Suspicion of Rage (50 page)

They could have taken an early-morning flight, but Anthony said his children shouldn't leave without saying good-bye to their grandfather. Gail knew the truth: It was Anthony who needed to say good-bye. When would he see his father again?

Sitting with Luis in the retirement home on B Street, Anthony endured demands that they stay for Janelle's birthday party. It was rude to leave so soon. Luis didn't buy Anthony's excuse—an emergency back in Miami, No, you have to stay, Luis told him.

The
quinceañera
was still on, resurrected from certain death. Marta was frantically calling anyone she knew who could help her get the house ready in time, for Ramiro was no help at all. He had waded into the debris of his office, vowing not to come out until every piece of paper was restored to its place.

Anthony apologized to his father, but there was no choice. They had to leave. Whatever Luis said in response, Gail didn't understand it, but Angela lowered her lashes, and Danny hid a grin behind his hand. Luis felt his way to Danny's bicep and gave it a hard squeeze. "Very strong. You tough guy, eh?"

The legs of Anthony's chair scraped on the tile floor. "I'm going to see what happened to those sodas." Luis had ordered the attendant to bring his grandchildren something to drink, but that had been twenty minutes ago.

The television news ended, and a documentary about carnaval in Rio came on. Luis cleaned his ear with his forefinger. Danny watched the television. Gail was about to get up and look for Anthony, but Angela got out of her chair first and said she would be right back. She went out in the same direction her father had taken.

This was hopeful, Gail thought.

When the woman came with the sodas, Luis slapped her on the backside, his aim evidently the result of practice, not eyesight. She laughed and said to stop it or she would report him. Luis asked Danny if the woman was as beautiful as her voice.

How long, Gail wondered, would it take for Luis to forget Yolanda Cabrera? He hadn't asked for her. She wasn't sure if he even knew yet that she'd gone.

She looked at her watch and her stomach did a little flip. It was getting late. She told the others she'd be right back. Following the hall, she came to the big foyer with its double staircase. The front door was open. She looked out to see the row of men in their chairs. At the far end of the porch, she saw Anthony and his daughter, nearly out of sight behind an umbrella tree whose branches had spilled over the railing.

Angela tentatively touched his arm. Past the curtain of her shiny brown hair, her profile was turned up toward his face. It appeared that she was apologizing.

He put his arm around her.

Gail waited a minute longer before crossing the length of the porch. Anthony saw her. She said, "Hey, you two."

Angela's eyes were red. "Hi, Gail. Is
abuelo
asking where we went?"

"No, it's just that we should leave soon or we'll miss the flight."

"I'll go tell him." As Angela passed by, she gave Gail a little smile.
It's all right now.

Gail stood beside Anthony at the railing. "Don't you want to come say good-bye to your father?"

"I've already told him."

"Anthony. Really."

"He's a
guajiro
with a limited vocabulary and a fair amount of rough charm that he could get by on, thirty years ago. His life has come down to his old cronies, a bottle of rum, and a medal for bravery that he keeps in a box. The rest of the world can go to hell as far as he's concerned."

"Still your father," Gail said.

"I'll be there in a minute." Anthony leaned against the stone column. "Let the kids have some more time with him."

It might have been this cool dismissal that released in Gail an emotion that she had intended to save for later. When they were alone. Or at home again. Preferably at a time when he might actually listen.

"I didn't want to get into this right now, but I really need to say something to you."

"I know," he said. "Danny. I'm angry, Gail. I should get over it. That's what you would tell me, no? What he did to José Leiva ... he's young. Immature. But how do I forget about it? I don't know what to say to him. Right now, I don't even want to see him."

The direction of Gail's thoughts had been reversed entirely. This is not what she had expected to talk about. She said, "You'll have to talk to him. He needs to apologize, and you need to forgive him."

"We don't have so much luck, talking to each other." With a chuckle, Anthony said, "We have always had a distance between us, from the time he was a little boy."

