one hot summer (26 page)

I was so drained after talking with Rodrigo that it took all my strength to walk out to the car. My eyes wandered all over the console and rested on the clock, but I was so distraught that it took a while before the neon green digital numbers registered in my mind. I realized with a shock that it was already past one o’clock, and I hadn’t even taken a shower or had coffee. My whole life had been upended in the span of a few hours.

Listening to Rodrigo explain exactly what had happened—what he had done, and why—I was devastated by the enormity of the betrayal I’d suffered. When I saw Ariel and Mamá so buddy-buddy at the family dinner, I should have suspected they were cooking up something. Never in a hundred years, though, would I have thought they would resort to such low-down, dirty means of making sure I quit work and stayed home with another baby.

And they thought I would never find out.

I knew that Ariel and Mamá had always been in agreement, thinking they knew what was best for me, but to stoop as low as they had was inconceivable to me. They had infantilized me, making decisions for me as though I was incapable of making them on my own. They had talked to me like I was a child before, and I had gone along with their little jokes, thinking them harmless. Now I saw that my laissez faire attitude had been a huge mistake.

I had maintained my composure while talking to Rodrigo, but the truth was that I felt traumatized, almost as though I was learning someone in my family had died. The tragedy had taken place, nothing could be done about it, and there was nothing left but to learn the particulars. I felt like a voyeur of a scene in which I was the main actor, and it was a horrible sensation.

Rodrigo had, of course, sworn me to secrecy, telling me that not only would Mamá fire him if she learned he had talked to me, but he would also be permanently expelled from the Santos family inner circle. Mamá had known exactly what she was doing when she threatened the old man with banishment from our family. We were the only family he had left.

Once he started talking, there was no holding the old man back. Mamá had told him how tired I was of working, and how I really wanted to resign from my job and have another baby but I worried that I would be letting down my partners at the firm. She told him how I felt that, as the only Cuban woman partner, I worried I would be setting a bad precedent if I quit for no reason. She told him how I talked about having worked too long and hard to just walk away from my job.

To put it another way, she used my own thoughts and concerns against me.

Mamá told Rodrigo that getting pregnant would give me a perfect reason for resigning—which is what I really wanted to do, but wouldn’t admit to anyone. She had actually told Rodrigo that there were problems between Ariel and me because of my job, and that having another baby would keep us together. Mamá, she explained, was being a good mother by helping me with my dilemma.

Rodrigo, a Cuban man, understood this reasoning perfectly. They were speaking the same language, and he agreed wholeheartedly that it would be best for me to get pregnant right away. And, after all, who knew what was best for me, if not my husband and mother? As a pharmacist, though, he knew he would be breaking the law by going along with Mamá’s proposal. The fear of being banished from the Santos world was stronger in the end than the oath he had taken upon becoming a pharmacist and, in the end, he bought into her argument and overcame his initial hesitation about going along with the plan.

I knew how persuasive Mamá could be, and I wasn’t surprised she had managed to browbeat Rodrigo into breaking the law. And that was why, when I went to get my last batch of birth control pills, he had substituted placebos for the real thing. It was clear to me that Rodrigo was convinced he had done what was right for me. Talking about what had happened, it all made perfect sense to him.

I had never felt so alone in my life. There was no one I could confide in, or consult with. Close as I was to Vivian and Anabel, I couldn’t go to them for help. I would trust them with my life, but this was information that I simply couldn’t share with them. I wasn’t able to tell them about the affair with Luther, and I didn’t think I ever would. They both liked Ariel, although in the beginning when we had begun dating, they had been suspicious of him and his motives toward me, but those had dissipated as the years passed and he had convinced them of his honorable intentions. I knew that they would take Ariel’s side in this situation, especially as I could not tell them the whole story. And there was no way to understand the problems I faced without knowing about the affair.

After the first conversation with them in Starbucks when I told them Luther was in Miami, I hadn’t mentioned his name to them again. They would also be hurt that I hadn’t confided in them—although, I reminded myself, Vivian had adopted a child without saying a word. Maybe the time for confidences was over. It was a sad thought, but there was no way I could go to Vivian and Anabel for help.

