Immortal Love (12 page)

• • •

I was early the next day for my meeting with Bécquer. It had been a conscious decision. Being first, I thought, would give me an advantage, or at least, save me the embarrassment of walking the length of the room under his stare.

The place was almost empty when I arrived — too late for the morning rush, too early for lunch — and in no time I was sitting at one of the tables by the window, my espresso forgotten in front of me, watching the door. As I waited, I questioned the wisdom of my decision for every time the door opened my heart jumped in my chest and the mantra I had chosen to repeat to keep me calm lost a little of its effect.

Somewhere outside the chimes of the town hall clock sounded the hour. Any moment now, I thought, but I was wrong. Bécquer was not the next person to come in, nor the following one. By ten thirty, my mantra had changed from “
I’m in control
” to “
He’s not coming
,” and my nerves stretched to the point of breaking.

I was considering leaving when the door opened, once again, and Federico appeared in the doorway. Federico, and not Bécquer, my mind registered, whether with disappointment or relief I was not sure.

My first thought was that Bécquer had sent Federico to drive me to his house and, bracing myself to resist such a request, I waited for him to come over. But Federico stalled by the door. Holding it open with his body, he was maneuvering a wheelchair through, when one of the baristas, a girl with ginger hair, as natural looking as Madison’s bleached blonde, rushed to his aid.

I imagined the man in the wheelchair to be an acquaintance of hers, for despite the long line that had formed by now to order, the girl didn’t return to her post behind the counter, but stayed by the door talking to him.

Across the room, Federico’s eyes met mine. He shrugged, and I nodded and looked away, embarrassed he had caught me watching. Out of the window, the cars coming down Main had stopped before the light. And again, like Sunday morning, a blue convertible was first in line. The roof was down, and I couldn’t see the driver, but the car I was certain was Bécquer’s.

“Sorry, I’m late.”

My heart stopped at the sound of his voice, Bécquer’s voice, inside the cafe, addressing me, while his car stood outside. I turned, startled, and met his eyes staring at me. His eyes, dark and serious, at a level with mine, because Bécquer was sitting. Sitting in the wheelchair Federico had pushed through the door.

Bécquer in a wheelchair?

“Bécquer,” I whispered, my voice entangled with too much feeling. “What happened?”

Bécquer shrugged, or tried to, for his neck was encased in a collar brace that limited his movements. “I fell down the stairs,” he said, a wink in his eyes belying his words.

His face, his handsome face, was criss-crossed with pale scars. And as I looked down to hide my shock at his condition, I noticed he held his right arm in a sling against his chest, and the right leg of his dark suit had been cut lengthwise to accommodate the cast.

“My apologies, Carla,” Federico said moving from behind Bécquer. “To get a wheelchair took us longer than anticipated.”

“And it was totally unnecessary,” Bécquer said. “I could have walked.”

“You could not,” Federico said, a note of frustration in his voice.

Are you crazy?
Federico had asked Bécquer on the phone the previous day when he offered to meet with me. Now I understood why.

“I would have waited,” I told Federico, “had I known.”

Bécquer scowled. “No. You wouldn’t. You wouldn’t have believed me had I told you. In fact, you still don’t believe me, and you are looking at me.”

He was right. While my eyes had taken in the details of Bécquer’s condition, my mind refused to admit it, for Bécquer was immortal and immortals heal immediately. Were Bécquer’s disabilities real or was he pretending to be disabled to manipulate me?

Bécquer swore, making no secret that he had read my thoughts. “Do you really think so poorly of me?”

He tried to stand as he spoke, but managed only to hit the cast against the floor before Federico stopped him. “If you don’t sit still, I’ll take you home.”

Bécquer moaned. “It’s not my fault. She doesn’t believe me.”

“Give her time,” Federico said, in Spanish now and somehow I knew he had checked to be certain nobody in the café could understand our mother tongue, before he added, “After all, for someone who is supposed to be all powerful, you are quite a sight.”

“Thank you for reminding me,” Bécquer answered in the same language. “Are you trying to cheer me up or push me to despair?”

