Chapter 28

Abigail, 1940

The bride and the groom seemed to be floating on the dance floor. Abigail wondered if one day she would be in that same spot, dancing with the man of her dreams (for he must be a man—not a boy—by now). And the answer was no. She would probably be there, but not with him. It would probably be another man; perhaps Enrique.

To her surprise, she missed Enrique now that he was out of town for the weekend. He amused her with the stories of his travels, his wit, and his gifts—he brought her a different flower every day—but sometimes she feared she made the wrong decision by agreeing to be his girl so soon after meeting him.

Honestly, she’d been unable to refuse him. Enrique had volunteered to take her and Mamá Blanca to Quito for a doctor’s appointment and then he’d invited Abigail to Teatro Sucre to watch a comedy, Receta para viajar. Abigail had never been inside a more impressive building. Those Doric columns, those balconies and thick, ornate curtains! She felt like she’d been transported to a neoclassic theater in Europe. And she’d laughed so hard she couldn’t break Enrique’s heart when he told her she was more beautiful than the leading actress onstage. Not when he bought her a blackberry espumilla and lent her his jacket after the play.

That was only part of the problem. The other part was that she’d been bored, tired of waiting for a dream that might never come true, and nervous at the prospect of never marrying.

“Doesn’t María Teresa look beautiful?” Ana asked her.

Abigail nodded. María Teresa looked spectacular in her puffy-sleeved organza gown, which contrasted so nicely with her red hair, the envy of all the girls in San Isidro. Ana also looked radiant tonight with her hair in a high pompadour and the close-fitting dress Amanda had lent her. There was something different about Ana lately, not just tonight. She seemed joyful, alive.

Abigail’s ponderings were interrupted by an apparition—that was the only way to describe it. The man that had been haunting her thoughts for the last four years stood in front of her, on the dance floor. He hugged María Teresa and took her hand in his. They were both smiling, an evident camaraderie between them. Abigail leaned forward in an attempt to listen to their conversation and accidentally knocked her glass of wine with her elbow.

“Look what you’ve done!” Ana pointed at the burgundy liquid staining Abigail’s mint-colored dress. Ana grabbed a cloth napkin to dry the growing stain, but Abigail couldn’t care less about her dress. Her attention was fixed on the man talking to the bride.

Yes, it was him. The same face, the eyes, the shape of his body, so slim and tall. As the band played a new danzón, he and María Teresa danced.

“Be still!” Ana told her.

He danced with grace and ease until a crowd shrouded him and María Teresa. Abigail stood up, ignoring Ana’s complaints, and strode to the dance floor. The bride’s red hair shone from the center of the floor. Abigail squeezed her way through the dancers to reach her, but María Teresa was talking to a woman now, and there was no trace of the man she’d been dancing with. Abigail was about to ask María Teresa about him when Manuel, the groom, took his brand-new wife by the hand and led her toward the wedding cake in the corner of the room.

Like a madwoman, Abigail searched throughout the entire parlor, scanning every face, bumping shoulders with other guests, growing increasingly frantic. Had she been hallucinating?

Her last option was to look outside, on the patio. She pushed the double doors open and walked out, focusing on a man’s figure sitting on the edge of the fountain. The full moon and a nearby light post partially illuminated his face. It was him. She slowed her pace, processing the moment, thinking about what she was going to say. She was hesitant to take another step. He looked so peaceful staring at the stars in the sky.

She ran her palms over her long skirt, touching the wet stain on the fabric. Oh, no, her dress was a mess! With her hand she attempted to cover the stain as she drew near him.

“Buenas noches,” he said.

She stood in front of him, like an idiot, unable to produce a sound, much less a coherent thought.

He looked into her eyes. “It’s a beautiful night, isn’t it?”

She nodded. It was the only thing she could do.

“Would you like to sit down?” he asked.

She sat beside him. He extended his hand. “I’m Victor Santos Aguilar. And you?”

The touch of his hand was heavenly.

“I guess I’ll have to do all the talking,” he said. “Are you a friend of the bride or the groom?”

“The bride.”