Sometimes, I realized, we’re simply alone in life. And this was certainly one of those times. I got into this mess—with some help, admittedly—and I was going to have to sort it out. Maybe all that was left to me was heavenly consultation.

A full ten minutes passed before I felt sufficiently composed to start the car. I drove without really thinking toward the Ermita de la Caridad, the shrine in Coconut Grove dedicated to the Virgin de la Caridad del Cobre, the patron saint of Cuba. I turned east off South Bayshore Drive, almost in a trance, and pulled into the drive leading to the shrine. The shrine was a holy place for exiles, a round building sitting just yards from the waters of Biscayne Bay.

I had gone there before for solace, but it had been a long time since my last visit. My hands shaking, my breath coming in ragged gasps, I felt I was going to the only place left to me.

I circled around the building and parked in a slot directly in front of the water. The wind off the bay was blowing so hard that I had difficulty opening the car door. The shrine was unlocked, and I went inside without any problem.

The church was empty—no surprise, since it was midday and the middle of the week. I walked slowly until I faced the altar, where I knelt, crossed myself, then slipped into the first pew. I focused my eyes on the statue of the Virgin de la Caridad del Cobre, a small mulatto figure placed in the center of the altar. She was dressed in her usual white raiments, with cascades of pearls framing her visage.

Peace. Just for a moment it washed over me like cool water.

The instant I came into the Ermita, I felt connected with my Cuban roots. The building was a testament to the exile experience, and to its heroes and heroines. The wall behind the altar contained a mural depicting the important scenes from Cuban history. Although Fidel Castro had been in power for more than forty years, the paintings of Cuban men and women who had contributed to Cuba’s five-hundred-year history served as a poignant reminder that the sum total of the island’s history was stronger and more powerful than any single dictator. The nightmare will pass, the mural said to me, and hopefully we will have learned something from that tragic and painful lesson.

Although I consulted Violeta and trusted her judgment, my problems had become too big for her. I went to the Virgin sparingly, not wanting to overburden her with my troubles
. She was small, barely a foot tall, but for Cubans she towered in importance. She was a confidante, a quiet force that held our lives together. I was no different than my twelve million compatriots here in exile and on the island; I always felt she spoke to me directly, and more than once I thought I actually saw her lips move.

I made myself comfortable because this was going to be a long conversation. Although she surely knew all the facts, I looked into her eyes and explained what I had done.

I knew my affair with Luther had broken the vows I had taken during the sacrament of marriage. There was no excuse or reason for what I had done with Luther. I was happily married to Ariel, or so I had thought. Even though something must have been wrong, inside me or between us, I had still betrayed a good man, one who loved me. It was unforgivable, and something that I was going to have to live with for the rest of my life.

But Ariel wasn’t without blame. He’d conspired with my mother to force me into leaving my job, and he’d violated my right to choose how I lived my life. These weren’t the actions of an honorable man. Clearly he thought I would never find out what he had done, but he and Mamá had underestimated me. Ariel obviously didn’t know about Luther. Now Ariel and Mamá’s plot to get me pregnant had created the possibility that I was carrying Luther’s baby.

And Luther, approaching me, declaring his love when he knew I was married with a family. He was thinking only of himself when he showed up in Miami and came back into my life. Of course, I hadn’t resisted him.

No one was blameless. And now it was time to deal with it. The Cuban and American sides of my life had come together, created sparks, and now threatened to destroy my life. I couldn’t let that happen. I had one child, and a second was on the way. And that’s all that mattered. I couldn’t worry about Ariel’s feelings, or Luther’s, and I sure as hell wasn’t going to worry about Mamá’s.

My eyes wandered over the Virgin’s face, from her eyes down to her lips. Then I saw them move.

“Tell me,” I said. And I began to hear what she said.