“Neither. Just let Carla adjust, then ask her what we discussed at home and, please, be quick. Immortal or not, you should be lying down, not driving around.”

They stared at each other for a moment in silence and I knew they were talking mind to mind. But, to my regret, I could not hear them. I didn’t need any immortal’s powers, though, to feel Bécquer’s simmering anger and frustration with his condition. In the end, it was Bécquer who looked away, and Federico’s tight grip on the armrest of the chair eased.

With a sigh of relief, Federico turned to me. “Your espresso has grown cold,” he said unexpectedly. “And I blame myself for it. May I get you another one?”

I looked down at the cup, still full, in front of me, and shook my head. “It’s all right. I like it cold.”

Bécquer raised an eyebrow in mock disbelief, and I felt myself blushing at being caught in a lie.

Federico smiled. “Please, oblige me.” With a last, warning look at Bécquer, he went to join the line.

I followed him with my eyes, reluctant to face Bécquer just yet, this sulking, wounded Bécquer whose sorry state had already broken my defenses. How was I to deny him anything in his condition?

I shouldn’t have come, I thought for the thousandth time.

“Carla?”

Too late now.
I turned to face him.

“Do you still want to terminate our contract?”

I nodded, not really listening, for my mind was still struggling to make sense of Bécquer’s situation. “How? I mean, who did this to you?”

Bécquer only stared.

“Beatriz,” I whispered.

It was the only explanation. But Bécquer denied it. “Beatriz is gone, Carla. You don’t have to worry. She won’t harm your children. And I assure you my present disability will not interfere with my role as your agent.”

“That’s not why I asked.”

“Out of pity then? Please don’t. I’m immortal remember? I will heal before the week is over. And, in the meantime, would you reconsider your position and give me a chance at being your agent?”

He raised his left hand as if to stop me from answering, while he continued, “I’ve already queried several of the editors as a follow-up to our conversations at the party. If I were to withdraw your manuscript now, it would be unprofessional on my part and awkward for you or another agent to resubmit to them. So before you decide to rescind our contract, please realize that doing so would harm my credibility and yours.

“As for your fears, I assure you they are unfounded. Beatriz is gone and I already gave you my word that I won’t talk with Ryan without your permission.”

“I’m afraid my permission is redundant. Ryan is eighteen and has a mind of his own. He has refused to stop seeing you.”
And I don’t even know if I have the right to keep him from you.
“You saved his life. Twice,” I said aloud. “And took him to NA meetings. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I should have told you,” Bécquer said and sounded contrite. “In fact, I should have asked your permission. I apologize for overstepping my boundaries. You are his mother. And I am no one to him.”

“That is not true. Ryan thinks highly of you.”

“He does?” For the first time, a smile touched his lips. But even then there was pain in his eyes. “Thank you for telling me.”

“You’re welcome.”

“So, going back to the contract,” he continued after a moment. “Would you meet me half way? Would you agree to let me represent you until we get an answer from these editors? If one of them wants to buy your manuscript, I’ll represent you just this time. If nobody buys it, then you are free to contact other agents. Does this seem fair to you?”

Fair? Fair had nothing to do with my desire to part with him. But of my two reasons, the first one, my fear of Beatriz’s retaliation, he had refuted, and the second, my attraction to him, I couldn’t mention. I couldn’t even think about it, for if I did he would sense it in my mind and could use it to charm me even more. And “more” was the key word, for obviously his charm was working already.

I nodded. “All right.”

Bécquer beamed at me. “Great. I will tell Matt to type a contract with the new clause and fax it to you.”

“Matt is your secretary now?”

“And my driver.”

That explained my seeing Bécquer’s car at the light before. Matt must have dropped Federico and Bécquer then went to find a parking space. As for Matt being his secretary, did that mean he was giving him blood too?

“No,” Bécquer answered my thoughts. “Matt is not my blood giver. Funny that you’d think that when it was that same assumption on Federico’s part what brought me to my present state.”

“Matt did this to you?” Shocked at his words, I forgot to complain about his intrusion in my mind.

“No. Not Matt. Federico.”

“Federico?”

“That’s what I said.”

