Bella (14 page)

Eduardo took Veronica into his arms and they danced together, hesitantly, yet something undeniable was there. Perhaps . . . no. Not yet. Eduardo had too much charm, and it needed expending before he'd settle down.

Time for the show.

“Turn that music down!” she said.

Manuel entered behind her, hands untying his apron behind his back, eyes glittering at the music. The boys received their love of dancing from him.

But wait! The party is just starting
,” he said. “

He took Maria into his arms and she moved into him. Times like this she remembered how much she loved him.

Well, this is getting good
,” her husband said in her ear. “

She gave him a squeeze and then, out of the corner of her eye, she spotted them, José and a fresh Nina, her blouse replaced by a black tank top. She had pretty arms, lithe and graceful.

Her hair was still damp.

“José! Nina!” Eduardo held out a hand. “You want to dance?”

José hated dancing
these days, but here she was, a dancer, and he knew—she blushed and shook her head.

Good.

Maria clapped her hands. “
Okay, enough! It's time to eat
.”

“
Where are you going? I have the final word here
,” Manuel protested. As Maria walked away, he repeated it to the boys and to Nina and Veronica as if they understood. “
I always
get the last word here, and the last word is . . .”

She clipped over to the stereo and shut off the
music.

He bowed. “
Whatever you say, my queen
.”

He opened his arms. “
Sit down everyone
.”

Eduardo seated Veronica, pulling out a carved wooden chair. “José, Nina . . . Veronica Suviran, mi novia y futura esposa.”

“Nice to meet you,” said José.

Veronica gave a little wave of her hand. “Veronica
Kustala
. Nice to meet you.”

Nina nodded. “You too.”

Veronica turned to Eduardo. “Novia?”

Eduardo grinned. “
Novia
means ‘girlfriend.'
Futura esposa
means . . . ‘future wife.' ”

Veronica flipped her hair back over her shoulder. “Eduardo es loco. He's trying to teach me Spanish.”

Eduardo turned around and pulled a bottle of tequila and some port glasses from a cabinet. “Nina! Qué? Un tequilita?”

“No . . .” Nina hesitated.

Of course, the child
, thought José.

Eduardo filled her glass anyway. “No, no, no . . . family custom, yes?”

“Eduardo . . . ,” Maria began.

“José?” he asked.

“No, gracias.”

“Come on, hermano.” Eduardo would not be put off. “Mommy? Veronica?”

He poured the tequila into their glasses.

Manuel put his glass forward. “
Hey, respect the gray hair
.”

Oh yeah. Sorry
.” Eduardo tipped some tequila into his “father's glass, then sat down.

“Shall we say grace?” Maria said, folding her hands.

Eduardo reddened. “Say grace before the toast?”

José laid his napkin in his lap. Maybe someday Eduardo wouldn't be embarrassed. But today was not that day. And José understood what that felt like too.

Manuel began, “
In the name of the Father
. . .”

“Eh, Papi,” Eduardo interrupted, and José felt that older-brother impatience rising in his throat. Would the boy stop interfering, micromanaging, making everything such a big to-do? “Veronica and I are going to say grace.” He turned to Veronica. “Ready? You repeat after me.”

Her brows raised in surprise, but she pressed her hands together in front of her chest. Poor thing, only a week of Spanish lessons and already Eduardo was putting her on the spot.

In Spanish, Eduardo began the prayer. “
The One
. . .”

The One
. . . ,” they all repeated. “

Papi, this is for Veronica. Thank you
.” He looked at “Veronica. “Sorry.”

And Veronica repeated each phrase after Eduardo. Her Spanish was ill pronounced and full of the wrong inflection, but José took it for the gift it was, for what she was willing to learn, not realizing she was speaking a children's prayer that rhymes in Spanish.

The One . . . that gave us our life . . . Bless . . . this food
. . . “Amen!”

“Amen!” they all said.

“Muy bien!” Eduardo grabbed Veronica's hand. “Great job!”

