The women laughed lightly, easing the tension. “No, my heart. No, but…” She tilted her head and acknowledged her granddaughter. “In many ways it felt to me, his mama, that he did. Yet I said nothing to him. It is better that your children come home because of
respeto,
no? And love, rather than duty.
Sí
, he came to California for duty, but he is staying because of love.”
Charlotte watched Marta’s gaze travel from the sweet face of Maria Elena, as smooth and round as the ball of dough, to her own face.
“Now he is in the business, he speaks
español,
and sometimes with you he goes to church. I see his heart becoming whole again. It makes my own heart happy.” Her eyes shimmered in water as she beamed up at Charlotte.
“I think much of this is because of you. You are good for my son. For the family.”
Charlotte pressed her lips tightly.
“Charlotte, a bubble!” alerted Maria Elena.
Charlotte turned quickly to flip a row of tortillas while Marta watched approvingly.
“Sí
!” Marta said, slapping another bowl of dough down on the floured table with gusto. “It is good for the woman to keep the accounts. Maybe you try, eh?”
Summer was coming to an end. Now she worked side by side with Michael in the nursery. Every day there were small tributes to the strong, binding relationship they were developing. A glance across the field as she tagged the young trees, a gentle kiss or pat on the rear when he passed her. The unspoken acceptance of them by the family and their co-workers delighted her, bringing smiles to her face and a lightness to her step. The past few months living with Michael and his family had been the happiest in her life.
Charlotte wasn’t sure when or how she started becoming involved with the business. It was subtle at first. She helped out in the store, working the cash register, stocking the shelves. Studying the names of plants, both the Latin and the derivatives, paid off, and once again she thanked God for her excellent memory. When Luis, who liked to try and trip her up on occasion just for sport, begrudgingly accepted her as a member of the Mondragon team, the rest fell in line. Even Paco, the small, wizened foreman who’d been part of the team for as long as Michael could remember, tipped his hat when she passed him.
One evening, when she and Michael were too tired for passion and it was enough just to sit together on the porch, she asked to be allowed to do his books for him. “To keep the accounts,” she told him. When he raised his brows, she bristled.
“I used to be a certified accountant, thank you very much,” she said archly. In this area she felt confident that she was his equal. No, she decided, lifting her chin in a challenge. Even superior.
“You see? This is just what I was talking about,” he replied with a smile of astonishment. “This is one of those interesting details about you that I never knew before. A pretty big detail, now that I think of it. You? An accountant?”
“I can add and subtract pretty good—for a girl,” she replied with a wry smile. “Don’t break down all my illusions and tell me you’re like Luis and believe all a woman is good for is cookin’ an’ cleanin’ and birthin’?” Her eyes were flashing.
“No, not that I find fault with that,” he replied. “Okay, I concede.” He laughed, palms up in defense against her jabs. “The books are yours. I bow to your professionalism. Gratefully.”
“You’d be surprised just how much your mother does in this department, too.”
“Nothing my mother does would surprise me. And since you’re so keen to do the paperwork, you can do our taxes, too. We’ll be filing joint returns very shortly, don’t forget.”
So Charlotte became involved in the financial details of the Mondragon businesses as well. She learned how his father had inherited the land from an uncle and clung to it tenaciously while others in the valley had sold off. The one hundred acres were extremely valuable now. If they sold off now, they’d all be rich beyond their dreams. She also learned how Luis had slaved in the squared-off yards of the California suburbs building up his lawn maintenance business. Rosa and Manuel managed it now, efficiently as far as she could tell, if not imaginatively.
Doing the books, she also knew exactly how much the growth of the lawn maintenance business was due to the flair and hard work of Michael Mondragon. He was more like his father than she dared suggest to him. He wooed new clients with gentle persuasion, knowing what and how to suggest, unlike Manuel, who waited for business to come to him and spent far more than his budget allowed. Already, Michael was talking about bringing young Cisco along next summer to learn new skills in the business.
