Girl of Rage (13 page)

“Mummy?” Julia said. Her tiny arms were waving wildly. “Mummy? Mummy?”

“
What
?” Adelina shouted.

Julia’s eyes seemed to double in size as they filled with tears. Her face began to get red, and Adelina said, “I’m sorry, baby, it’s not…”

She didn’t get a chance to finish the sentence. Julia’s face turned red and she began to scream.

“Oh, for Christ’s sake,” she muttered. She slid Julia down to the floor, where the girl promptly collapsed and continued screaming. Adelina looked around, her head swiveling round as she searched for her coffee cup, which she’d only had maybe three sips from before Julia awoke.

Julia let out a piercing scream.

And
that
was when Richard’s door opened and he shot out of his room.

“Can’t you quiet that child?” he shouted. “I’m trying to sleep!”

“Why don’t
you
quiet her?” Adelina shouted back. “The only time I
ever
get to myself is Sunday morning, and now I’m losing that too.”

His face stiffened, his jaw working, and he reached forward and grabbed the sides of her face and began to squeeze. “I told you to shut. Her. Up
.
Do it.
”

His face was red as he said the words, his teeth clenched and his eyes bugged slightly. Adelina began to whimper, the pressure from his hands on the side of her face causing intense pain.

“Stop!” she shouted.

He let go and pushed. Adelina staggered back against the wall.

He sucked in another breath, his shoulders rising, and Julia let out another piercing scream.

He pointed. “That child. If you don’t shut her up,
I
will.”

Adelina slid down the wall, backing away from him. His words instantly quelled any argument or defiance. All she had to do was remember her father, run down by a truck on a narrow Madrid street, and he instantly gained her obedience. She had a little brother, Luis, to protect. She had a daughter to protect. It didn’t matter that Richard was Julia’s father. The longer she knew him, the more she realized he simply had no normal human feelings.

She kneeled down and picked up Julia, who screamed even louder. “Stay away from her.”

Richard sneered at her. “Gladly. I’m going back to sleep. If you have to, take her outside, but shut her up.”

“I’m going to Mass this morning.”

He threw his hands up in the air. “Fine! Take her to your Mass! Just shut her up!” Richard turned and stomped off, then slammed the door to his room.

Adelina turned back into the kitchen. Her heart was beating rapidly, and she could feel sweat on her forehead. “Calm down, Julia. You must calm down. Don’t disturb your father.”

Julia hiccupped and began to whine again. Adelina was desperate. She knew how to take care of babies—after all, Luis had been younger than Julia was now when she married Richard. She’d changed plenty of diapers and fed plenty of babies, and she knew what to do to calm Julia down. But the hardest part was calming herself down, and Julia would not calm down until her mother did. All Adelina could see was Richard, reaching his hands around her throat, ripping her dress, harming the people she loved.

She closed her eyes, desperately trying to breathe as waves of nausea and fear swept through her. “Come on, sweetheart, let’s get you something to eat.”

Eventually, Julia began to calm, and they sat together on the balcony as Adelina fed her daughter. The sun was coming up now; great bands of red and orange stretching across the sky. Adelina reflected that despite herself, she’d won another victory against Richard this morning. She’d won an essential victory, the fight for her daughter’s soul, the fight to bring her daughter up in the Church. The flip side of that was the bleak realization that she’d won that victory not through her own efforts, but through her daughter’s.

***

It was well past one in the afternoon when Adelina returned to the condo. Julia was asleep in her stroller—the long walk back from the church had been peaceful. The sky was a little grey, but by the time she started the walk back home, the temperature had warmed to the low sixties.

Normally Adelina made the walk home regardless of the weather, but that would change if she took Julia with her every week. Adelina didn’t mind walking in a raincoat with an umbrella in thirty degree weather, because it gave her time to think. But a two-year-old couldn’t do that.

The need to go to confession had been stronger than ever today. The last time she’d gone to confession had been traumatic. She remembered being on her knees in the parish church of Santa Maria in Calella, her mother on one side and the priest on the other, as she sobbed out a half-true story. She was pregnant, and gave the name of the father—Richard Thompson. But she didn’t describe the circumstances, because she was too afraid. Too afraid he would hurt her brother, or her mother.

Father Dennis, the priest at Saint Jane Frances de Chantal, seemed like a trustworthy man. She’d watched him over the last few weeks since her arrival in Bethesda. In his early thirties, he had deep brown hair and eyes and moved around the church with deliberate care and courtesy to everyone. He’d made a point of introducing himself at her first Mass, and then sought her out twice since to make sure she was settling in well.

She’d never had cause to doubt a confessor before. The bond between a penitent and confessor was supposed to be inviolate, but she’d learned the hard way that not all men were able or willing to uphold the trust of that sacred bond. After her experience in Calella, she needed to be sure. What would happen if she told Father Tom about her rape, about Richard, about her lies to her family, about all of it? She didn’t know. Part of her was deeply afraid he would betray her the same way the parish priest in Calella had done. She couldn’t imagine the consequences of Richard in a real rage. For example, if his position were threatened. He’d made it very clear to her that his ambition was both boundless and that she was to do everything she could to support it.

As Adelina rode up the elevator, she felt, rather than saw, Julia begin to stir. Adelina crooned a quiet tune in the elevator, hoping to keep her asleep long enough to take a nap. She decided to take the chance. Next weekend she would go to confession. Her soul was more important than any earthly consequences.

Inside, she stood still and breathed in the calm for a moment when Julia didn’t stir. The concierge had let her know that Richard was out. She knew he wouldn’t be back until late that evening—whatever Richard did with his free time didn’t include her. Sometimes he spent long hours locked in his study, and sometimes he just stayed out. She didn’t really care where, as long as she didn’t have to deal with him often.

