new york city
august 2005
The last days of summer were humid and lush; the tree leaves scarcely stirred. As she made her way home, Ana was distracted by thoughts of the distant Hurricane Katrina—the powerful winds, the rising sea, the suffering. The blinding afternoon sunlight struck the East River, causing her to drop her eyes as she approached her apartment building. When a shadow fell across the concrete and hit her sandals, she stopped short in her tracks. She lifted her head to the large figure, silhouetted against the sun. She would’ve recognized the shape anywhere.
“Hey,” said Jonathan.
Her heart pounded. She looked around.
“What are you doing here?”
“What do you think? I came to see you.”
She instantly regressed, fearing his reprimands—for going to Argentina, for taking a DNA test, for uncovering his secrets.
No.
In a single instant, she pulled her lagging mind forward through time, dragging it through the crevices of every painful discovery of the past season, reminding herself of everything he’d done.
“I came home one day,” he said, “and your mom had left the country to find you. And you haven’t answered my calls or emails. What was I supposed to do?” His hands were in his pockets. He looked tired, sad.
“I was going to—” She stopped herself and looked past him at the sparkling river. No.
“Couldn’t we have just talked, Rach?” he asked. “It felt like you sabotaged me.”
She didn’t move. His presence was punishing, heavy.
“Can we go inside and talk?” he said.
She remained completely still.
He glanced over her shoulder at the bench ten feet up the block.
“Can we at least sit, if you’re not going to invite me inside?”
She tried to muster the sense of belonging she felt that day with Mat and Claudio. I’m Lorena Ledesma’s daughter, she thought, grasping desperately at the memory of the seawall.
“You lied,” she said at last.
“I did. But I was trying to do something good. For you and for your mom. Come on, let’s sit down so I can explain.”
Her mind flooded with glittery costumes, warning posters, the sound of chants. He’s on the loose. “You took me away from my family.”
“I was helping you.”
“I didn’t need your help.” Her voice cracked. She cleared her throat to restore it.
“Of course you did. You were an infant. Your parents had been killed—”
“By the people you trained.”
He looked down. “I was doing my job.”
“How do I know you didn’t kill my mother?”
“Rachel. How could you even say that? These people were—” He stopped himself.
“Say it.”
“It’s not what I meant. We just—we wanted you so badly. And there was no one there to raise you.”
“My grandmother searched for me for twenty-eight years.”
“And what do you think it would have been like, growing up with her instead of us?”
She sniffed, then reached in her bag for her keys. “I’ll never know.”
“Wait,” he said. He moved to touch her arm, then refrained. “Don’t you have even an ounce of gratitude for everything I gave you?” He swept an arm through the air, over the street, the land, the city, the country—as if it were his very own gift, a refuge, an empire that belonged exclusively to her. “I was trying to help you. To give you opportunities. I wanted to protect you from a hard truth, that’s all.”
The lump in her throat hardened until it hurt. “It doesn’t work that way. You can’t take people away from their family.” When she swallowed, tears flooded her eyes. Her throat clogged with an impending sob, but she kept her poise. “I would have done anything for you, Dad.”
His head fell. He squeezed the bridge of his nose.
“I’m sorry,” he said, looking up at her sincerely.
She was supposed to forgive him now, in the movie script of this moment, but she couldn’t. She knew this man. He’d been through his own suffering and torture. But here they were now, the wide world all around them both, open and free. There were no prison walls or chains on either of them—yet. He had a choice. And so did she.
“You were just a baby,” he said. “We wanted a baby—we wanted you. I should have told you the truth about where you came from. I was wrong to have done what I did. But I’m not sorry that I made you ours.”
A watery smile broke across her face. “I’m not yours.” She opened the front door to the building and stepped toward her apartment without looking back. The tears flowed like a deluge. This was her life—this mess of unfinished business—and her dad was a part of it. But it was hers to live, not his. She wouldn’t relinquish any more than she already had.
Jonathan grabbed the entrance door before it closed and followed her inside the building. She unlocked her apartment door, stepped inside, and turned to face him.
“I don’t have anything else to say,” she said.
“I just wanted the best for you,” he said. “I wanted you to be safe and happy.”
“I know. I know exactly what you wanted me to be. I felt your expectations every day of my life. And I could never be that person. Instead of who you wanted me to be, I wish you’d thought about who I really was.”
“I know who you really are,” he said softly. “I raised you.”
“Yes, you raised me. And here I am. This is the person you raised, right here.”
“Rachel, I tried—” His face collapsed. “I tried to be a good man and a good father. I just made mistakes.”
Her heart ached. She believed him, but it didn’t change anything.
“I love you, honey,” he said.
“I know. And someday maybe I’ll forgive you. Maybe I’ll even thank you. But right now, being near you makes me angry and hateful. And right now, I’m hot and I just want to put on my slippers and fix dinner. So go home. Don’t call me. If there comes a time when we should talk, I’ll be the one to decide.”
His mouth was open. After a minute, he nodded, bowing his head respectfully. “Rachel, I just want you to know—”
“No,” she said. She took one step backward into her apartment and rested her hand on the door’s edge. “My mother named me Ana.”
Then she closed the door softly and latched the chain lock.