James Grippando - Hear No Evil

He laid it on the table and asked, “Do you happen to know a woman named Celia Méndez?”

The woman set her cup on the table. A smile crept to her lips as she examined the photograph. “You know Celia?”

“No. My mother did.”

“Don’t tell me your mother was Ana,” she said.

Jack’s heart thumped. She knew! “Yes. Ana Maria Fuentes.”

She studied Jack’s face, then glanced back at the photograph. She brought a hand to her mouth, as if astonished that so much time had passed. “Now I see it. You look very much like your beautiful mother. Celia and she were the best, best of friends. It broke her heart when she heard that she passed away. Such a shame.” She shuddered, seemingly embarrassed by her own insensitivity. “Forgive me. I am sorry for your loss, as well, of course.”

“Thank you. Did you know my mother?”

“A little. I was only seven-no, eight-years old when Ana left for America. Celia was my oldest sister.”

Again, his pulse quickened. “Where can I find Celia?”

She blinked twice, then lowered her eyes. “Celia is dead.”

Jack’s heart sank, and his “Oh, no” was involuntary.

“She passed away last March. It was very sudden. Heart attack.”

“I’m sorry. I know it may be difficult for you to talk about her, but if there’s anything you remember about Celia and my mother, I would love to hear about them.”

“I have some things, yes. But it’s hard for me to know what I remember and what I remember Celia telling me, if you see the difference.”

“Yes, I do. Whatever you can tell me, that’s all I want to know.”

The sadness seemed to drain away. Thinking of a much younger Celia was lifting the woman’s spirits. “Celia and Ana were inseparable,” she said with a nostalgic grin. “They did everything together. It was Celia who introduced your mother to her first boyfriend.”

“Do you remember his name?”

“No, I don’t. But Ana’s mother-your grandmother-didn’t like him one bit. She didn’t like Celia, either. Mostly because it was Celia who introduced this boy to her daughter.”

“What was wrong with him?”

“Nothing, as far as I know.”

“Why was my grandmother so against him?”

She winced a little. “Your grandmother has never talked to you about Ana’s boyfriend, has she?”

“No. Tell me.”

“Are you sure you want to know everything?”

“Yes. Believe me, I wouldn’t have come here if I weren’t sure.”

She took a deep breath, then said, “Your mother got pregnant.”

Jack went cold.

She nodded toward the photograph and said, “She’s probably with child in that photograph. She was just seventeen when it happened.”

“Are you sure?” asked Jack.

“Oh, yes. I’m not mistaken about this. We’re talking over forty years ago. A teenage girl, pregnant? This was quite the scandal in Bejucal. I don’t remember everything that happened when I was eight years old. But I remember that.”

“Did she-” Jack hesitated, afraid to ask. “Did my mother have the child?”

“I’m not sure I ever knew exactly what happened. I remember hearing that she was pregnant. I heard people talk about it. And it wasn’t the next day, but it was pretty soon afterward that Ana Maria was on her way to Miami.”

“Was she pregnant when she left?”

“I don’t know. Really, I don’t.”

They sat in silence for a moment, Jack staring into his empty cup. The woman rose, as if sensing Jack’s sudden need for some time to himself. “Excuse me, but I must check on the grandchild,” she said, and she left the room.

Sofia stayed with him for a minute, and finally he looked at her. She seemed on the verge of saying something, then simply gave him a thin but sad smile of support, patted the back of his hand, and left him alone at the table.

The streetlight outside their bedroom window shined through slatted Venetian blinds, casting zebralike stripes across the twin beds. Jack was nearest the door. Sofia lay in the bed by the window. The room had no clock, but Jack knew it was late. He hadn’t been able to close his eyes, let alone fall asleep.

“Jack?” Sofia said in the darkness. “You up?”

“Mmm-hmm.”

“Are you okay? I mean, about what Felicia told you?”

He chuckled without heart. “Not exactly what I expected to hear.”

“I know.”

Silence returned. A car passed outside their window, and the headlights swept across the wall.

“Jack?”

“Yes?”

“Does this feel weird to you?”

“Does what feel weird?”

“Sleeping in the same room with me.”

“Uhm. A little.”

“When’s the last time you slept in twin beds?”

He thought about it, then realized that it was with his ex-wife, one of the last trips they had taken together. Separate beds. The beginning of the end. “I don’t really remember.”

“I’m not trying to get weird on you, but for some strange reason this reminds me of when I was a teenager. My sister and I shared a room with twin beds. We would stay up at night and talk about all kinds of things. Boys. Soccer. Clothes. Mostly boys.”

“Are you saying I remind you of your sister?”

“Hardly. I’m not sure why that popped into my head. I guess I was just reminded of how much I miss those days. Something made me think of it.”

“Maybe it was the fact that no one bothered to tell me that I might have a brother or sister.”

She propped herself up on one elbow, and even in the dim light Jack could see the horrified expression on her face. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mention my sister in order to…I wasn’t comparing your situation to-”

“It’s okay,” he said.

She lowered her head back onto the pillow. She was lying on her side, the thin, white bedsheet clinging to the gentle curve of her hip, the narrow band of light coming through the Venetian blinds reflecting on her hair. Jack rolled on his side, facing her, the gap between the twin beds separating them. But in the darkness, it was almost as if the gap weren’t there.

“Funny,” said Jack.

“What?”

“This thing with my mother. In my mind, I’d built this lofty image of a young woman in search of freedom. She leaves her family behind, leaves her friends behind, leaves everything behind, and somehow finds the courage to face a completely new world.”

“No one has taken that image away. It just has a new twist to it.”

“At least now I understand why my grandmother never wanted to talk about it.”

“She’s an old woman. It’s natural for someone of her generation to sweep it under the rug. It must have hurt her terribly to hear people say her daughter was a troubled teen running away from her problems.”

“But at some point I have a right to know, don’t I?”

“A right to know what?”

Jack looked off to the middle distance, to the darkness beyond Sofia. “About my half sibling-the child she left behind.”

“You don’t know for sure that your mother had the child.”

“You’re right. But I still want to know.”

“I suppose there’s one person who could tell you.”

Jack thought for a moment, then said, “All I have to do is figure out a way to ask without slicing Abuela’s heart to ribbons.”

“Good luck,” said Sofia as she rolled onto her back.

Jack fluffed his pillow and said, “Don’t let me oversleep.”

There was just enough light for Jack to see the smile on her lips.

“What?” he said.

“We’re sharing a house with eleven Cubans. If that doesn’t wake you, I’ll be sure to notify your next of kin.”

“Good point.”

“Good night, Jack.”

“Good night, Sofia.”