“But how? Why?”

“He found me drinking from Matt.”

I flinched, for if I had read the signs correctly Federico had more than a passing interest in Matt.

Bécquer nodded when I suggested it. “If I didn’t know then, my broken bones would have convinced me by now.”

“Why did you drink from Matt?”

“He offered.”

“You could have said no.”

“No. I couldn’t.” And as I looked at him unconvinced, he added, “I was unconscious.”

“Matt offered me his blood at Lake Galena,” Bécquer explained at my insistence, “and I said no. Then he helped me to his car and drove me back home. The guests were gone and the house empty when we arrived, Matt told me later for, by then, I had already passed out. Matt went in to get me some bags with blood from Federico’s room. When he didn’t find any, he panicked for he thought I was dying and decided to cut his wrists and give me his own.

“I drank from him, by instinct I guess, from his wrists first, then from his neck. When I came back to my senses Federico was looming over me shouting, and Matt lay unconscious in my arms.

“Before I had time to understand what was happening or make sense of it, Federico dragged me out of the car. I tried to explain but he wouldn’t listen. Instead, he hit me. My senses still dulled by my recent loss of blood, he caught me unaware and the force of his blow sent me flying against the library wall. My neck snapped when I hit one of the metal beams and severed my spine. Then the glass broke and fell on me.”

“Your face — ”

“My face, my arms, my body. I have more cuts than I can count, and broke more bones than I thought I had. Not to mention the fact that I was paralyzed from the neck down.”

“But your arms, your legs, you can move them now.”

“Sure. But it took me all night to regenerate my spine.”

I winced.

“Nothing to worry about, really, Carla. My bones are set now. The collar brace, the sling, the cast in my leg, they are just a precaution.”

“Federico seems to disagree.”

“Because he feels guilty and likes to keep me like this to order me about.”

“Federico loves you, Bécquer. He’s trying to help you.”

“He loved me, you mean. He loves Matt now. I’m no more than an inconvenience for him.”

“I don’t agree. Federico may not be in love with you anymore. But he still cares for you.”

“Why are you defending him, Carla? Federico is responsible for this.” He waved his hand as he spoke to cover his brace, his arm, and his leg. “You know, he overreacts when in the throes of passion. You were with him when he broke the steering wheel of my car. Yet you seem to think I’m the one to blame.”

“Sorry, Bécquer. I’m really sorry that you got hurt.”

“You’re sorry?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Then, maybe there’s still hope for me.”

“Hope?”

“I was not totally forthcoming before when I said I’m all right. My bones may have mended already, but the cuts from the glass will take longer to heal for some were deep and traces of glass may still remain in others.”

He took my hand. A move I had not anticipated, and at his touch, a shiver ran down my spine. An unlikely reaction for his hand was warm.

“Federico swears the blood he buys in bags is all he needs,” Bécquer was saying. “But even he recognized human blood would help me heal faster and agreed to drive me here today so I could ask you.”

“Ask me — ?”

“Whether you’d be my blood giver.”

I stared at Bécquer in total shock. Was he serious? Did he really expect me to agree to be his blood-giver?

“I guess not,” he said when I didn’t answer. His eyes staring straight into mine were not pleading.

He let go of my hand and leaned back in his chair. He looked tired, exhausted even, the dark circles under his eyes ever so visible on his fair skin that was crisscrossed with pale scars.

“Does it hurt?” I asked him.

“Not at all.” A spark in his eyes, again he bent forward, and then winced — a sign of pain that negated his enthusiastic denial. But Bécquer, as if oblivious to his own discomfort, continued eagerly, “The interchange is quite pleasurable, in fact. And it doesn’t have to be for long. A week perhaps. I will not ask you to stay after I’m whole again, I promise. I will give some of mine in exchange. Taking immortal blood will make you stronger. It will also extend your life and — ”

“That is not what I meant.”

Bécquer frowned. Then, the shadow of a smile playing on his lips, he added, “So will you do it?”

Yes
, my body screamed, with yearning for the power his blood had given me the previous evening.

“No,” my reason answered. “I told you I didn’t want to share blood with you.”