He reached across the car seats and pulled her closer, reveling in the simple pleasure of her body pressed against his, their hearts pounding together and their tongues entwined. He gloried in the gentle lemony scent of her, the softness of her skin beneath his fingertips, and the silky ribbons of her hair. Their mouths made love, even if their bodies couldn’t.
Adriana broke their kiss. She pulled back and planted her palms on his chest, pushing him away. Her breath came in little gasps. “That’s not fair.”
“What’s not fair about it?”
“You know.”
“No, I don’t know. Talk to me, Adriana. Explain to me.”
“I want you, Rafael. I care about you.” She shook her head again and closed her eyes. “I don’t know if it’s love. I can’t be sure. I’ve never—”
“Felt like this before?”
“Yes, never.” She raised her head and opened her eyes. Her gaze searched his face, as if looking for answers. “I’m so confused, Rafael. Please, be patient.”
“I can be patient,
amorcita
, as patient as Job. Just don’t shut me out. Please, give us a chance.”
“I’ll be going away when I graduate. My father wants me to stay here and get a job. But I don’t want to live in Vegas, though I’m worried about leaving him because of his health.”
“Then don’t. Stay here with me and your father. Get a job here. Let me see you. Give us the time we need.”
She gazed at him, her indigo eyes misty with tears. She was crying. He hadn’t wanted that, didn’t want to hurt her.
He cradled her in his arms and stroked her rich-hued russet hair. “It’s okay, Adriana, it’s okay.”
“It’s not okay.” She sniffled. “I don’t want to repeat my parents’ mistakes.”
He stiffened and drew back, not sure he wanted to hear what she was going to say. What did her parents’ mistakes have to do with them? He surmised she wanted to tell him, though. And if he loved her as he said he did, he would listen because she was finally ready to open herself to him.
“What do you mean, ‘your parents mistakes’?’ If we marry and have children, I would never leave the burden for their care on you. We’d work together, work around both our careers. I wouldn’t ask you to stop working, either. It will be your decision.”
He cupped her chin in his hand and tilted her face up, forcing her to look at him. He smiled. “And it just so happens that my lowly profession leaves me lots of free time for child care. I wouldn’t mind playing ‘Mr. Mom.’ Whatever makes you happy?”
She traced the line of his cheek with her fingertips and brushed a kiss across his lips. “Oh, Rafael, you’re so sweet to me. I can’t believe this is happening. It’s like a dream.” She pulled away from him and lowered her head, hunching her shoulders. “But it’s not so simple. I just don’t know if I’m ready. I don’t know if I can be a good wife and mother. What if I fail?”
“You won’t. I won’t let you. We can’t fail, not if we love each other.”
“I wish it were that simple. My parents loved each other, but it didn’t stop them from making mistakes.” She looked up at him, a silent plea for understanding in her eyes. “I told you once that my father should have been a doctor. Remember?” She didn’t wait for him to answer.
“He uprooted his life and came to the States to study medicine,” she said. “But he had a problem, a serious problem. He didn’t know it, but he was a compulsive gambler. About a year after Juan was born when he was in his second year of medical school, my mother and father left Juan with a kind neighbor in L.A. and came to Las Vegas for a weekend.” She paused, as if gathering herself. “It was supposed to be a second honeymoon, but my mother barely saw him. He spent all his time in the casino and gambled all his money for school away—lost it all. He went back to L.A., got into a twelve-step program, and never gambled again. But he had a family to support, so he couldn’t return to medical school.”
She bit her lip. “It was ironic, my mother told me, that they’d ended up here because of her job. She always felt living here made it harder on him, never letting him forget what he’d done. And he’s not happy working in casino management. It’s why he’s so unreasonable about this career thing. Why he believes it’s important for me to establish myself first.”
“But you’re not your father. And you’re not a compulsive gambler, are you? Why do you take your father’s mistakes so to heart? It was a long time ago, and we’re different.”
She gulped and tears streaked their way down her cheeks. “Because, I think he blames his family for having to abandon his ambitions. Because I’ve never felt that he loved me, not me as a person separate from himself.” She swiped at her tears. “Don’t you see? My brother and I are merely extensions of him. And we must fulfill his dreams because he failed before.”
