “I am still paralyzed by fear. Terrified of what will happen once we lose control of this city, no matter how unreasonable that fear may be. Sixty years and I still feel we haven’t climbed high enough or gone far enough.”
I hesitate before responding. “Abuelo, may I ask you something?”
He bows his head in response.
“How do you feel about the Ortiz family?”
The disdain in his eyes is all the answer I need. “Why do you ask?”
“Edith Ortiz invited Alejandro and me to dinner this evening. Apparently, they’re being called the thirteenth family.”
“And what do you think?”
“I’m not sure,” I confess. “Alejandro is firmly against it and I can’t say I disagree.
Bringing another family into the fold is too great a risk.
The Ortizes appeared seemingly out of nowhere.
We have no idea where they get their narcotics, how they got their start, or where their money initially came from. ”
“You make a fair point.”
“Part of me thinks it’s too soon. We’re already experiencing an unprecedented amount of change.
We haven’t seen this much turnover in leadership since the drug wars of the eighties and nineties.
Less than six months ago, Don Alfonso died and his son Luis Alberto took over.
Don Enrique retired and Don Samuel now runs the Villamizar family.
Not to mention Don Cayetano has one foot out the door and his eldest grandson is posed to inherit.
Count our family and Regina’s, that’s nearly half of us experiencing a transition of power. We’re vulnerable.”
“And you think the Ortizes are a risk?”
“I do. I think they’re hungry and desperate for power.
Everyone knows a fortress is most vulnerable during the changing of the guard.
” I have a thought to finish my sweet bread but suddenly lose my appetite.
“However, we’d be in even more danger if we neglected the Ortizes and they chose to instead align themselves with foreigners.
They could disrupt the entire system and our legitimacy would be at risk. ”
“How so?”
“No legitimate family gets involved in a mob war, Abuelo. Imagine the PR catastrophe it would be. I can already picture the headlines: Narvaez family—owner of privately held Narvaez Enterprises—embroiled in mafia terf war over Mediterranean port city. We’d have every government agency from here to Canada breathing down our necks. ”
Abuelo taps his fingers on the edge of the mosaic tabletop. A moment of unsettling quiet passes before he speaks. “Take a walk with me. I’d like to show you my lilies.”
I wait for Abuelo to stand and pull out my chair.
He extends his arm and I take it in mine as he leads me through his garden.
An array of different flowers and plants grow in neatly arranged sections, some native to Spain and others imported.
Roses mixed with lilies mixed with tomatoes and peppers and cilantro.
Dahlias in all my favorite colors and marigolds representing October, the month Allegra was born.
At the very edge of his garden, grows a small bundle of foxglove.
It’s so out of place that my gaze lingers on them longest.
“I was very uncertain of you in the beginning. In fact, after the year you spent separated from my grandson, I told him not to go after you again. Begged him to let you go.” We pause and he examines his flowers with great interest. “I didn’t think you were built for this life any more than his mother was. ”
Reaching into his apron pocket he pulls out his gardening sheers and bends down to snip at the stem of a foxglove. He twirls it between his fingertips and once satisfied with its appearance, extends it to me.
“You remind me of my Aurelia. Gentle by nature and hardened by the elements.”
I take the flower from him.
“You adapted. Bended and did not break,” he says. “My grandson may be the Don of this family but you, Dahlia, are its head.”
I swallow against the tightness in my throat. “I don’t think I am.”
“My grandson has many talents. Diplomacy and fair judgment. At his core he is good and honorable. A man of his word. But he isn’t a thinker. He isn’t a visionary like you are. Why do you think his first attempt at legitimacy failed?” He asks.
“Well, because—”
“Wrong.” He interrupts. “It failed because he did not have you.”
“I don’t know why you’re telling me this.”
“Alejandro’s instincts are clouded by his own corrupt motivations.
He doesn’t want the Ortizes to enter the fold because he feels his power waning.
Not because he perceives a real threat.” Abuelo levels me with a look.
“You will have to be his instincts now. If this goes the way I suspect it will, then you’ll only have each other to trust. And that is a very dangerous place to be. ”