"Maybe it's rivalry. Or maybe he needs you and doesn't want to admit it."

Anthony crossed his arms and stared at the street.

"You have to accept who he is, Anthony."

"What if I don't like who be is?"

"He's your son. You have to reach out to him. You're the adult here. I
think." Gail shook her head. "Go see a counselor. Obviously nothing I
say is of any use."

"Yes it is." He put his arm around her neck and pulled her close. "Yes. I
will try. Of course you are right. I know that." He grimaced as though in pain. "I will try."

Looking at her watch again, she took a step away. "We really have to go."

"What now?" He didn't let go of her hand. "Are you mad at me for something?"

"Not really."

"That usually means I'm in the doghouse."
 

"It's really nothing."

"Are you sure? I'm getting some very funny little signals from you."
 

"Let's go in."

He looked at her, then nodded. "All right. Let's go in."

"I mean, we really don't have time to talk about it."
 

"About what?"

"The fact that you lied to me and seem to think nothing's wrong with it."

Puzzled, Anthony said, "You mean about the files that I didn't put on the disk?"

"No. Don't be so dense." With a glance to make sure that the old men in their rockers couldn't hear them, she came closer. "Yolanda. You lied from the moment you first mentioned her name to me. My friend Yolanda. Just a friend of the family, nothing between us, never was—"

"Gail." He reached for her hand, but she was too fast. "I'm sorry."

"And that's it? That's what I get until the next time? I'm sorry? Why do you do it? I could have handled the truth, but when you lie, it's so destructive."

"I didn't want to hurt you. No. The truth is, I didn't want you to judge me for something that happened so long ago."

"Excuses."

"Don't say that, Gail." His tone was sharp. "You want me to forgive Danny. All right. Now I ask for your forgiveness. That is what I need from you." Unblinking, his eyes fixed on her. "I will not lie to you again. Ever. All right? And now I would like for us to drop this discussion."

Gail had to laugh. "You see how you are?"

"Yes. I know what I can take and what I can't. Will you punish me forever? I can't live with that. It's too much. I'm not like your American husband. I have too much pride. You take me as I am."

For one dizzying, sickening moment, Gail thought of leaving him standing there with nothing but his tattered pride, but that moment passed. As her mother had once told her,
Sometimes a woman just has to close her eyes and go on.

"All right. Only if you do the same for me."

His mouth twitched. He took a breath. "Of course. You're my wife. I love you."

She took his hand. "Everything will be all right, once we get home."

 

It required both cars to get them to the airport, since Gio and Janelle insisted on coming along. The crowds were intense, and they had to say their good-byes at the curb.

Two men in olive-green uniforms stood behind the check-out counter. As the suitcases inched forward in the line, Gail could feel her heart racing. She nudged Anthony and asked if this was normal, the army screening passengers at the airport. He said it wasn't, but not to worry about it. "I think we'll be all right."

"You
think?"

He told her to go ahead, she was holding up the line.

When their group reached the counter, Anthony presented their passports and tickets. The agent ran them through the machine, but she didn't give them back. One of the men stepped forward and signaled to Anthony.

Danny said, "What's going on?"

Gail told him she supposed it was one of those random security checks, not to worry about it.

With only their carry-ons, they were taken down a hall and into an area with cubicles and tables. The women went in one direction, the men in another.

The door closed, and an English-speaking female soldier told them they would be searched. She told them to take off their shoes and stand with their arms out. Her two subordinates patted them down. Hands slid up and down their backs and legs.

Angela was told to put her bag on the table. Gail gave her a reassuring smile that she prayed didn't look as phony as it felt. She boiled with anger and impotence. They slid Angela's things down the table, and she loaded them into her bag.

Irene was next. The story of their trip flashed by as they moved things from Irene's bag and set them on the table. Bottles of tissue-wrapped perfume. Six cigars. Three rocks. A black santería doll with big red earrings and a white dress. They squeezed the doll and lifted her tiny scarf. They unfolded a map. Ruffled through the pages of a phrase book, a tourist guide to Havana, and the brochures from six museums and three art galleries. They turned the bag over and shook it, slid their hands into every crevice, and felt the handles.

