A Greater Love (15 page)

“Oh, Miguel. It’s so warm!” There was delight in her voice, and despite himself Daniel smiled.

He threw their shoes by the door and went into the spare bedroom, bringing the electric heater to take the chill from the room. The apartment had central heating in the form of hot water running in pipes through the floors, but he rarely turned it on. Maybe it was time he did, especially if the children would be wearing his old T-shirts to bed. He could also put a hot water bottle under the covers to warm the bed as his mother had always done for him. On his way to heat the water, he listened at the door a few more minutes until he was satisfied that they were all right.

In the narrow kitchen, he took out the red water bottle and began boiling water in a pan. A white plastic sack on the floor near where Miguel had sat caught his eye. He bent to retrieve it. Inside, there were several apples, a cheese sandwich, a half-eaten banana, and a partial loaf of bread. Was this the extent of the generosity the children had encountered? No wonder they’d trusted him. They were desperate.

“See, Cristina,” he said to the empty room. “This world is not worthy of children.”

In his room, he found two T-shirts in the bottom drawer. Pausing a moment, he opened the first drawer on Cristina’s side of the dresser. She had taken a lot of her clothes when she’d left, but much of her nightwear still filled the space: layers of soft satin and lace. He’d kept it exactly as it had been on the day she left, even after receiving the divorce papers. Doing so made it seem as though their relationship could still be mended. Would she ever come back for them? He was beginning to doubt that she would. So much time had already passed.

Sighing, he knocked on the bathroom door. “I’ve some shirts here. You can use them to sleep in. I’m just going to open the door and stick my arm in.” The shirts were plucked out of his hand and the door shut again. Sara giggled and he noticed that her cough had diminished in the warmth of the bathroom.

A short time later, the door swung open and Daniel blinked, almost not recognizing them. His long T-shirts covered both Sara and Miguel adequately, but something bulged oddly in the breast pocket of the shirt Miguel wore and a battered safety pin prevented whatever it was from falling out. What could be inside? Miguel saw him staring and Daniel knew by the set of his jaw that the child would refuse to answer any questions. Better not to ask—yet.

Now that the children were comparatively clean, the streaks of white in their hair shone more brilliantly. Except for Miguel’s swollen eye, they no longer looked like street urchins.

“Well, you look clean,” he said, entering the bathroom. “But we need to brush your hair. No, leave the door shut. You’ll let out all the warm air.”

He grabbed Cristina’s brush from the shelf above the sink. It was something else she’d forgotten. “Come here, Miguel. You’re first. Come on, now. Sara’s hair will be much harder.” Miguel submitted while Sara watched, eyes dancing. When she smiled her whole face lit up, making Daniel feel strangely happy. Occasionally, she reached out and touched his leg, as if to reassure herself that he was real.

On Miguel’s head, Daniel found a long wound that looked fairly serious. The shaggy hair covered but couldn’t completely hide the jagged, still healing cut. Why hadn’t the child received stitches? Daniel carefully combed around the wound.

“Okay now,” he said. “Your turn, Sara.” She giggled.

Miguel’s unevenly cut hair was short and easy to comb through, but Daniel couldn’t make the brush go through Sara’s hair. He contemplated cutting it. Tangled as it was, it would take forever to dry, and sleeping with wet hair in this cold would not be good for her cough.

“I’ll be right back,” he told them. “You two stay here in the bathroom where it’s warm.”

He was returning to the bathroom with a pair of scissors when he heard a key in the lock. Crossing the entryway, he pulled open the door. On the other side, Cristina drew away in surprise.

“Oh, you’re home.”

“Of course I’m home,” he replied sharply, feeling renewed anger at her betrayal.

“I thought you might be at your mother’s.” She shifted her weight nervously to the other foot. “Since it’s the weekend and so near Christmas.”

“I’m not going this weekend.” The truth was that he hadn’t wanted to tell his mother about Cristina, and because of that he hadn’t visited her in a month.

“I rang below, and no one answered.”

She must have rung while he was in the bathroom with the children. “I was busy.”

Remembering his visitors, Daniel suddenly wanted her to leave. He had envisioned her return, but not like this, not with two strange children in the bathroom. What would she think? A part of him wondered if she would be impressed with his kindness, but the more insistent part knew he couldn’t let her see the children. It would only weaken his argument against having children of their own. She might even want to involve herself in their lives.

