Chapter 15 The Last Hope
Alejandra
I’m not complaining about being chauffeured around but it's going to be very annoying when I need to do things and I need to wait around for a driver.
For example, after papá and I finished lunch, I had the urge to go to my favorite bookstore and browse the new romance section.
As I was ordering myself a rideshare I received a text message from the king of assholes himself.
king asshole: Hector is on his way to get you and on your way home you need to pick up Camilla.
No explanation, just an order. The man in the driver's seat hasn’t said a word since he picked me up from my dad’s house.
I mentioned to him about possibly going to the bookstore before we picked up Camilla and he just simply says, “No. The boss says straight home.” Boo, technically I'm his boss too but I’m not in the mood to press buttons right now.
I rest my head against the window, watching the chaos that is the school pick-up line. Moms in yoga pants chatting it up by their expensive cars. Kids spill out of the brick building in a tide of neon backpacks and untied shoelaces. Everything feels so normal, but this isn’t my norm.
The memory of lunch with my papá weighs heavy in my heart–or maybe it’s just heartburn. Either way the feeling settles deep in my bones. An ache that has nothing to do with last night’s activities and everything to do with my recent conversation.
After his appointment we walked across the street to his favorite taco spot, Tacos El Guero, a tiny little hole in the wall.
The place is sensory overload but in the best way.
The sizzle of el trompo, the strong scent of cilantro con cebolla, and the classic rancheras humming from an old radio in the back of the kitchen.
It smells like home, like a life before three course meals and silent, watchful men.
papá sits across from me in the worn red vinyl booth, his frame so much smaller, diminished by the battle his body is waging.
The chemo has thinned his hair, leaving soft, gray tufts that cling stubbornly to his scalp.
But his eyes, the same warm brown as mine, are clear and sharp, never missing a thing.
“No tienes hambre, mija?” His voice is soft and concerned.
I push the plate of extra tacos closer to him. The meat is perfectly crisp, with caramelized onion, and covered in salsa on a warm tortilla. “You need to eat more, apa. The meat is protein and your doctor says you need to get your strength up. This’ll help.”
He pokes a piece of the meat with his fork, his appetite a ghost of what it used to be. “I’ll make you a deal, I’ll eat these two tacos, but only if you tell me what is going on.”
My breath catches. I’ve known this was coming since the moment the black car pulled up at his house and Hector held the door open for me to get out.
Papá's face had tightened with unasked questions. He’d been silent during the short drive to the hospital, his gaze moving from my maroon slacks to the silk blouse, and back to the smooth leather seats of the car.
“No pasa nada, papi.” I feign innocence, taking a slow sip of my horchata, the sweet cinnamon a sharp contrast to the bitterness of the lie on my tongue.
“Sofia.” he sets his fork down with a bit of force.
The use of my middle name cuts through my heart.
The only times he uses it is when he knows for a fact I’m lying or hiding something from him.
“Do not think you can play games con este viejo. Ese tipo de ropa no es tuya. I may have grown up without much but I know for a fact they are expensive. Even when you worked all those hours at the hospital you still wouldn’t be able to afford those clothes. Tell me what’s going on. Now.”
The quiet authority in his voice was the same one he used when I was a teenager trying to sneak out past curfew.
It left no room for argument. The air in the busy taqueria suddenly felt thin.
My breaths come out faster and I can feel the pressure on my chest growing as I rush to come up with a lie to cover up the mess I'm in.
I take a few deep breaths, the scent of the sizzling onion sharp in my nose. “Papi… all of this is because of the solution I found for us.”
His eyes narrow. “What solution?”
“The solution to everything,” I whisper, my voice thick with emotion. “One where I am able to afford your treatments and Miguel’s tuition at the same time, plus some. It’s a solution to everything that was wrong in our lives.”
He waits, his patience like a heavy blanket in the small space between us. He deserves to know the truth. At least, the version of it he could live with.
“I’m married.”
The words hang in the air yet land on him with the force of a physical blow. He didn’t flinch or gasp. He simply went rigid, his wrinkled hands resting on the table. For a full minute, the only sound was the rhythmic chopping of a knife against a wooden board coming from the kitchen.
When papá does finally speak his voice is soft but with an edge. “Has he hurt you?”
“No, papi, he hasn’t hurt me nor do I believe he will.” I meet his gaze, forcing myself to be steady. “He can be a bit of an asshole and he has a temper, but he hasn’t disrespected me. If anything he makes sure I’m taken care of, as well as Miguelito and you.”
“?Quién es?”