He grasped her by the shoulders and looked into her eyes, long and hard. Didn’t she hear herself? Couldn’t she hear what she was saying?
“I’m sorry for your father. And even sorrier for you, Adriana, feeling that he doesn’t love you.” He released her and paused, wanting to gather his thoughts, wanting to reassure her. “I don’t think you’re right, though. I saw the way your father looked at you. I think he does love you, but he’s lost a lot, including your mother. He just doesn’t know how to—”
“It’s not that, don’t you see? I’ve learned to accept how my father is and live with it. That’s not what I’m afraid of.” She raised her fist and pounded her chest. “What if I’m like him? What if I marry and have children, thinking I’m in love and that I want a family, and then I realize it’s not what I want? That the sacrifice is too great?” She raised her eyes to him, her voice barely a whisper. “What if I can’t love my own children?”
He was stunned by her admission, and he didn’t know what to say; how to answer her. He felt like a Mack truck had just rolled over him, pulverizing him. He’d never harbored such doubts, never even conceived of anyone who would think as she did.
And I’m a sociology professor
.
A sheltered sociology professor, who had learned most of what he knew from books. He had grown up in a home filled with love and had never doubted his capacity to love in return, never doubted that he wanted his own family. But he wasn’t Adriana. He hadn’t lived her life, hadn’t felt a lack of love or been made to feel guilty for having been born.
Por Dios
. When he looked at it from her perspective, his heart went out to her. How would he have coped? How would he have felt? He finally understood her and everything fit now: her cool demeanor, her inability to allow anyone to get close, and her fixation on her career.
But he couldn’t let her go, even knowing what he did. He couldn’t give up.
He reached out to her, taking her into his arms again. “You must have felt sure of your mother’s love. I can tell by the way you talk about her.”
The tears were gone now, replaced by the composed features he was so familiar with. Her eyes were hooded, and her lips set in a grim line. She’d opened her heart to him just as freely as she’d given him her body. But now she was sorry and ashamed, just as she’d been after they’d made love—sorry and ashamed, and closed to him. He wished he could scream out loud with frustration.
She brought her arms up and pushed him away again. “Yes, my mother loved me. But she’s dead, Rafael.” Her voice broke. “She left us, my brother and me.”
Adriana faced the windshield again and turned on the car’s ignition. “I think you’d better go now. I’ve said more than I wanted to. Now you know why I can’t love you or consider marriage. I’m just not sure, just not ready.” Glancing at him from the corner of her eye, she said, “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I tried to be honest with you from the start.”
She put the car into gear. “
Vaya con Dios, maestro
.”
Rafael stared out the windshield at the drops of rain chasing each other down its glassy surface. There was nothing left to say, no argument that would convince her she was ready. He closed his eyes. Only time, only enough time might convince her otherwise.
“I leased that townhouse we saw near Boulder Highway, remember?” he asked, but he didn’t expect her to answer. “I’ll be moving there on the first of June. If you ever need me for anything, you know where to find me.” He paused and knew what he had to say before he let her go.
“And I want you to know this: no matter how you feel about me, I’ll always love you, Adriana. But I don’t want you to feel guilty about that. You were honest with me. And I’m a big boy, capable of dealing with it. I just want you to know, always know, that you’re loved. And if you should ever need my help, I’ll always be here for you.”
She didn’t answer, just gripped the steering wheel and checked her rearview mirror.
His eyes burned and not from his contacts. If he didn’t get out of the car now, he’d break down. He reached over the seat and grabbed his bag from the back. He let himself out of the passenger side and stood by the curb.
And then he watched her drive away. His face was wet, his salty tears mixing with the pouring desert rain.
#
Adriana sat in the university library, finishing up bits and pieces of research for her thesis. She’d purposely turned off her cell phone to preserve the mandatory quiet and so she wouldn’t be interrupted.
But the interruption had come in the form of a library assistant who had approached her and asked her name. When she’d responded and asked who had sent him, he’d said her thesis professor had told the library staff where to look.