As soon as I heard Ariel’s car pull into the driveway, I sprinted over to the bedroom and lay down on the bed. An hour before, I had telephoned him at the office and asked him to please come home as soon as possible. This had been the first time I could recall ever having made such a request, so it was understandable that Ariel sounded first curious, then annoyed that I would not divulge what was on my mind. I suspected he knew but was not giving that away, experienced lawyer that he was.

Ariel kept calling for me as he walked through the house. Calmly, I waited until he was at the doorway of the bedroom before answering him.

“Oh, hi, Ariel.” I opened my eyes as if I had just woken up. If I ever wanted to find out if I had any acting skills, now was the time. “I must have fallen asleep.”

Even though I was fuming at his treachery, I had to admit that Ariel looked attractive, in his olive-green linen suit, his face tan from riding in the car with the top down.

“Margarita, is something wrong?” He asked, as soon as he saw me lying there. “Are you sick?”

“Ariel, come here.” I sat up, and patted the place next to me on the bed. “I have to tell you something.”

My heart sank when I recognized a look in Ariel’s eyes that he got when he was in the courtroom about to cross examine a witness, indicating he was circling in, ready for the kill. He knew what I was going to say, but was waiting to see how I would do it. That one single look confirmed what Rodrigo had told me, and was all I needed to go through with my charade.

I took his right hand and held it between mine. “Ariel, today, I went to see Dr. Kennedy for a checkup.” Ariel knew perfectly well the name of my ob/gyn, so as soon as he heard it, he could be fairly certain of where I was headed. “I got some news,” I began.

Ariel frowned, not wanting to give anything away. “What kind of news, Margarita?” He began stroking my hair. “Is there a problem?” I wanted to pull away, but managed to keep my composure. The only way my plan—and the Virgin’s—was going to work was if I played it convincingly. No doubt about it, I was going for the Oscar. I just had to keep thinking of Marti.

“I just found out today that I’m having another baby,” I stated flatly, careful to keep all emotion out of my voice. I did not want Ariel to have any idea how I felt about the situation.

Ariel leaned over and kissed me. “A baby! Oh, Margarita, that’s wonderful! A little sister or brother for Marti.”

I refrained from making any kind of comment, but, instead, I waited a minute before speaking. “Well, Ariel, as you know, I’m on the Pill, so this is an accident.”

Ariel squeezed my hand, and kissed me again. “Aren’t you happy,
querida
? We’ve talked about having another child.”

It was all I could do to restrain myself from hurling accusations at him. “Yes, but we agreed it would be planned, and not an accident.” I lay back on the bed. “I still have not decided what I’m going to do about going back to work.” I closed my eyes. “This is not the way to have another child.”

“Margarita.” Ariel lay next to me and stroked my hair. “It was just meant to be.”

My eyes still closed, I ventured into dangerous territory. It was now or never. “I know I took the Pill without skipping any day. I became pregnant in spite of that.” I took a deep breath. “The only explanation possible is that the pills were defective.”

I could feel Ariel beginning to squirm next to me. Good. “Well, Margarita, there is a failure rate associated with birth control pills. You know that.”

I opened my eyes as I sat back up in bed again. “Right after I came back from Dr. Kennedy’s office I went on the Internet and looked up the track record of the brand of pills I take.”

Now Ariel was openly concerned. And, based on his knowledge of me, he was right to be. He knew that once I set my sights on a malfeasant, they were history. “Why?”

“Because I’m going to look into suing them for selling a defective product,” I announced gravely. “Oh, yes, by the time I’m done, that company is going to regret ever having manufactured those pills.”

Ariel was silent as the significance of my words sank in. We both knew that once I embarked on that road, there was no turning back. The minute I filed the lawsuit, the attorneys for the pharmaceutical company, in order to defend itself, would unleash its teams of investigators, who would swarm over every aspect of our lives. It would not take long for the trail to lead them to Rodrigo, and expose his role in the pregnancy. Not a pretty picture to say the least.

I went on a bit further, detailing what legal strategy I was thinking of following. The more I spoke, the paler Ariel became. The tan that he had been sporting earlier was a distant memory. Seeing his reaction, I decided to lay it on thick and go for the jugular. I certainly had not behaved like Mother Teresa, but he had acted in a despicable manner.