“Se llama Ernesto Damos,” I watch to see if a flicker of recognition crosses his face but there is none.
To my dad, it’s just a man, not the king of a tequila empire.
“He’s a very wealthy man and was willing to help me.
In exchange for his help all I have to do is be his wife in public and a mother figure to his six year old daughter. ”
I tell him the same story I told Veronica a few days ago.
“We met through a mutual friend who told him about our situation, about you and Miguel, so he offered me an arrangement, well more like a partnership. He helps my family, and I help him with his.” Once again I present the marriage like a business transaction, stripping away the dark details of El Santuario.
papá picks up his fork and slowly puts a piece of meat in his mouth. He chews, swallows, and then takes a sip of water. Him being this calm is more terrifying than when he gets angry and yells at us when we do something wrong.
“No me caí,” he finally says. “Un hombre que contrata a una mujer para ser su mujer no es un hombre hecho y derecho.”
“Papi, it’s not like that. No soy su mujer in that way. It’s just a mutual benefit. We both get what we need from this.”
“What he gets is my only daughter,” he counters, his eyes flash with a spark of the proud, fiery man I know.
“And do you know what I get out of this, Sofia? That my daughter agreed to a loveless marriage to save my life. That is not a benefit to everyone. That’s a guilt I’m going to carry with me hasta que este en mi tumba. ”
Hot tears prick my eyes. “Papi, por favor no digas eso. This was my choice. I made my decision and I did it for the sake of us, for our little family. If I lose you and Miguel I have no one else in this world.”
He reaches across the table, his calloused, trembling hands covering mine.
His touch was arm, and grounding. “Ya se mija and I appreciate the sacrifice more than you will ever know. You’ve always been the one to hold this family together, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it.
” He squeezes my hand. “Quiero conocerlo.”
If my stomach wasn’t attached to my body somehow it would be on the floor from how hard it plummets. “Papi, I don’t think that’s a good–”
“Te guste o no I’m going to meet this, Ernesto Damos,” he interrupts me, his tone leaving zero room for negotiation.
“Agreement or not, the least he could do is have decency and follow our traditions. He will look me in the eye and tell me what his intentions are with mi nina.” His jaw was set with a stubborn pride. “Tell him his suegro wants a word.”
The sun shines through as the car door beside me swings open, yanking me from the memory. Camilla launches herself into the backseat, her pink backpack hitting the floor with a heavy thud.
“Ale!” She throws her arms around my neck, her small body smelling of playground dirt and finger paint. Her hug is a burst of pure, uncomplicated affection that momentarily chases away the shadows of my conversation with papá.
I laugh, hugging her back just as tightly, smelling her little head full of sweat. “Hi princess. How was school?”
She pulls back, her brows furrowed as she looks around the back of the SUV. “Um, Ale, that’s not Felipe,” she cups her little hands together and whispers in my ear. “That man is scary looking, are you sure we’re safe?”
I let out a light laugh taking her little hands into mine to sit her on her car seat. “That is Hector and he’s doing us the favor of driving us today.”
“But why are you picking me up? Where’s my papi?”
The question is innocent, but I can hear the disappointment in her little voice. The hurt from last night is probably still present in her mind and she was looking forward to more time with Ernesto. I smooth a stray curl from her forehead and tuck it behind her ear.
“Your Papi got held up at work, princess,” I say, keeping my voice light.
I lean down towards her and speak in a soft tone.
“I think he had to fight another big dragon.” I finish it off with a wink which makes Camilla’s eyes widen with unfiltered excitement.
The explanation is just believable enough for her six-year-old mind.
“Will he be home for dinner? I wanted to show him my macaroni art I made in art class.”
“He should be,” I lie, I actually have no idea when Ernesto will be home but I can’t tell her that without breaking her little heart–again. “I’m sure he’ll be home soon, and we can all have dinner together.”
Camilla’s face brightens, her earlier disappointment forgotten. She trusts me and she trusts him, which is a heavy feeling. The child is surrounded by lies and inconveniences that hold together two families with promises I may not be able to keep.
As Hector pulls the SUV smoothly into traffic, Camilla shares with me about what her day consisted of; painting, yucky boys throwing bugs at the girls, and how a boy had pulled her hair and took her drawing of a rainbow she made.
I listen, I nod, but in my mind, I can still hear papá’s voice in the back of my mind—the promise of meeting Ernesto.
He will look me in the eye and tell me his intentions.
It makes me wonder what will happen when the world of Ernesto Damos finally collides with the world of Raul Carrillo.