TRUTH: Is it possible to stop?
There it was: my list of confessions. Now what to do with it?
The bottom few made me heart-heavy. A part of me almost hoped Danita or Molly would tell him the truth so I wouldn’t have to. Another part wanted to fall out of love with Samuel and move on before I ever had to face it.
A little past midnight, I locked my laptop and snuggled under my blankets in the black, windowless room, glad to have exorcised so much on “paper.” I was on fire. Unstoppable, solving the world’s problems as puzzle pieces fell into place. I began to believe that maybe Samuel was wrong—that we really could just sit down and hash out all of our issues in one go, rather than this plodding one-question-at-a-time method. So when Jaime called at nearly one a.m., I stumbled for my phone and answered with passion, ready to uproot the Manhattan yuppie once and for all.
“What have you got for me on Caroline?”
Silence.
“Jaime?”
“Wow, Trilby, if I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re coming down from some mind-blowing sex. What the hell have you been doing…Cabral? You both need to get laid so badly, it’s painful to watch.”
I choked, reining in my exhilaration. “Just sorting stuff I’d stuck on the backburner. What did you find on Caroline?”
“Do you have your dossier handy? I ran across something in there tonight that I’m kicking myself for missing. It’s your fault, you know. If you hadn’t gone after me at the café like I was plotting to rip off your teddy bear’s head, I would have noticed it earlier.”
The dossier? Not what I expected. “It’s in my apartment in Boulder.”
“Hold on, I’ll send you a picture of my copy. Call me back once you look it over.”
My phone blipped. I opened the file to see the top of Samuel’s drug arrest record glowing in my screen. I scanned it several times, but nothing jumped out. I called Jaime back.
“Okay, I give up. Tell me.”
“Well, I puzzled over this one for a while—how Samuel managed to stay out of prison for this drug arrest—the one right after your divorce went through? New York State has extremely tough drug laws, which almost always carry mandatory prison time as part of sentencing. And yet unconnected ol’ Cabral gets away with a slap on the wrist and community service. So I perused the file again. Lo and behold, what did I find?” Jaime paused dramatically.
“Just spit it out, Jaime.”
“Fine,
caray
. Samuel wasn’t arrested in New York. He was arrested in
North Carolina
. Which means that, after he signed the divorce papers, he barely returned to NYC before scooting down to Raleigh—if he even returned at all. I can’t believe I missed this!”
I sucked in my breath, only to find I had never exhaled. I patted behind me. When I couldn’t find my bed, I sank to the ground, stared at my wall in disbelief. No.
No.
Please not
her
. It
had
to be a coincidence.
“And you know who’s from North Carolina?”
“Caroline?” I rasped.
“Caroline.”
Chapter 17: Horizon Line
When looking ahead for potential waterfalls,
paddlers will notice a line where the river falls away.
The harder it is to see the bottom of the drop,
the steeper the drop will be.
T
HERE
A
RE
K
EY
E
VENTS
in our lives which mark imminent change. Accepting a diploma. Attending the funeral of a loved one. Witnessing a friend walk down the aisle. Suffering through a divorce. It’s expected. But there are little, everyday events that whittle away at who we are, steadily shaping us into someone different, for better or for worse. Things that cause our perceptions to shift.
I thought it might be one of those days when, for the first time, I downed strong, black coffee without the fixings…and didn’t flinch.
When I pulled into the Cabrals’ driveway bright and early Friday morning, workmen already swarmed around the extensive lawn like bees, manicuring and pruning hedges, scrubbing siding, making way for tomorrow’s onslaught of reception vendors and guests. I wove around them, careful not to stumble over my already awkward, sleep-deprived feet. Danita would kill me for being half-dead during bridesmaid spa time, a.k.a., Connie’s Nail Salon on Lyons’ Main Street. I’d have to sneak in a nap before Hector picked me up for the wedding rehearsal.
But now I needed to see Samuel before the bridal buzz engulfed the day.
Samuel left me just before fall semester of college began. I went to New York in September, then filed for divorce. According to Jaime’s dossier, his NYU grades slipped all of that semester, even with Alonso and Sofia there. Given his drug history, the poor grades were understandable.
At some point during the semester, he met Caroline Ortega—an associate editor with Berkshire House Publishing. Or had he known her before he moved to New York? Did she help him get an eleventh hour NYU admission?
He ignored Jaime’s repeated phone calls, letters, and emails to discuss divorce proceedings. Finally, he contacted her after New Year’s and said he wanted to sign the papers in person.
We divorced late January. Samuel was arrested in North Carolina for drug possession in mid-February. Why was he in North Carolina when spring semester should have been in full swing? Was it because his associate editor was from Raleigh?
Next logical question: Why ditch classes just to visit your associate editor, and right after a nasty divorce? But if said associate editor was more than an associate editor…
I kicked a rock that had escaped a flowerbed, sending it skipping across the driveway. Attacking a rock was better than attacking husband-seducing debutante tripe. In the light of day, I told myself that Samuel needed friends, too. But why did it have to be her? Had he been attracted to her from the moment he met her, and ran to her when he was free to pursue a relationship? I couldn’t see him doing that, but I also hadn’t believed Samuel was amped up on coke lines.
I spotted Queen Bee Sofia up to her elbows in dirt. White columbine and delicate blue flax encompassed Mamá Cabral as she pushed back her floppy straw hat and waved to me with a gloved hand and spade. Her wavy black hair was loosely braided over her shoulder, her curvy frame swam in denim overalls.
“You’re up and about early, Kaye. I thought you and the girls weren’t going to Connie’s until ten.”
“Good morning, Sofia. Sorry to bother you on such a busy day, but I need to speak with your son.” I shoved my hands into my pockets to hide their trembling. I needed answers now—forget the one-question rule.