Ariel listened as much as he could, but then, apparently, it all became too much. After considering the horrific scenario I was laying out in front of him, Ariel decided that the best approach would be for him to come clean and confess.

Now visibly perturbed, he looked at me squarely in the eyes and said. “Margarita, you are not going to sue the pharmaceutical company. Those pills were not defective.”

I let him sweat before speaking. “I am devastated, Ariel, by learning what you’ve done. I have to say, I’m not necessarily surprised at my mother’s actions, but
you
! You have betrayed me in the worst possible way.” I must have been a better actress than I thought, for I could actually feel my eyes water.

And once Ariel began to panic at the very real possibility that I might leave him, I stated the terms and conditions under which I would stay, the ones I had worked on earlier that day while consulting with the Virgin in the Ermita de la Caridad.

As I listened to Ariel swear to me that he would abide by our deal, I was positive that I could see the Virgin looking at me from the bay window, a big grin on her face. We Cuban women certainly know how to cut a deal, especially when we were playing with weak cards. I had come out on top in a bad situation.

Gracias a Dios!

After having settled my business with Ariel, I decided that I could not postpone speaking with Luther. Therefore, the very next day, as soon as Ariel left for the office, I picked up the telephone and punched in a familiar number. Luther answered it on the first ring, almost as if he had known I would call just then. When I told him that the reason for my call was to see if he was free to meet that afternoon, the relief at hearing from me was palpable, making me feel instantly guilty. I had been so engrossed in my own situation that, the truth was, I had not really thought about how my not being available to see him had affected him.

After quickly asking each other how we were, we agreed to meet at noon at the apartment. Luther sounded so excited at the thought of us getting together again that I just hung up without saying good-bye. Clearly, he did not suspect anything was amiss.

As I drove toward the apartment in the Grove, I could feel my heart beating faster every mile I traveled. I fiddled with the radio, tuning in to this station and that in an attempt to distract myself from picturing what lay ahead of me.

Just as always, I stopped off at Scotty’s and picked out some tantalizing tidbits for our lunch. I wanted this meeting to be special, memorable. Once I had finished, I got back into the Escalade and headed for the apartment. I had scheduled my time perfectly, for Luther was turning into the driveway of the building just as I arrived here.

We followed the same routine, as if there had not been any interruption at all. At that point, I could have done it in my sleep. Luther and I were perfectly formal and correct with each other, so much so that a stranger observing us would have been hard pressed to say that we knew each other at all, and, of course, much less in a biblical sense.

That day Luther looked particularly attractive, in a tan cotton suit, with a blue shirt underneath that matched the color of his eyes perfectly. While we waited for the elevator, I could feel myself start to melt, and by the time we walked down the hall toward the apartment, my knees were so weak you could have picked me up off the floor. I somehow managed to restrain myself from jumping on him. If he felt the same way about me, he disguised it with perfect WASP control.

It was only when we had closed the door of the apartment behind us that we touched each other and, only then, after having put the package of groceries down on the kitchen table. The time we had spent apart had only served to make us hungrier for each other. By mutual consent, we skipped the champagne and went straight to the bedroom. I thanked God that the antibiotic cream had worked so well that I could fully enjoy our lovemaking.

Afterward, as we rested, spent and sweaty, the realization that I would never again have a lover as skilled as Luther in my life hit me, making me very sad. Luther must have sensed the change in my mood, for he turned to me and asked. “Daisy, what’s up?”

Instead of answering, I asked him, “Luther, could we have some champagne now?”

Sensing something was amiss, Luther did not comment, but instead did as I asked. He got out of bed and walked toward the kitchen. As I watched him cross the room stark naked, admiring his body, I almost wept at the thought I was not going to see it again. I was fairly confident nobody would admire it the way I would, nor enjoy it in quite the same way.