Then they dropped the bag on the table and gestured to the pile, indicating that Irene could put everything back. They gave Gail's bag the same treatment. When they got to the stack of CDs in Karen's backpack, they examined each one carefully, picking at the labels to make sure they'd been affixed at the factory.

The officer told them to wait until their suitcases were searched.

Karen came to sit next to Gail. She opened her backpack for her PDA and turned it on to play Tetris. Gail heard the little beeps and chirps. Without looking around, Karen said, "Mom, what they are doing is totally
not
routine."

 

The flight went through Mexico City before they connected with a flight to Miami. The sun was setting as they reached the soft green islands of Florida Bay. Gail gazed out the window at the swirls of turquoise and blue water and the reflection of clouds turning pink. By the time they reached the Everglades, the colors were mottled gray and green. Then Krome Avenue came into view, the westernmost street. Lights were coming on, and she saw the grid of the city, the turnpike, the houses and tile roofs and swimming pools and low, flat warehouses and car dealerships. She had forgotten how bright it was, a shimmering quilt of lights.

She felt for Anthony's hand and curled her fingers through his.

Whether it was a Latin custom or gratitude, Gail had never been sure, but as the jet touched down, the passengers applauded.

Anthony leaned across her to look out the window. "We made it"

"Praise God and all his little angels," she heard Irene say from the seat behind her.

Arriving international passengers were funneled through a corridor with glass walls. When they reached the top, with its turquoise-carpeted lobby, Gail noticed a man in a gray suit who seemed to be watching them. He had a short crew cut and deep-set blue eyes. She had never seen him before, but she could guess.

Anthony asked the kids and Irene to sit down over there and wait.

Gail held out her hand. "Mr. Bookhouser."

"Mrs. Quintana. Good to meet you. Everything okay? You survived your adventures?"

"We're fine. Thanks."

He looked at Anthony. "Well?"

Anthony took Irene's digital camera out of his carry-on. He flipped open the bottom and withdrew the slender blue memory card.

Bookhouser lifted his brows.

"Put it in a card reader," Anthony said. "Your people can figure it out."
 

"Give me a hint."

"We connected a PDA to Ramiro's computer and copied the disk onto it."
 

"The files are on this thing?"
 

"All of them," Gail said.

Reading the numbers on the front, Bookhouser said, "One hundred and twenty-eight megs. Room enough for a book. I'll be damned." He tore a piece of paper from a small notebook and delicately wrapped the memory card inside. He dropped it into his breast pocket. "I'll make sure it gets there safely."

As she watched him go, Gail said, "I feel bad, not giving Karen the credit. She was the one who actually did the copying."

"But it was your idea," Anthony said.

In the huge hall for immigrations processing, they headed toward the line for American citizens. Anthony slowed to make sure his little flock was all accounted for. His daughter hugged his waist. "We're home. I'm so glad."

"You can use your cell phone now to call your friends," he said.

"No. I think I'd rather decompress for a couple of days." Angela walked alongside, rolling her carry-on. "Do you think it would be okay if I came over to your and Gail's place tonight? Would I be in the way?"

"You're never in the way."

“I'll make dinner. Sort of a thank-you for the trip. Okay?"

"If you want." As he leaned over to kiss the top of her head, his eyes met Gail's. "Is that all right with you?"

She smiled. "Heck, yes. You know what
my
cooking is like."

Anthony turned to find his son. "Danny, come have dinner with us tonight."

Danny, who had kept several paces behind, gave a shrug. "I'm kind of tired."

"Come on. We'll all be there."

"I guess. Okay."

Progress, Gail thought.

"Next!"The immigration officer was looking at them.
 

Anthony said, "Go on, Gail. You first."
 

The officer stamped her passport and smiled broadly. He spoke with a Haitian accent.
 

"Welcome home."