“She speaks!” He smiled. “So am I. María Teresa is my cousin.”

Of course, Santos was María Teresa’s last name, too. She couldn’t believe he’d been so close all these years.

She found her voice. “I’m surprised I’ve never seen you before. María Teresa is my sister’s best friend.”

“I’ve been living outside of San Isidro for the last few years.”

She wanted to ask where, she wanted to know everything about him, but it wouldn’t be proper. After a moment, she spoke again.

“Thank you.”

He raised a brow. “Did you say ‘thank you’?”

“Yes.”

“Why?” He sounded amused.

“For saving my life in that pool four years ago. I never had a chance to thank you.”

He studied her face. “I thought I’d seen you before.”

So he remembered her, too, or was he just saying that to be nice?

“I’m glad I saved you,” he said. “You’ve become a lovely woman. A lovely woman without a name.”

She giggled. “Abigail.”

“Beautiful name,” he said. “You rarely hear a Hebrew name in this part of the world.”

“My father picked it from the Old Testament,” she said. “It means ‘God is joy.’”

He uncrossed his legs. “Yes,” he said, excitedly. “Abigail was the third wife of King David, if I’m not mistaken, and was known to be a prudent woman.”

Abigail wished she could live up to her name, but her present actions proved she hadn’t been exactly prudent. She was alone at night with a stranger even though she was committed to another man.

“I trust that you learned how to swim,” he said.

“No. Never.”

“Why not?”

“Nobody ever bothered to teach me,” she said, omitting the most important part—how ridiculously terrified she was of the water.

He observed her for a moment; his eyes changed shades of blue, resembling the ripples on the ocean. She sighed involuntarily, and looked at his hand. No wedding band. Good, but she couldn’t be too confident. Some married men didn’t wear rings. The movement of the double glass doors caught her attention. Ana emerged from the salon with her graceless gait; her heels getting stuck in the uneven pavers with every step she took in their direction. Oh, no.

Abigail turned to Victor. This was her only chance.

“Why don’t you teach me?” she said.

“To swim?”

“Yes.”

Ana waved at her.

“I don’t know, I—”

Abigail stood up. “Tomorrow, at six. It’s less crowded in the evenings.”

He was speechless.

“Abigail?” Ana stood in front of them. “Rafael wants to go.”

Abigail smiled at Victor before following her sister into the parlor.

Abigail arrived at the pool five minutes early. It had been so long since she’d been here, in the Termas de la Virgen, yet she felt as if it had been only yesterday that she’d nearly drowned in these green waters. She recognized the smell of sulfur, the steam emanating from the pool, and the dense air curling up her tresses as it did when she was a small girl. She wrapped her hands around a metal banister that circled the pool and looked straight across at the cascade. She closed her eyes for a moment, listening to the sound of the water falling. Nothing was more comforting, yet so terrifying at the same time—just like finding Victor had been.

It was six already. What if he didn’t come? He’d never given her an answer, but he wouldn’t stand her up, he didn’t seem like that kind of man. The seconds turned into minutes. Ten. Twenty. Twenty-five. Abigail couldn’t take her eyes away from her watch, away from those wicked hands moving forward, faster and faster. There were only a handful of people left in the pool, and it looked like they were getting ready to leave.

“Sorry I’m late.”

His voice. How could someone go from panic and misery to the greatest state of elation ever known to a human being in a matter of two seconds?

“You came,” she said.

“I couldn’t have lived with myself if you ever fell in that pool again and there was no one here to save you.” He looked at her flower-print dress. “You’re going to swim in that?”

She giggled. Then turned around and lifted her hair. “Would you help me with the clasp?”

He didn’t answer. She looked at him, over her shoulder. He had frozen, all amusement removed from his eyes. He stared at her back with—was that fear in his eyes?

“Go ahead, I don’t bite,” she said. So he was shy. She liked that in a man. Usually men—Enrique included—were eager for intimacy, not that she’d ever gone all the way with any of them. “Don’t worry. I have my bathing suit on.”

He unzipped her dress and looked away. “I’ll go change.” He picked up his bag from the ground.