I could hear familiar noises coming from the kitchen as Luther readied the champagne and glasses. Even though I should not have been drinking because of the baby, there was no way I could have this conversation totally straight. I determined to have only a few sips, enough to take the edge off. Besides, I really did not think a glass of champagne would be that harmful to the baby. It was only when overdoing the drinking that it really had calamitous effects. Still, better safe than sorry, so I would be cutting back drastically—but after today.

Luther came back carefully holding the silver tray with the bucket and glasses in front of him. I could just see the orange-colored top of the bottle of Veuve Clicquot poking out. What a wonderful sight that was—a naked man, especially one built like Luther, bringing such a lovely offering to me.

Luther placed the tray on the bed, and began opening the bottle, carefully twisting off the cork. It certainly would not do to have the cork hit an inappropriate place on his body. He poured the golden liquid into the glasses and handed me one. Sitting up in bed facing each other, we tipped our glasses in a silent toast and sipped the delicious drink.

“Okay, Daisy.” Luther put his glass down on one of the bedside tables, and took mine and did the same. He then took both my hands in his and looked into my eyes. “What is it?”

Gazing into his blue eyes, I knew this was going to be much more difficult than I had thought. Still, it had to be done, for Marti’s and the baby’s sake.

“Luther, I don’t think we should see each other anymore,” I began. I pulled my hand from his and reached over for the glass of champagne on the bedside table. I took one long swallow and decided there was no perfect time to say what I was going to say, so I might as well get on with it.

“Luther, you know how much I love you.” Luther nodded warily, instantly sensing that this was not going to be a pleasant conversation. “These months this summer with you have been the happiest of my life.” Luther began breathing a bit easier. Seeing his reaction, I decided I had better hurry, or he was going to get the wrong impression as to where this was going.

“As much as I love you, I believe that we do not have a future together,” I stated straight out. I held out my arms, and waved them around the room, and then pointed toward the living room. “This has been a fantasy. A wonderful, terrific fantasy, but a fantasy nevertheless. This is not real life. We come here in the afternoons to have lunch, drink champagne, and make love.” Luther just looked at me as if I had just told him that Santa, the Easter Bunny, the Tooth Fairy, and Tinker Bell did not exist.

Knowing from experience that champagne has been known to make me change my mind, Luther reached for the bottle and poured us two more very hearty servings. “What are you telling me, Daisy?”

The look in his eyes was such that I almost backed out of what I was going to say, but only the image of Marti’s face gave me the strength to keep me going. “I have family responsibilities—I have a son, and I have to think of him.” I threw Luther a face-saving explanation. I wanted and needed to part as friends with him. I have never believed in burning my bridges. I took a large sip of champagne and continued. “The more I see you, the deeper I am becoming involved with you.”

Luther seemed perplexed. “What’s the matter with that?” he quite logically asked. “I’ve told you how I feel about you, that I’m willing to move down here for you.” His eyes flashed. “Daisy, I even learned Spanish for you, for God’s sake!” He reached over and touched my cheek with his right hand. Do you know how difficult that is for a gringo?”

Luther was breaking my heart. “I know my love, I know.” I kissed him softly. “But I have responsibilities.” We both knew what I was referring to.

“I’m willing to assume those responsibilities,” Luther pointed out. “I am, I told you that.”

“I know, and I am very, very grateful, but I don’t think that would be right,” I said. “Miami is not a natural environment for you; you would be here for me, and that would be very difficult. Ariel would fight me for Marti, and I could lose him.”

“But, Daisy, if we love each other—” Luther put his arms around me, “—we could fight him; we could. I lost you once before, I cannot let you go again.”

It took all the strength I had to continue. “Luther, I’m sorry. My mind is made up. My life is here in Miami, with my husband and son.” Every word was being wrenched from me. “You are the love of my life—you always have been and always will
be, but sometimes in life things don’t turn out the way we want them to.”

“Daisy, we are not two characters from
West Side Story
—just because you’re Cuban and I’m American. We can work something out. I know we can.” Luther was trying his best to convince me. “We’re mature adults; we can make it work.”