José crossed himself, as did Maria and Manuel. Nina tried but failed, sort of waving her hand in a circle in front of her chest. José thought it was beautiful.

These poor young women, subjected to the Suviran men.

A sense of gratitude filled him.

Eduardo said, “Bien, bien. Salud, ahora. Now, we can toast, no?”

“Salud!”

They raised their glasses together. Nina took a tiny sip and looked at José. Was she rethinking the plans she'd already started making about the baby? He couldn't be sure, but he felt hopeful.

Manuel turned to Nina and said in English, “Nina, you like osteones?”

Eduardo laughed. “That was good, Dad! Wow! Muy bien . . . That was good, Dad.” To the girls, “
Osteones
means ‘oysters.' ”

Of all of them, Manuel's refusal to learn English embarrassed Eduardo the most. José shook his head. Well, at least Eduardo was trying positive reinforcement, but José knew his father, and he wouldn't give up without more of a fight that this!

“I love oysters,” said Nina.

Eduardo reached for a bowl and handed it to Veronica. “One time I dove into this river on our ranch in Mexico.”

How I miss that ranch
!” said Manuel. “

José clenched his fist. They'd given up so much for his career.

Eduardo was on a roll, however. He loved to spin a story, and this he did while they passed around the bowls and platters and filled up their plates. “When I dove in, my legs were sticking out of the water and my whole head was stuck in mud. I found out the river was only three feet deep.” He nodded, earnest. “Manny had to come to my rescue and pull me out by the legs. When he pulled me out, an oyster shell cut my arm.” He pulled up the sleeve on his shirt to expose a thick white snake of a scar that traveled from his wrist to his elbow. “Seventy-seven stitches. If I would have moved my arm inches to the right, this scar would have been on my face. And beautiful Veronica wouldn't be here.”

“Why wouldn't I be here?” she said.

“Because . . . I wouldn't be as handsome.”

Laughter rose up to bounce off the ceiling, descending back down upon them.

Manuel turned to Maria. “
At this pace, I'll never be a
grandfather
.”

Eduardo seemed bent on controlling the conversation. José knew there wasn't much he could do about it, so he relaxed and ate his family's good cooking.

“Anyways, Nina,” Eduardo said. “I heard Manny fired you because you were late.”

“Eduardo,” José said. So much for relaxing.

“And you!” Eduardo pointed at José. “You walked out on him today?”

Manuel turned to Maria. “
What's he talking about
?”

“
How Manny fired the girl
.”

Manuel's voice dropped and he focused on his youngest son. “
Don't start
. . .”

But Eduardo was still in charge of the show. “He fi red me too! Before I even started working.”

Maria wiped her mouth. “You never showed up to work.”

Eduardo waved a hand. “Manny needs to learn how to cook anyway. He's too busy cracking the whip like El Jeneral . . . El Jeneral . . . up on his fine horse . . . There should be a statue of him up in front of the restaurant!”

Maria shot him a warning look. “You should take Manny as an example. He's worked hard all his life. He started from zero and look where he is now . . . unlike you.”

Now, maybe that would put the little man in his place. José didn't dare to break into the grin he felt.

The food and the wine did their job as everyone ate the sizzling oysters and rice and fresh salads of mango and avocado and jicama. And José felt a pride in being a part of this family, these people gathered around. True, they were no longer in their homeland, but they were connected to it enough to bring pieces of it along.

Maria set down her fork and dabbed
at her lips with a napkin. “I normally don't share this, but in the early years of our marriage we couldn't have children. We tried . . . we tried hard. We tried everything, but—”

“Mama,” Eduardo broke in as expected. “Don't mention such things in front of the children.”

José's heart hurt for him a little as the joke fell fl at, and in front of the fair Veronica.

Maria continued. “And then, when we were about to give up, one of Manuel's cousins back in Puerto Rico, a social worker, called us, and before we knew it, we had adopted this beautiful baby. He was not even three years old . . . a really precious boy.” She smiled at Nina, her eyes locking into the gaze of the young woman. “I think the only difference between my three sons is the way Manny came to us.”

