Chapter 38 Gloria
Gloria
One of the kind receptionists had helped Gloria into an armchair in the lobby, with her walker right next to her in case she needed it. Of course, the receptionist was being polite. Gloria would definitely need the walker—no “just in case” about it—because it had been some years since she could move around unaided.
She had left the hospital soon after Claire. The family usually doted on Gloria, but this time, they were too busy extracting Vega from Matías’s room to notice when Gloria slipped away. They were probably working themselves into a frenzy now, but Gloria only chuckled at the thought. Her ninety-two-year-old body might be slow and creaky, but her mind was as sharp as it had ever been. As long as Gloria could sit—like in the taxi on the way here or now, in this plush armchair—she would be more than fine.
Besides, she had had to sneak away, because if Soledad or Aracely had known that Gloria was coming to the hotel, they likely would have tried to stop her. The de Leóns were legendary for how tightly they could hold on to grudges if someone hurt one of their own, and Claire had just joined Vega on their grievance list.
Claire emerged tentatively from the hotel elevator, taking small, slow steps like she was walking into a panther’s cage. Gloria didn’t blame her, after the thrashing she’d been given by Aracely and Soledad at the hospital.
But Gloria smiled to ease Claire’s worries. She was so young—an accomplished attorney and yet still only a fledgling adult. Most of the time, Gloria knew that young people needed to be allowed to stumble and make their own mistakes. But sometimes, like right now, she just wanted to help. She wanted to gather Claire up in her arms and tell her everything would be all right.
But how could she, when everything might never be all right again?
“Thank you for meet me,” Gloria said slowly, reciting the English sentence she’d looked up on her phone on the taxi ride here.
An uncertain spark of hope creased the corner of Claire’s mouth. “Hola, Abuela Gloria.”
“I…sorry. English very bad.” She wished it was better, but she couldn’t change history. Foreign-language education was nonexistent during her childhood in the midst of the Spanish Civil War, and thereafter, Franco had become dictator and declared Spanish the only language of the country. All other languages were either banned or strongly “discouraged.”
Claire waved away Gloria’s concern as she sat into the adjacent armchair. “Está bien. Yo estoy—I mean, soy—una mala estudiante de espa?ol.”
Gloria appreciated Claire’s attempt to speak Spanish. It was little better than Gloria’s English, but equally as earnest.
Claire took her phone out of her pocket, tapped on the screen, then said something rapidly in English.
“This is a translation program,” a computerized voice informed Gloria in Spanish.
“Dios mío, qué útil,” Gloria said.
The robot woman clearly translated her words into recognizable English, because Claire nodded. This would, indeed, be quite useful.
“Well, then,” Gloria said with a smile, the phone automatically translating what she said into something Claire could understand. “I suspect you wish to know why I am here.”
“I am curious,” Claire said through the phone. “Especially given how the rest of the family feels about me now.”
“They should not project their past experience with Vega onto you.”
Claire sighed. “I don’t think that’s it…I haven’t been at the hospital as much as they would like.”
“From the moment the doors open until the nurses kick you out?” Gloria said with a wry snort. “The chair that Soledad designated for you is as much a prison as a gift.”
Claire’s mouth parted in surprise. She probably had not realized that Gloria had been observing her all the times they were in Matías’s room together. But it had been quite clear to Gloria how much Claire loved Matías and wanted to help him, but also how trapped the poor girl was, under the well-meaning but heavy weight of Soledad’s love for her son.
“Um, the family means well, though,” Claire said, having gathered herself. “I understand why they’re mad. But I have good reasons for not being there.”
Gloria nodded solemnly. “I know. And that is the reason I came to the hotel. Please, tell me about Matías.”
Claire let out a short laugh under her breath. “I doubt you’ll believe me. I tried explaining it to Soledad and Aracely, and they didn’t believe me, either. But then, why should they, when it sounds so crazy, even to me? I’m usually the most logical person in any room, and I wouldn’t believe me.” She slouched in her chair.
Gloria had spent enough time in the past week watching Claire to know that she was not a woman who folded easily. Matías’s girlfriend was a fighter. She had been thrust into an unimaginably terrible situation in a foreign country and surrounded by the enormous, loving but sometimes overwhelming de León family, and she hadn’t quit. She had tried to be there for Matías while also juggling her demanding job, and if what Soledad had said at the hospital was true, Claire had been stretching herself thin for Matías away from the view of the family, too.