“Why are you here?” he asked.

“I need to get some of my clothes. You do still have them, don’t you?”

“Can you come back tomorrow?”

Her brown eyes narrowed. “What’s wrong with now?”

“I—I was just in the bathroom. I was going to take a bath.”

“A bath? You always take showers.”

“People change.”

“Well, I won’t be but a minute. I only want a few things. I can come back for the big stuff another day.”

She started to pass him, but he stepped in her way. “I’ll bring them to you. If you’ll tell me where you’re staying. I assume you’ve found a place.”

“Yes, this week. I was lucky to find a good place so soon.”

“It’s been a month,” he said painfully. She acted as though she’d been away a few days. “I was beginning to think you’d never come back.”

“I’m not. At least not to stay.” She refused to meet his eyes.

“Then why come at all? Tell me what you want and I’ll bring it by. There’s no sense in carrying all that stuff in the rain.”

“It’s not raining anymore. Besides, I have the car.”

That’s right. She’d taken the car. He couldn’t have driven Miguel and Sara home even if they’d wanted him to.

Her ownership of their car and his of their furniture was in the divorce decree which had sat unsigned on the coffee table in the small TV room, a constant reminder of his loss.

Great, one more thing he didn’t want her to see. He should have put it away.

“What are you hiding?” A flush covered Cristina’s face.

“Nothing. Now’s simply not a good time. Can’t you—” A clatter in the bathroom interrupted his words. A soft giggle followed. Sara.

Cristina’s eyes widened. “Who do you have in there?” Her eyes focused on the hairbrush in his hand, and she gave a small gasp.

Daniel held the brush behind his back, but the damage had been done. How many times had he brushed Cristina’s hair after her bath? He’d loved feeling the soft tresses, and it had become a special moment between them.

Now she stepped backwards into the hall. “I didn’t know you had company.” Her voice was bitter and hurt etched over her white face.

He grabbed her with the hand that held the scissors, nearly stabbing her. “It’s not like that, Cristina. I’m just … you see …”

“I see it didn’t take you long to replace me.” Acid oozed from her voice.

She seemed to forget it was she who had left him, and that if he’d signed those quickie divorce papers, their marriage might have already been over.

“I’ll never replace you!”

“Then who’s in there?”

He let out a frustrated sigh. Maybe he was wrong to keep them from her. Maybe seeing Miguel and Sara’s misery would finally make her admit that he was right.

“Come on.” He nearly dragged her to the bathroom door and opened it. He couldn’t help adding sarcastically, “Not that you have any right to know.”

Her mouth gaped. “Children? You have children in here?” An unbelieving smile played across her lips. Miguel and Sara were silent, staring up at the newcomer, waiting to see what she would do.

“Shut the door. You’re letting out the warmth,” Daniel said. Cristina obeyed silently, and in the face of her amazement, he suddenly felt like explaining himself. “I found them in the stairwell. They were cold.”

“And dirty, too.” She glanced at their discarded clothes. “Are those fl—” She broke off, obviously not wanting to offend his small guests. Daniel winced at the tiny fleas hopping from the discarded sweaters onto the clean ceramic tile. He hadn’t noticed the insects before, but Cristina had sharp eyes.

“We found his wallet,” Sara told her.

Daniel nodded. “I was trying to brush her hair, but I couldn’t get the brush to go through, so—”

“You were going to cut it!” Cristina grabbed the scissors from his hand. “Daniel, her hair is beautiful—or will be once we get it combed. You can’t cut it! Besides, you know you can’t cut straight. Remember the time you tried to trim mine? Just a trim I wanted, not four inches off one side and one off the other. Oh, Daniel!”

“But—”

“Let me.” She bent down to eye level with Sara. “I’m Cristina. What’s your name?”

“Sara Silva.”

“How old are you? Five?”

The little girl glanced at her brother before answering. “I’m six. I usta be five, but I had a birthday.”

“Do you mind if I fix your hair?”

Sara shook her head. “Are you Senhor’s wife?”

“You mean, Daniel’s?” Cristina’s eyes flicked in his direction. At Sara’s nod, she added, “We were married.” Daniel felt pain when she used the past tense.