When Michael talked about the spring that bubbled beneath their nursery land, his eyes became dreamy. “Fresh mountain springwater,” he told her, with the emotion of a visionary. “An unlimited supply, just waiting to be tapped. That,” he’d told her, drawing her near, “is where our futures lay.”
She loved it when he talked about “their” future. It was as though he were paving the road ahead with gold.
On an unusually cool late August evening, as they sat rocking on the front porch of the cabin, listening to the cicadas singing their farewell songs, he explained to her about his father’s desire for him to remain on the land, to inherit everything, to produce Mondragon heirs.
“To be honest, I never thought it possible that I’d want to stay. This was always someplace I couldn’t wait to escape from. I hated it. The hard work, the coarse language of the men, the sharp orders from my father. But now—” he shook his head and looked at her, more perplexed than she “—it’s changed. I’m building something here. The business, sure. But it’s you that’s made the difference,” he explained, taking her hand and looking at her as she’d always dreamed a man would look at her someday. Not her face, not her body, but
her.
“You’ve made all the difference.”
Charlotte felt the thrill of belonging to someone, to something bigger than herself. She imagined having a life here, on this mountain, with Michael. Having his children here, Mondragon babies on Mondragon land.
She’d cuddled on his lap and wept, not able to explain what this meant to her. Here, she had a real family at last. She was part of a bigger circle, sharing, being included. It was like being a little child again, and finally, someone was asking her to play.
Later that same night, he brought up the subject that had been troubling him all day. She’d had another telephone call with Freddy Walen, and it, like all his other calls, left her nervous and agitated. He watched as she stood before the bathroom mirror, brushing her long blond hair with brisk strokes.
He never tired of looking at her. She had a vulnerability about her that made him feel like a caveman bearing a stick, ready to fight the enemy on her behalf. He’d never felt this for anyone else before. And to his mind, Freddy Walen was the T-rex of adversaries.
“What did Walen want?” he asked as they climbed into bed.
Charlotte tucked the comforter under her chin and wriggled over beside him, rubbing her feet together in the cool, crisp sheets. Freddy was getting increasingly difficult to stave off. She’d told him that she went to visit her mother after her stay at the spa. That she needed time alone to settle family affairs and tend to her health. Freddy was antsy at first, but tolerant. Now he was chomping at the bit.
“He has a couple of projects he wants to discuss with me. In person.” She sighed, bringing a knuckle up to her mouth. After a while she added softly, “I can’t put him off forever.”
Michael let out an exasperated sigh. “Why not give up the career?”
“Which one?” she asked, striving for levity. “My career as an actress or as an accountant?”
“I should think an accountant’s job would suit our life here very well,” he said, pulling her up on his shoulder.
“You could keep on as you are, running the books, expanding the operation. Yes, I can see it now,” he added, stroking her arm. “Your first job would be to look after me, of course. I’d demand my share of time alone with you. But I suppose I could share you with the eight or ten little
bebés
we’d have.”
Her laughter pealed through the air and she slapped his shoulder with feigned scorn. “We’ll just see about that, Mr. Michael Mondragon.”
“We’d have to add a few rooms on to the cabin, no doubt. Ten years hence we’ll be lying here in our bed, on our well worn mattress, while the children crawl over us like puppies.” He looked over at her, smiling innocently.
She wagged a finger at him, entertained by the fantasy. He was, despite all of his protestations, exceedingly traditional.
“I want children. Yours and mine,” he said. “Now?”
She lifted her eyes to his and saw the sincerity. Such charm he had, she thought, stroking his chin. His dark eyes bright, his expression so fervent. Their life here together was charmed, like a fairy tale come to life. She couldn’t bring the reality of children into this world until other decisions had been made.
“My career is important to me. I’m not ready to simply chuck it all. And Freddy is beside himself. He accepts that I’m taking a leave of absence to get my health back and settle my affairs, but he expects me back well before
Camille
opens for the holidays. So much is happening now.”
The mention of the name Freddy Walen was like waving a red flag in front of a bull. He colored and sat straighter. “You’re right. So much is happening. And I’m not talking about your film career.”