“Tell me,” Gloria said gently. “I will not judge.” She reached out and patted Claire’s hand, suddenly all too aware of the contrast between Claire’s firm young skin and her own. When had she gotten so old?
But that was the price to be paid for experience, and Gloria was glad for all she had lived through. It was how—at the end of a life—one could find peace. “I have seen a great deal over the years, and I like to think it has made me a little wiser.”
Claire exhaled deeply. Gloria wondered if this was what Claire did daily as a lawyer—steel herself to tell the truth, even if it scared her.
“You can do it,” Gloria said. “I am listening.”
“Okay…” Claire said. She still trembled, barely perceptibly, but her voice was strong. “Then here it is. I have seen Matías, outside of the hospital. That’s why I haven’t been at his bedside. I’ve been with him—at his studio, at a flamenco show, falling asleep in Retiro Park.” She bit her lip, as if bracing for Gloria to chastise her as Soledad had.
But instead, Gloria said, “Like a ghost?” Soledad and the younger generations of the family may have drifted from what they thought were old-fashioned superstitious beliefs, but Gloria had grown up in civil war and Franco’s Spain. She knew ghosts were very real.
“No, his soul. He’s a little lost, and he thinks it’s one year ago.”
Gloria traced a button on her armrest as she thought about Matías’s soul, detached from his body. It would be just like her grandson to go wandering off.
But Claire had said he was lost, so it wasn’t curiosity driving his soul. “Hmm…” Gloria said. “That could make sense, if he is confused.”
Claire’s mouth dropped open. “Wait. You believe that I can see him? And that it’s really Matías’s soul?”
Gloria smiled sadly. “As I mentioned, I have seen a great deal in ninety-two years, and more recently, that has involved the passing of many of my friends. I have never been able to see their souls, but I have felt them the moment they leave their bodies. And—don’t tell Armando—but sometimes, I can feel the seam where my own soul is attached. The threads have begun to unravel.” It was not an alarming revelation for Gloria, just an observation, like one might notice that a well-loved coat was beginning to look thin at the elbows.
“Oh no, please don’t say that, Gloria!”
She shook her head. “It is all right, my dear. I have had my time on earth.” She had been through war, yes, but she had also seen the highs of being human—falling in love with her neighbor Pedro, bearing children and watching them grow, and then being there when they themselves fell in love and had their own children. Life always contained some traumas, but the most important things were the joys. And Gloria had had a lifetime’s worth of blessings.
But Matías had not. He deserved to live, to marry Claire, to have babies and teach them how to ride bicycles and to paint and to cook. His friends’ young lives had been cut off much too soon; Gloria could not bear for her own grandson to follow the same fate.
“Claire,” she said, leaning forward in the armchair, even though it took great effort to pull herself from the deep, plush cushion. “I think there is still something that can be done. If Matías’s soul is drawn to you, you are the one who can save him.”
Yet at her words, Claire only slumped deeper into her armchair. “Or maybe it’s not me. Maybe it’s supposed to be Vega. His soul thinks it’s one year ago, and a year ago, he was still in love with her .”
Gloria scoffed. “Matías’s soul has not visited Vega. Believe me, if he had, she would have been marching all around gloating, rather than desperately sneaking into his hospital room. And you are wrong that he loved her a year ago.”
Claire looked confused. “But…weren’t they engaged?”
“Yes, but they had been together for so long that it was simply…how things were. It was not movement forward; it was, in truth, holding them back. Matías and Vega were both artists with great respect for each other’s talent. They lived in the same fickle world where most people don’t appreciate the work they toiled to create, and it is difficult to make a living. Having a constant like a relationship made it feel a bit less risky for Matías.
“But as his abuela, I know Matías to his core. He is enthusiastic about trying new things, but he also craves stability. He grew up with a solid, loving family, and once he and Vega were together, I believe he assumed she would be his new foundation.