One minute she was searching the Internet and browsing microfiche files, and the next minute the stranger had told her that her father had suffered a massive heart attack and been rushed to the university medical center.
The remainder of the day had been like a waking nightmare. Frantic, she’d rushed to the hospital, her stomach knotted with dread and fear. And when she’d arrived, she’d been allowed only a brief glimpse of her father, lying in the intensive care unit.
She’d wept when she’d seen his inert figure, draped in a sheet with an astonishing array of tubes and monitors hooked to his helpless body. The nurses had explained that he was heavily sedated and that she could see him for only a few minutes at a time. When she’d asked about the specifics of her father’s condition, the nurses had put her off, telling her that she would need to talk to the doctor, a heart specialist.
She’d waited for the heart specialist, her panic subsiding into a dull, aching fear. She’d gulped countless cups of bitter vending machine coffee. She hadn’t eaten all day, and she didn’t care if she ever ate again. Dr. Davenport had finally arrived after eight that night.
The doctor told her that her father was in critical condition, but stable. The hospital would be running tests and monitoring his heart rate while they tried to lower his blood pressure. Later, her father would probably need a bypass operation. Like all medical personnel, Dr. Davenport had talked in general terms, explaining that he needed time to observe the patient and make certain of the appropriate treatment.
When the doctor left, she’d phoned Juan, her brother. She’d wanted to call him before, but had refrained because of his training. He would bombard her with medical questions, and she wanted to have answers for him.
She’d had to make several phone calls to track Juan down at the hospital in Los Angeles where he was finishing his residency. When she finally found him, she was the one who had more questions for him than answers, and she’d begged him to come home. She needed him, needed his physical presence and reassurance.
Juan had said it was impossible to get away, as long as their father was stable and in no danger. He was in the final weeks of his residency, and his hospital was short staffed. He’d offered to talk with Dr. Davenport and try to find out more facts about their father’s case. He’d promised to call her and the doctor every day. And as soon as he could get away, he would come home.
Adriana had wanted to scream at her brother that their father
was
in danger, but she knew better than to argue medical conditions with him. Reluctantly, she’d agreed to what he’d said and hung up, knowing the burden of her father’s care rested squarely on her shoulders.
She glanced at the bald-faced, institutional clock on the waiting room wall. It was after two in the morning. Yesterday had been the longest day of her life.
The nurses had urged her to go home, get some rest, and a change of clothes, but she couldn’t bring herself to leave her father alone in the hospital, couldn’t bear to leave him with strangers in case he woke up. What if he woke up and there was no one there—no one he knew? She would never forgive herself.
If only there was someone who could stay while she went home. There was no one tonight, but tomorrow she would call Marta, their housekeeper, and have her come. She tried to curl up on a hard plastic chair, and she rested her head against the cold hospital wall. She told herself she only had a few more hours to wait. Even though Marta wasn’t family, at least she was a familiar face.
She rubbed the plastic nubby frog in her cargo pants’ pocket. The rubbing motion was familiar and comforting. Her eyelids drifted shut.
#
The minutes slid into hours, the hours piled into days, and the days lengthened into weeks. Adriana paced the cramped waiting room. She must have walked over a thousand miles in this tiny room. The hospital had become her home. She didn’t want her father to be left alone. She’d missed her finals, and received an extension to take them later. And she’d quit her job without giving notice, throwing her boss into a paroxysm of rage about how short-handed the resort was.
Marta had been little help, declaring it wasn’t her job to stay at the hospital. She had an especial aversion to hospitals, admitting she didn’t like the bureaucratic atmosphere, the smell, the snippy nurses, or the drab waiting rooms. Sick and dying people distressed Marta, too, and she’d told her own relatives to let her to die in peace and at home.
Adriana understood or she tried to, but Marta’s unwillingness to spend any extended time with her father complicated matters. Adriana resorted to asking Marta to stay at the hospital for a few hours at a time, only long enough so she could go home, take a quick nap and shower, and change her clothes. The remainder of her time, Adriana stayed beside her father’s bed or in the waiting room. She took all her meals at the hospital, barely touching the mushy, tasteless food.