“I know,” she replied, smoothing a long strand of black hair from his troubled face. “Don’t rush me, Michael. I don’t know what I’ll do about my career any more than you know what you’ll do with yours. But I like to think you and I will follow the old Buddhist proverb. We’ll be like two young trees with strong roots. And rather than stand rigid against the wind and crack, we’ll bend.”
Her soothing tone worked. With a low mumble he settled back onto the pillows, drawing her close.
W
hen Bobby came to the cabin for another painting lesson one bright September day, he was horrified to see her ashen face. She was sitting on the front steps, holding her head. The circles under her eyes were like black-and-purple thunderclouds.
“Good God.” He stepped back and leaned on the door frame. “You’re not pregnant, are you?”
“Spread that rumor around and I’ll really be a scandal to your mother.”
“Well, are you? Don’t keep me in suspense, darling. I adore babies. Other people’s babies, that is.”
“I’m sorry to disappoint you, but no. I’m definitely not pregnant.”
“Pity. Michael’s prancing about here like a rooster. Well, whatever is the matter with you? You look like Linda Blair in
The Exorcist.
I expect you’ll be twisting your head around in a few more moments, speaking in seven languages.”
“I feel like it.” She crossed her arms over her belly and moaned. “Oh, Lord, Bobby, I wish it was something I could exorcise.”
“Is it something you ate?”
“I wish it were so simple. But you don’t want to hear me moan about my aches and pains. Never mind.”
He moved closer, extending his hand. “Come on. We shall take a walk, enjoy the sunny day, and then we’ll talk.”
While they strolled together through the rows of shrubs, he told her how he’d watched his lover grow sicker and then die, and countless other friends as well. He couldn’t sit by and watch another human being suffer. He explained with enthusiasm about the protease inhibitors he was currently taking, about finding hope again after so much despair. Finally, as the shadows lengthened in the late afternoon, he brought up the name of his healer.
“His name is Xavier Navarro. He’s a doctor, but he practices what he calls complementary medicine. Kind of a blend of therapies like nutrition, homeopathy, clinical medicine and old Mexican home remedies. I don’t claim to understand it, but I do know it works. He is very smart, brilliant even. Up-to-date on all the studies. But more than all of that, he’s a natural born healer. Do you believe such a thing is possible?”
“I do,” she replied, thinking of the miracles she, herself, had experienced. “What have I got to lose? Do you think he could help me?”
“Yes, he could if anyone could.” His voice was positive, full of confidence. It was very convincing to Charlotte, who was at this point grasping at straws.
“I won’t waste your time trying to explain what he does. I’m not sure I understand it all myself. Why don’t I make an appointment for you? As soon as possible. You can go in there, let him examine you, and see for yourself what he says. I really believe he can help you. Darling, I feel eons younger and stronger since I’ve been on his regime. A regular Hercules.”
Charlotte laughed, amused as much by Bobby’s dramatic enthusiasm as by the image of his slight body in the pose of a bodybuilder. “Of course. As soon as possible.”
Xavier Navarro’s office was in his home, a small creamy building built in the Mediterranean style, nestled in the remote California hills. The office was nondescript but very clean. Outdated magazines lay neatly on a wooden table flanked by a few mismatched chairs. Near the glistening windows, several thriving plants flowered in the sunlight. This, she thought, was a good sign.
They stepped in and removed their jackets. There was no secretary to check in with; this was strictly a homey operation. She wondered again if she should have come. Michael was furious with Bobby for taking her to “that quack.” Michael had little faith in anything that had to do with Mexican home remedies.
“Nervous?” Bobby asked.
“A little. I’ve been to so many doctors lately, and frankly I don’t want to be poked and prodded anymore. You don’t think he’ll do a full examination, do you? After all, how much does he need to know to prescribe a vitamin regime but my height and weight? And my daily activities, exercise, that sort of thing, I suppose. Everyone these days seems to want to know about my stress levels.” She glanced at her watch, impatient.