“However, Vega has a difficult time committing to anything. Matías may have many interests, but he is also able to focus intently on the projects and people he loves. Vega, on the other hand…She is not good at following through. Her studio is littered with unfinished sculptures, and she complains about impatient clients who think it unreasonable that a piece they commissioned five years ago is still not complete. She is not made to be tied down—although I do not think Vega understood that about herself when she accepted Matías’s proposal, because they were so young then.
“But by the time Matías received the invitation to teach in New York, he and Vega had already grown apart. They lived together in the same apartment, but they were rarely there at the same time. He worked in his studio during daylight hours; she got her inspiration when it was dark. They loved each other in the way that one loves old friends—a deep, steady fondness that you assume will always be there, whether you see them every day or only once every few years.
“Their breakup was a relief to our whole family. I think even Matías was relieved. He is a man who keeps his promises, and he would never have taken back his proposal to Vega if she hadn’t broken it first. But Matías needs someone to be a home base, someone who is reliable to ground him. Someone who can give back to him as much as he gives out.
“His soul chose you, Claire, not Vega. The conscious Matías knows you are his home, so his subconscious feels it intuitively—even if, I suppose, he doesn’t remember you yet.”
Claire sat up a little straighter in her chair, as if something important just occurred to her. Gloria frowned.
“Is there more about Matías’s soul that you haven’t told me?” Gloria asked.
“Well…” Claire blushed.
Gloria crossed her arms. It made her elbows crackle, but the stern posture seemed to have the effect she wanted on Claire.
“It’s just that…Matías and I have kind of been going on dates.”
“What do you mean?”
“I talked to a professor who specializes in astral projections, and she said that his soul needs to reconnect to reality in order for Matías to wake from his coma. So I’ve been trying to spend time with him—his soul—walking around the park, going to the Sorolla Museum, that sort of thing. It’s the reason I can’t always be in the hospital.”
Gloria chewed it over. As a theory, it made as much sense as anything else. “Is it working?”
“I think so…The other day, he, um, kissed me.”
Gloria could tell from the flush in Claire’s cheeks that it must have been more than a quick peck.
“And the more time we spend together,” Claire was saying, “the more solid Matías’s soul is becoming. It used to be that if there was a beam of light, it would shine right through him and he’d go transparent. But now he’s getting more and more opaque.” She ended with a hopeful smile.
But Gloria sank back into the depths of the armchair. Because this brave young woman clearly thought she was helping Matías, when—Gloria was quite certain—she was doing the exact opposite.
“Did I say something?” Claire asked.
“Oh, Claire…” Gloria let out a long sigh. “You did not mean to. It is true that you are strengthening Matías’s soul, but I fear it is in the wrong way. The more time his soul spends with you in the unreal world of one year ago, the further he strays from his body and the less likely he is to return to it. And here, in our reality, Matías is slipping away.”
“No!” Claire said. “I’m his anchor, and I’m trying to reel him in.”
Gloria hesitated, then took a deep breath. She did not want Claire to feel guilty, because Claire’s connection to Matías’s soul meant she really was the only one who could save Gloria’s grandson. But Claire also had to understand that what she was doing might well be killing him. “The doctors have said that Matías isn’t getting any better,” Gloria said. “He is actually getting much worse.”
“Oh no,” Claire whispered. “It’s because we fought.”
“When?”
“Literally seconds before you arrived and the receptionist called me.”
Gloria shook her head. “That cannot be it. It took me a while to get here from the hospital.” The taxi ride itself had been quick, but the walk down to the hospital lobby before that had been arduous. “Matías was already doing poorly before you two fought. He has become sicker ever since that episode we thought was a heart attack. All the time that you are spending with Matías’s soul—the Matías in the hospital bed has been growing weaker and weaker.”
“Oh god…” Claire looked like a small child who’d gotten lost in the woods, hoping that Gloria was here to guide her out.
But Gloria couldn’t. Claire was the one Matías’s soul knew.
“The doctors told us to start thinking about whether we want to bring Matías home. In Spain, we prefer not to pass away in the hospital.”
“No!” Claire said. “It’s too soon.”
“Your time is running out,” Gloria said. “The longer Matías’s soul is separated from his body, the more his condition declines. It is no longer time for caution, Claire. You have to make up that fight you had with him, and you have to bring his soul back to this world.”
“But I don’t know how to do it!”
“Then you must figure it out. Because you are the only one who can save him.”