She rolled the stroller back to Julia’s room and slowly lifted her out of the seat to the crib, then froze halfway up.

The phone was ringing.
Damn it.
Julia started to stir, but Adelina whispered calming words and slowly got her into her bed. She tucked the blanket around her then stepped back.

The girl didn’t stir. Adelina stepped out and gently closed the door.

She reached the phone just in time to hear the answering machine pick up.

“Um … hello,” said the voice on the machine. A warm, upper class British accent. She instantly recognized George-Phillip’s voice and felt an intense anxiety.

“I’m calling for uh … Mr. Thompson. This is George-Phillip Windsor, you were kind enough to host me for dinner the other night—”

Adelina snatched up the phone.

“Hello? Hello?”

“Um…”

The awkward exchange went silent. Then George-Phillip said, “Is this Adelina Thompson? It’s so pleasant to hear your voice.”

Adelina felt her cheeks heat up at the same time she felt intense shame. Hate Richard she might, but she was
married
to him. But just hearing the sound of George-Phillip’s voice on the phone sent her heart racing.

“This is Adelina,” she whispered.

“I—I called to say thank you for hosting the dinner the other evening. It was a distinct pleasure.”

Adelina started to answer and found herself stumbling over her words. Flustered, she said, “Thank you. Would you like me to pass a message to Richard?”

George-Phillip coughed. Then he said one word, a word that made Adelina’s chest hurt a little.

“No.”

She swallowed, waiting for him to speak again.

“Actually,” he said, “it’s really you I wanted to speak with, if that’s all right. You see, I’m still fairly new in Washington, and…”

“Yes?”

“I suppose it would be improper of me to ask you to meet me for lunch.”

Extremely
improper. But she wanted him to ask her. She wanted it very badly.

“Perhaps,” he continued, “you could bring along your lovely daughter. I genuinely do have the highest of motives. You see … ironically, you’re the first person I’ve really met in Washington my own age.”

She wrinkled her forehead. Of course. That made much more sense. Julia would act as a tiny chaperone.

“Of course. I think that’s a lovely idea,” she said.

“Perhaps Monday?”

“Monday is good. I can meet…” She thought quickly. Nowhere near Embassy Row, of course, though that would be most convenient for George-Phillip. The State Department wasn’t far from there, and Richard might well be in that part of town for meetings. “What about … Matisse on Wisconsin Avenue?”

Matisse was sufficiently distant from the State Department. Richard would be unlikely to be in that part of town. Plus, he hated French food, except when he was trying to impress others.

“That sounds lovely,” George-Phillip said.

“Monday then? At one?”

“I will see you then,” he replied.

Quickly, before she could acknowledge what she was doing, Adelina hung up the phone. Thirty seconds later, she let out a gasp, and only then did she realize that she hadn’t been breathing.

Jessica. May 2. 10:14 am Pacific

Jessica Thompson sat on the stone wall overlooking the Pacific Ocean and wondered what it would be like to throw herself off the wall, to roll down the cliff, to die in the cold, heartless waves below. A brisk and cold wind blew a chill right through her soul as she wiped tears and stared out at the ocean, wondering if her mother was a liar or insane. She had a piercing headache; the kind that felt like someone had driven a nail right through her skull. The pain was centered just over her right eye.

Abruptly, she said, “Show me your driver’s license.”

Adelina didn’t balk at the strange request. Instead, she stood and walked to the minivan and opened the door, then took out her purse.

A moment later Jessica was holding the California Driver’s License in her hands.

Adelina Ramos Thompson. Birth date: March 21, 1964.

The math wasn’t all that hard to work out. Julia was born in December of , 1981.

“You were sixteen when you got pregnant.”

Her mother nodded.

“But you always said you were two years older.”

Adelina sighed. “Your father always wanted it that way. He didn’t want to get married in the first place, I think. But leaving a pregnant teenage girl in Spain would have been detrimental to his career.” Her face looked wistful as she said the words.

“Why did you marry him?” Jessica asked. “Who marries their rapist?”

Adelina shook her head. “You grew up in a different world, Jessica. A world where girls tweet and post on Facebook and Instagram and marry other girls if they want to. A world where people have heard the terms
date rape
and
sexual harassment
and it actually means something. When my mother realized I was pregnant, she dragged me to the priest to go to confession. They forced me to marry him.”

“I don’t understand,” Jessica said.

“Of course not. To you, some level of freedom has always made sense. When I was growing up, divorce wasn’t even legal in Spain.”

Jessica shook her head slowly. Her mind was awash with thought, with confusion. Then she said, “Why did you have more children with him?” She felt a stab of pain and something akin to grief. “Why did you have
me?”

Adelina sighed. “That’s a long story. I hadn’t planned to have any children after Julia.”

“You must have loved him a little, right? To sleep with him again? Otherwise … what about Carrie? If you didn’t love him?”

“Dear, Carrie isn’t Richard’s child.”

Jessica winced. “Am I?”

Adelina reached out and took Jessica’s hand. “Yes, your father is Richard.”

“My father is the man who raped you,” Jessica said bitterly.

Adelina closed her eyes. “Yes. I’m sorry.”

Jessica gave her mother a scornful look. “
You’re
sorry? He’s the one who should be sorry.” She thought through so many things in the past that hadn’t made sense. Her dad, always locked away in his study when he wasn’t working. His long trips away from home. His cold demeanor.

Was that why—?

“Mom? Is that why Andrea left home? Is she also not his?”

Her mother nodded. “Yes. I tried. I hated him, but I still tried to—you can’t imagine how hard I tried to … to—”