Abigail collected her mane into a tight bun and slid a white rubber cap over her head. She waited for him by the edge of the pool. What had she done? Only now did she realize the absurdity of her request. If she was supposed to learn how to swim, she would have to get in the water, and she doubted she could bring herself to do that. If her intention was to spend a romantic moment with Victor, she was terribly wrong. Unless he found a panic-stricken, arms-flopping, hysterical girl attractive.

She took a deep breath. She was going to do this, even if it killed her—literally.

Victor reappeared a few moments later in his black swimming trunks. He sure had grown in the last four years. His shoulders had widened, the muscles in his arms were well defined, and a trail of curly hair traveled from his navel to the edge of his trunks.

He dove into the water and swam across the pool toward her in seconds. When he emerged out of the water, Abigail had to pinch her leg to make sure she wasn’t dreaming. With that water dripping from his hair, the sun shining on his nose, and his eyes squinting, he looked just like he had as a teenager.

“Get in,” he told her.

Get in? Just like that? She eyed the water wetting her feet.

He stood on the bottom of the pool and extended his hand to her. “Come on. It’s shallow in here.”

She looked at it. Anything to feel his touch again, anything, even death. She held his wet hand and jumped in, shutting her eyes. Her stomach took a leap. As soon as she felt the bottom of the pool with her feet, she opened her eyes, squeezing Victor’s hand, both of his hands. He was smiling at her. The warm water pleasantly cradled her body. His gaze dropped to her chest for an instant, and then returned to her face. They stood in front of each other for a moment.

“Let’s go deeper,” he said. “Don’t worry. I’ll help you.”

Without letting go of her hand, Victor pulled her toward the center of the pool. Her feet fought every step and her breathing became quicker, so quick that her head turned light. Once the water reached Abigail’s shoulders, Victor stopped.

“See? It isn’t so bad,” he said. “Now close your eyes.”

She obeyed him.

“Do you feel it?”

She wasn’t sure what she was supposed to feel, aside from the panic that he would let go of her hand.

As if reading her mind, he said. “Don’t worry, I won’t let go.”

She let out a deep breath.

His voice was soothing. “See how nice this feels? How peaceful it is.”

She nodded.

“Do you trust me?” he said.

“Yes.”

“Keep your eyes shut.” He placed one arm on her back and lifted her legs with the other, forcing her into a horizontal position. She gasped.

“Now extend your arms,” Victor said.

She could feel his hand under her back. His closeness reassured her. She spread her arms, feeling the lightness of her body, the water tickling her ears. A sense of elation took over her body.

“Now I’m going to remove my arm, but I’ll still be here.”

She stiffened. She wanted to stay like this, with Victor standing behind her.

“It will be fine. I promise.” His hand moved away.

She opened her eyes and focused on the clouds above. They were moving, transforming, floating, and the sky was changing colors, giving way to the darkness. Her heart slowed its rapid beat, her body mingled with the water, and for an instant, there was peace and complete happiness.

They met every day for the next three weeks. Victor was kind and encouraging, but above all respectful. Not once did he touch her inappropriately or take advantage of her willingness to please him. To Abigail’s chagrin, he always kept his distance, and after that first day, he rarely touched her or stood so close to her again. Sometimes she felt guilty over meeting Victor behind Enrique’s back. She’d rushed into a relationship with Enrique, but she didn’t have the heart to break up with him, especially now that he was becoming so close to her family. Well, she would have to do it, as soon as she figured out the right words.

As Abigail’s swimming progressed, so did her fear of losing the temporary bond she had with Victor. When she could swim, the lessons would end and she would have to go back to her regular life.

Taking a break from her first complete lap across the pool, she sat on the edge, elated by how much she’d learned. Amazed at the miracle Victor had worked. Removing the cap from her head, she watched him swim in her direction. He always swam behind her—to make sure she didn’t drown halfway, she suspected. Her guardian angel. If it weren’t for him, she would have died four years ago.

The cold air made her tremble—or was it his presence? She could never tell.

Victor hoisted himself over the edge and sat beside her, his legs keeping a proper distance from hers.