Nina looked at José as if to ask if he'd planned this.

No. No, he did not.

But he would have if he had that kind of power. And he had a feeling his mother would speak the words he could not.

Nina walked around
the perimeter of the room, mouth open. She'd never guessed this about José. How did he keep this from the staff ? And Manny? Obviously the man could keep a secret as well.

Nina had never seen so much soccer paraphernalia gathered in one place. Framed photos inched out almost all the wall space in Manuel's study; they served as a timeline of José's career from boyhood teams all the way up to pro. And trophies, and ribbons, and plaques. Almost too many to count. Now, she didn't have this many trophies in her room at home, but she was no sloucher in the dance competitions. She had done all right.

Truth was, she barely recognized José in those shots. Truth also was, if it had been
that
José who cooked in the kitchen at El Callejon, she'd have gone after him well before Pieter. No beard. A visible confidence exuding in every shot.

She hugged her arms and had to chuckle. What was she thinking? A professional soccer player interested in the daughter of a school uniform salesman from Philadelphia?

Even now, bushy bearded and haunted, José had no eyes for her whatsoever. She didn't need the complication in her life to be sure, but it would have been nice to think he at least found her attractive.

Like she needed that kind of baggage right now along with her own two-ton suitcase. No thanks.

Still, the exhilaration on José's face as he was captured midkick by a photographer brought a smile to Nina's lips. She'd like to see him look like that again, and in that moment, she somewhat understood the sadness his parents must have felt at the change in the son they loved so much.

Perhaps there wouldn't be a return to that carefree José of years ago, but couldn't someone help him break free from his chains?

Nina felt for Lucinda's mother, but the fact remained, she'd let her three-year-old daughter out of her sight. Yes, José was partly to blame, and yes, a mother will make mistakes, some with ramifications to last a lifetime. But a mother was always responsible for her flesh and blood.

Nina realized her hands were pressed protectively across her abdomen.

Manuel walked into the room.

He pointed to the picture Nina was looking at. “
This is
Francisco. He used to be José's manager when he played fútbol.”

“Soccer?” Nina asked, clueing herself in to the word
fútbol
.

“Soccer, sí.
You like soccer?”

“I don't play soccer. Do you play?”

“Sure I do. Every Thursday and Saturday. They call me the
old man, but I can keep up with all the kids.”

Now, that one Nina couldn't translate at all, so she just grinned that didn't-understand-a-word-but-I'm-smiling because-I-like-you-and-don't-wish-to-offend-you smile. He pointed to another picture, apparently not offended.

“José—that was his professional debut.”

“I'm sorry.” That one she could figure out.

Manuel sat down on a leather chair.
“He never played
again after the accident. No more soccer
.
Sit
.”

He held out a hand, and Nina sat beside him on a matching seat. “
The accident cost him his passion, and without it you
can't play soccer.”

Nina only understood a few words: “soccer,” “accidente,” and “passion.” Add two and two together and she could figure it out.

Maria entered the room and sat on the arm of her husband's chair. Nina couldn't imagine such an intimate relationship. If she felt that way about Pieter, there'd be no decision to make. She'd be an idiot not to have the baby.

Maria took her husband's hand. “He's saying you can't play soccer without passion.” She smiled at Manuel. “This man never wanted to learn English in his whole life, have you?”

“Noooo . . .”

Nina nodded. “I understand what he's saying.”

Maria said, “He understands a lot more than you think.” She caressed him with her gaze. “Don't you?”

“
What are you saying?
”

You don't like to speak English, but you understand
“
everything.”

“My family speaks Spanish.”
He shrugged.
“If you want
to speak to me, speak Spanish.”
He smiled; clearly he was speaking tongue in cheek.

Nina stood up. “Well, it's getting late. I need to get back to the city.”

Manuel said, “No, you, José, stay here.”

“You see how he speaks English?” Maria said. “He doesn't because he's lazy! But he's right. You should stay here and rest.”