“First, we need to rinse your hair with my conditioner,” Cristina said. “Can you lean over the tub for me?” The small bathroom was now uncomfortably full, but oddly Daniel felt loath to leave.

As Cristina worked, she chatted easily with the children, finding out more about them in a few minutes than he had in the hour they’d been in the apartment. They’d come from the Lisbon area. Miguel was nine, he adored eating fish of any kind, and he sometimes worked for a lady selling flowers. Sara loved to sing and dance, and cookies were her favorite food. Only of their family did they say nothing; each time Sara opened her mouth to reply to the questions, Miguel nudged her.

With a comb, Cristina worked her way up from the ends of Sara’s hair. When she finished, she trimmed the ends even with the scissors and began blow-drying the thick locks. “We can’t have you sleeping with wet hair,” she said. Sara smiled.

Daniel left to check on the water for the hot water bottle and found it had boiled out. He added more, and in a teapot he started water boiling for more tea. He’d bought lemons out of habit, even though he hated them himself. He took one out and cut off the rind, dropping the yellow peel into the water.

Under the table, Lucky watched him with sleepy eyes. “Are you thirsty, boy?” Daniel filled a bowl with water and slid it under the table. Lucky arose and walked closer to lap up the water. Daniel fondled his neck. Now a dog was a good companion. He’d never had one as a child because his father hadn’t allowed it. Maybe it was time for one now.

When he returned to the bathroom, the door was open and Cristina lifted Sara to see herself in the mirror, still partially foggy with steam. “I look like Mamãe!” the little girl exclaimed. “Don’t I, Miguel?” The boy nodded.

Daniel met Cristina’s eyes in the mirror and silent communication passed between them. Daniel knew that, like him, she’d thought the children were without family. Who was this mother? Had she abandoned them? A smirk came unbidden to Daniel’s lips and his resolve deepened. Mothers abandoning their children! Into this was the world Cristina wanted to bring an innocent baby.

 Cristina hefted the hair dryer, looking away from Daniel quickly as though unwilling to share his bitter thoughts. “Come here, Miguel. Let me dry your hair. It won’t take but a minute. We might as well trim it a bit, too.” Daniel turned to leave, but her voice stopped him. “Would you put some water on for tea? I think a little lemon will do Sara’s cough good.”

“It’s already on. Enough for you as well.” In truth he hadn’t thought of giving it to the child, but Cristina didn’t have to know that.

“Thank you.” In her eyes he could see that she was touched.

Five minutes later they were all in the kitchen. Lucky waddled out from under the table and greeted the children enthusiastically. Cristina’s eyebrows rose. “Did you get a dog?”

“This is Lucky,” Daniel told her, strangely glad that there was at least this one thing he had found out about the children before Cristina. “He belongs to Miguel and Sara.”

“He’s cute. I wonder why we never got a dog.”

Daniel remembered that she had brought it up several times, but they’d never made any decision. “One more thing to clean up after.” He meant it as a joke, but Cristina’s smile died.

“He don’t take much work,” Sara said. “And he’s warm to sleep with.”

“Of course he is.” Cristina stroked the puppy, who wriggled enthusiastically.

There wasn’t much food left in the house, but Daniel cooked spaghetti noddles with butter and fried a slice of turkey breast for Miguel, who savored every drop. How he could eat again after so much dinner earlier was beyond Daniel’s comprehension. Sara ate nothing, but sipped her tea sleepily from Cristina’s lap. At last her eyes drooped and closed.

“I think she’ll sleep well,” Cristina said.

Daniel watched her cradle Sara. His wife’s face was softer than he’d ever seen it, even more so than in the days when they had first met. She was beautiful.

He wrenched his gaze away. “I think it’s time for bed,” he told Miguel, who was also fighting sleep. “Come on.”

He led them to the guest room and pulled back the covers on the bed, pushing the hot water bottle that warmed the middle of the bed further down where their feet would now rest. He made sure the towel around it was secure so they wouldn’t burn their toes.

Cristina laid Sara in bed and tucked the covers under her chin. Miguel watched her intently, and Daniel saw longing in the child’s eyes. Miguel’s tough exterior had faded with Cristina’s presence, as if she were someone he felt he could trust.

Where was his mother? Anger at the unfairness in the world made Daniel brusque. “Get in bed, Miguel.”