Sofia’s face fell as she studied my demeanor. “He and Caroline are on their morning jog. After that, I have them scooting to Denver to meet family at the airport. But you can come inside, have a cup of coffee and a bagel.”
Jogging together? Samuel and Caroline must have worked out their “issues.” Cringing, I followed her up the back stairs, knowing I wouldn’t be able to eat anything. She shucked her gardening gear and washed her hands in the sun room. I slipped off my flip-flops.
Alonso sat at the kitchen island in his flannel PJ bottoms, slippers, and robe, the back of his bed hair standing up in a cowlick. A newspaper was in his hands, his eyes scanning headlines. When he saw me, he jumped up from his paper.
“Kaye, what a nice surprise.” He dished up a bagel and mug of steaming coffee, then gestured for me to sit. So polite, just like his son. “Are you here for Danita?”
“Can’t I just visit my second-favorite mom and dad?” I glanced around the kitchen bathed in soft gray light, gauzy curtains fluttering over an open window. Gershwin quietly tinkled from Sofia’s morning playlist. I loved this kitchen. It had brought me such peace, especially when I’d spent nights with Danita after fighting with my mother. Sofia was always there with hot chocolate and hugs, encouraging me to give it another go with my mom. Samuel was there, too. And Danita, once she stumbled out of bed, her black hair pulled into a skewed ponytail on top of her head. Even Alonso joined us on the mornings he wasn’t swamped with deadlines for
Latin Colorado
magazine. My ideal family.
But this morning the kitchen didn’t bring me peace. It felt off, knowing what I did about Samuel’s arrest in North Carolina. Because I understood, now, that Sofia had misled me.
“Sofia, I didn’t come here just to speak with Samuel. Do you mind if we chat?” My eyes shifted to Alonso, indicating I wanted to keep this private. She caught my drift. Nodding to the hallway, we left the kitchen for the library.
The first thing I noticed when I entered the hallway was the Rivera
Girl with Lilies
print above the mahogany hall table was gone. In its place were two newly-hung portraits: one of Danita and Angel, and one of Samuel. Each was an exquisitely-done, antiqued sketch. I wasn’t an artist, but the unfinished appearance reminded me of DaVinci’s intricate, feathery etchings. Around the cream-colored matting of each picture was a quote done in flawless calligraphy. I tilted my head, reading the Spanish around Danita’s and Angel’s:
“The first symptom of love in a young man is shyness;
the first symptom in a woman? It’s boldness.”
Victor Hugo—I knew it before I’d even finished the quote. Tomorrow’s date followed the quote, commemorating their wedding. I smiled.
I studied the portrait of Samuel next. The artist had captured him perfectly. Not just the strong angles of his face, but subtle nuances like the barely-there scar above his eyebrow and the sensitivity of his mouth. Around the matting was one of his favorite quotes—he used to scroll it across his laptop screensaver years ago.
“A writer is not a great mind, he’s not a great thinker,
he’s not a great philosopher. He’s a storyteller.”
Erskine Caldwell, that was it. A modestly successful Southern writer, in his time. Certainly controversial.
Sofia came up next to me, her fingers skimming over the gilded frame. “It’s beautiful work, isn’t it? She’s captured them all so well.” She sighed. “It’s too much, really, for a thank you gift.”
I frowned. “Who?”
“Caroline. She gave them to us in appreciation for welcoming her into our home the past month. I had no idea…”
“Wait. Caroline commissioned these?”
“No, Kaye. Caroline
is
the artist.” Sofia tapped the corner of one of the portraits, indicating the signature. “I can’t begin to imagine having this kind of talent. But I’ve always said the same thing about you and Samuel, too.”
I studied the initials closely…CRO. So Caroline was a brilliant artist, as well as a successful agent, editor, publicist, journalist, equestrian, cheerleader, socialite, jogger, and frickin’ beauty queen. Jealousy burned deep. I grudgingly admitted I should appreciate the tremendous talent that lay behind the portraits, but I didn’t stand a chance in hell.
Sofia continued on to the library and I followed, escaping to the safe-haven walls of beautifully bound books. She gestured to one of the overstuffed chairs by the fireplace and settled into the other, opposite me.
“What is on your mind
, mi corazón?”
I took a deep breath to calm my jealous stirrings. “Do you remember when you were in New York, how we called each other weekly to catch up? We’d talk about how I was coping, the good things that happened, the books you’d read…all of that?”
She nodded.
“Okay, so you probably remember the night I called just a couple of weeks after the divorce. You were upset because Samuel had been arrested for drug possession.”
Sofia shifted uncomfortably, but again nodded.
“Here’s the thing.” I drummed my fingers on my armrest, trying to phrase my thoughts without sounding accusatory. “I told you I was going to fly out to New York to be with you and Alonso. That I could leave Denver in two hours and be at JFK by midnight.”
“I remember.”
“Why didn’t you correct me, Sofia?”
Honest confusion blanketed her features. “What do you mean?”
“Samuel was arrested in
North Carolina
, not New York. I know it seems like a minor thing, but…what was he doing in North Carolina to begin with? I think you know and you didn’t tell me for a reason.”
Understanding dawned. “How do you know about that?” It was my turn to squirm. I couldn’t exactly tell Samuel’s mother I had a dirt file on him. “You’ve been speaking with Samuel. I know, he’s told me. He’s explained his reasons for leaving Colorado?”
“Yes.”
Sofia studied my face and saw my fears, plain as day. She leaned forward and placed her brown hand on my knee. “Kaye, Samuel wasn’t involved with Caroline in the way you’re thinking. She was a friend of a friend who eventually became his editor. That was it.”