“You want some answers, don’t you? Come on, just sit down and relax. Read one of these magazines and find out what happened in sports four months ago.” He sat in a red chair and indicated an orange one for her. When she joined him he pulled a paperback novel from his pocket and within minutes was engrossed in the story.
Charlotte crossed her legs, stared out the window and counted the reasons why she should have just stayed home after all.
After a short wait, the door to the inner office opened and a squat, round, dark-skinned woman with Indian features and a flowing, riotously colored outfit strode from Navarro’s office. She was beaming. The part in her hair was very straight, severe and almost two inches wide, exposing an alarming amount of bare scalp. Charlotte wondered if the woman was seeing Xavier Navarro about that.
Then a tall Latin man with thoughtful eyes, a dark mustache and a long, benevolent face appeared at the door. He was conservatively dressed in a tan suit and a yellow patterned tie. Everything about him was clean and orderly and his manner was polite, even courtly. She liked him immediately and felt almost a gush of relief.
“Miss Godfrey?” he asked. Her ears picked up no trace of an accent.
She nodded and stood up.
“I hope I haven’t kept you waiting?” He smiled warmly, then turned to Bobby. He spoke to him in Spanish and Bobby responded in kind, obviously making some kind of joke because both men laughed.
“Won’t you come in, Miss Godfrey? Let’s see how I can help you.”
“Go on,” Bobby prompted, sensing her hesitation.
The physical examination was quick and impersonal. His nurse was friendly and efficient, and Dr. Navarro, although considerate, made no attempt at humor. Rather, he set her at ease by explaining what he was doing and why. His methods were practical, if sometimes a little unusual. The only time she felt nervous was when he studied her head, jaw and neck at length, bending so close she felt the brush of his jacket against her cheek and could smell the soap on his soft hands. She had to will herself to relax, to allow him to examine her there. It required the utmost trust.
When he raised himself back up, he placed his hands around her jaws, cupping them but not quite touching the skin, and closed his eyes. He remained motionless. Then something remarkable happened. She wasn’t sure if she was imagining it or not, but beneath his hands she felt heat. A soothing warmth that tingled the skin, and deeper, especially in the jaw joints.
After the nurse completed a few blood tests, he joined her again, pulling up a chair informally to talk to her.
“Have you ever had any plastic surgery, Miss Godfrey?”
Charlotte expelled a quick rush of air. Denial was on the tip of her tongue, but looking into his eyes, so circumspect, she knew it was useless to lie to him.
“Are the scars visible?”
He shook his head. “Oh, no, not at all. I compliment the surgeon. He did wonderful work. No, I
felt
the surgery. Felt the energy change. It was quite clear to me, actually. What was it?” he asked gently. “The jaw?”
“Yes,” she replied after hesitating. “And the chin.”
“Ah, yes, I thought I felt something there as well. But it’s much more pronounced at the jaw. Right about here.” He reached out and pointed directly to the small spot on either side of her jaw joint that caused her pain. She jumped slightly at the touch.
“Yes. It hurts there.”
He frowned and rubbed his own jaw in consternation.
“I’m concerned about your symptoms. The aches and pains, the headaches, the nausea and fatigue. They’re all connected, I’m sure of it. I’d like to do a little research. Would you come back? In a week or so? Good. In the meantime, I’ve worked out a program for you to begin immediately.”
He spent a good amount of time advising her in an unhurried manner about her new health regime. Some of the advice was very simple, part common sense, part Mexican home remedies that he claimed had been handed down to him through generations. His family had always been healers, shamans in the old days. It was, he explained to her with a chuckle and a twinkle in his eye, both an inherited gift as well as a curse.
His advice also included what sounded like standard medical practices. He explained that like most things in life, healing was a balance of modern medical knowledge and ancient wisdom. She had a vitamin B1 and B6 deficiency, and a mineral deficiency as well, quite common today, he assured her. He prescribed some antioxidants for stress, some vegetarian sources of digestive enzymes, and a few herbs that were given in neat little capsules, easy to take. She’d have to get used to taking a handful of pills, but if it worked, it would be well worth the gagging twice a day.