“Good swim,” he said. “You’re getting really good.”

She didn’t answer. Getting good had its unspoken downside.

“Are you cold? Do you want me to bring your towel?”

“No. Just hug me, okay?”

He didn’t move, his hands remained locked against the pool rim, and his expression seemed somewhat puzzled. One might even say, petrified. She shifted her weight toward him and wrapped her arms around his waist, resting her head on his wet chest. His heart thumped against her ear.

“Don’t you like me, at least a little?” she said.

“Abigail, there’s something I need to tell you.”

Oh, no. The confession, the dreaded confession. He was engaged, he was married. No, she didn’t want to hear it. She raised her head and before he could say another word, she kissed him.

He was stiff at first, and backed his head away a little. She held his face with her hands and parted her lips, the way Enrique had taught her. His breathing became heavier and his body relaxed. His hands explored her bare back, pulling her closer to him. She kept her eyes open, to make sure this was real, not another one of her fantasies. She tasted the salt from the water on his mouth.

Slowly, he pushed her down, against the warm floor, and lay over her. He kissed her chin, her collarbone, the space between her breasts and then, abruptly, almost aggressively, he pulled back and sat down.

“What am I doing?” He ran his fingers through his dripping hair.

Abigail sat up, breathing rapidly.

“What’s wrong?”

“This is wrong.”

“Why? I love you and … don’t you love me?”

“It’s not that.”

“You don’t find me attractive?”

He chuckled. “Of course I do. That’s exactly the problem.”

“I don’t understand.”

“The reason I’ve been away from San Isidro for the last four years is that …” He lowered his voice. “I’ve been at the Seminario Mayor in Quito.”

“The seminary? You’re a priest?”

“Not yet.”

“Yet?”

“I was going to be ordained a few months ago, but my father became ill and I was granted permission to come here.”

No, this couldn’t be happening. Not her Victor. “But I don’t understand. What kind of priest dances and goes to parties?”

He covered his eyes with his hand. “The kind who promised his father on his deathbed that he would give himself a chance in the outside world. The kind who is trying to make the most important decision of his life.”

Then there was still a chance; the decision had not been made yet. She held his wrists and pulled his hands away from his face.

“Then there’s nothing wrong with this,” Abigail said. “You’re only doing what your father wanted.”

“It’s not that simple. All my life I’ve wanted this. So did my mother. I made a commitment to the Church, to God.”

She dropped his hands. “Then why did you just kiss me the way you did? Why have you been meeting with me? Leading me on?”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. I just wanted to help you.”

“You’re lying. You know you love me. I feel it.”

He was quiet for a moment. “My calling is stronger.”

“Your calling? How can you say that when you just kissed me the way you did?”

“To have a calling doesn’t mean all your human desires are gone. I’m a man, above all, and you’re … an irresistible woman.”

“Victor, please, forget about that! I can make you happy, much happier than the Church could ever make you.” She leaned forward, holding his face in her hands. “Let’s go back to what we were doing. I’ll teach you what a woman is, and you won’t have any more doubts. I promise.”

She kissed him again, desperately trying to entice him, but this time, he was impassive. No, this couldn’t be happening. Gently, he pulled back.

“Forgive me,” he said, drying her tears with his fingers. “You’re a wonderful woman, Abigail. Any man would be lucky to have you.” He caressed her cheek. “But I can’t offer you anything right now. My life doesn’t belong to me anymore. So many people are counting on me, on this decision. I’m leaving next Monday. I’m going back to the seminary.”

He stood up, almost apologetically, and grabbed the towels. He handed her one, but she didn’t take it. She wanted to stay here, alone, in the cold. To punish him by freezing to death right here.

“We should get going,” he said.

“You go. I want to stay here.”

“I can’t leave you alone.”

“Just leave, okay? Get out! Go back to your church.”

He stared at her for a minute and left.

Abigail looked after him, feeling slightly faint, and then, for the first time in ten or more years, she discerned the Virgin’s face in the mountain. She could clearly see her facial features in the dents and trees, and her long tresses in the falling water. And she could definitely see that the Mother of Christ was frowning at her.