“We’ll get you feeling better right off,” he said to her as he saw her off at the door. “In the meantime, I’ll go to the medical library and do a little research, get your results. I’ll call you when I find something, all right?”
Charlotte realized how wrong she’d been to doubt Dr. Navarro. She left his office feeling more confident with his treatment than she had with anyone else’s. In fact, when she watched him glide across the floor, she thought he walked on water.
Two weeks later, Dr. Navarro called and asked to see her again. Right away. It was a blustery day, overcast and rainy, the kind that, if it continued, signaled an early fall.
“I’m sure it’s just a follow-up,” she said to Bobby as they drove together along the narrow, leaf strewn roads to Navarro’s office. “I feel so much better on his regime. The symptoms are almost gone. Really, I haven’t felt so good in months.”
“No need to convince me of anything, darling.”
She looked out the window, chewing her lip. It was herself she was trying to convince. Xavier Navarro had sounded so serious. There was a tone in his voice that hinted at bad news.
“I just know everything is fine,” she said again, more firmly. “Everything is so perfect. God won’t let anything bad happen now.”
Bobby, who knew better, kept his eyes on the road and said nothing.
Dr. Navarro greeted them at the door of his home office. The rain had begun falling in earnest, so they had to stomp their feet and brush the wet from their clothes after they scurried in. Unlike the first visit, there was no one else in the waiting room.
“Let’s go into my office where we can talk,” Navarro said after initial, polite pleasantries were exchanged.
“I’ll wait right here,” Bobby said, and he smiled encouragingly.
He couldn’t fool her. The lines of his smile were tense over glittering eyes, and after he took a seat in the waiting room, he slouched low, crossed his ankle over his knee and began wagging his wing-tipped shoes and drumming his fingers, too nervous to read.
“I’m feeling so much better,” she remarked when Navarro ushered her into the examining room.
“I’m glad,” Navarro replied with a sad smile. “No, no, there’s no need to change. Today we’ll just talk,” he said, and pointed to a chair.
Charlotte didn’t want to sit in the orange cushioned chair. She didn’t want to talk, to hear what Navarro had to say that made his expression so serious. Every instinct told her to run, but she sat in the indicated chair and held her hands tightly clasped. She’d imagined what he might have to say to her. That she had some disease that was causing all these symptoms, something debilitating. Or perhaps something horrible that would make it hard, or impossible, to have babies. My God, she thought, her heart pounding in her chest like a trapped bird. What if it was cancer?
“I’ve completed my inquiries and I believe I know the cause of all your problems.” He paused to look at his fingertips.
It felt as though the bird in her chest was flapping its wings wildly. She stared at the doctor’s fingertips, struggling to hold on to her composure. He said he knew? There would be an answer? Could it be true, after so many dead ends? She stifled her questions and sat straighter in her chair, leaning forward in anticipation.
“I’m afraid the news is unpleasant. Do you remember when you came to see me last we drew blood samples for studies? The results reveal that you are experiencing an unusual reaction. That is to say, an unusual immune response. I believe your body is developing antibodies to the silicone or part of the constituents of your implants that were inserted into your jaw during your reconstructive surgery.”
Charlotte heard the words but couldn’t give them meaning. “Implants? What…?”
Dr. Navarro picked up a pen and quickly drew a sketch of her jawline. “When Dr. Harmon created your jaw, he inserted small pads here—” He pointed to two spots directly on the jawbone. “And here,” he added, pointing to the chin.
Charlotte instantly knew they were the same spots on her jaw that caused her pain.
“The purpose was to project your jaw forward, to create a stronger, more defined line. It is a common procedure, and he completed it expertly.”
“Then…why is there a problem?”
Dr. Navarro set down his pen and folded his hands on the table. “It isn’t a problem with the surgery. I’ve consulted with someone I know who is doing research at the medical school. Your body is having a strong reaction to the implants. I’m afraid the implants must come out.”