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AS ROSITA ENTERED the courtyard of the Montero House, the men debated the top three first basemen on the island. A suitable topic for a group of men who were avoiding so many others. Next would come the ranking of major league players.
Diego stopped ticking off attributes on his fingers when he saw Rosita. “There’s one of the traitors now.”
“They’ll think we’re all worms. Who will believe we didn’t know?” José asked.
Rosita ignored their remarks as she launched into an account of their trip. She focused on the condition of the roads and the heat and sudden rain. About Tío Juan, who they allegedly went to visit, she said nothing, since they hadn’t seen him. She did say that everyone they saw was fine, which was the truth. As she was talking, Ramón continued to drink, seated on a concrete bench in the shadow of the vines on the guest house wall.
Rosita crept over to her husband, who rested his drink on his thigh and leaned back to look up at her. She twitched her fine nose, but he had stopped thinking that he stank, so he missed her cue. He lifted a butt cheek to make room for her, but she shook her head. Before, she would have squeezed into a place that didn’t really exist by leaning her gardenia-scented bodice into her husband and encircling him with the strength of her arms. Now she remained standing but gave Ramón her sweet Virgin of Charity smile. A woman who could offer a smile like that could surely forgive any transgression. His shoulders relaxed, and he returned her smile with one loosened by rum and showing the front teeth that had begun to yellow. She could absolve him of anything.
“Ramón, my heart,” she murmured smoothly. Her voice was soothing. “We need to talk.”
“Of course,” Ramón said. “You had a good trip, eh?”
He raised his glass in a toast and drank off the rest of the clear liquid. Now his family gave him the cheap stuff that had once been reserved for his brother. Rosita crossed her arms but he didn’t notice, as his eyes were closed over the last drops from his glass. He set it on the bench and followed Rosita to the door.
“Hey, hermano,” Diego called. His voice sounded harsh and loud. “I warn you. You’re not safe alone with a Montero woman.” He raised a bottle of rum. It was amber, the good kind. “You need reinforcements.” José snickered at Diego’s comments.
“One moment,” Ramón said to Rosita’s back.
She paused as if he had waylaid her with a touch but then continued inside. Ramón backtracked for his glass and held it for Diego to fill to the brim before joining Rosita in the cool, dark corridor.
“Let’s go up on the roof,” Rosita said.
He smiled as he followed her upstairs and to the steep, ladder-like roof steps. A little privacy right after a separation was always welcome. He took a big gulp of his drink to prevent it from spilling. Rum sloshed over his hand anyway as he ascended.
She sat on a bench against a wall of the widow’s walk. This crowning enclosure looked over the roofs of the surrounding houses and offered a perfect view of the harbor and the river. It, too had solid stucco walls.
“Sit.” She patted the bench beside her.
He complied and kissed her, but as soon as their lips touched, she slipped away from him and stood with her back to the light still lingering in the western sky.
“Honey, you never told me. Why didn’t you ever tell me?” She stared at him.
“You know about Guillermo?”
“Guillermo? I’m talking about Tomasito. Why did you send him away?”
Ramón looked down at his drink. “I didn’t.”
“Don’t lie to me.”
“I didn’t. I swear to you.”
Rosita crossed her arms. “I know about the letter,” she said in a softer voice.
Her husband shrugged. “What letter?”
“You know what letter. The one you doctored. Don’t lie to me.”
“How do you know about that?”
“We went to Campo Doblase.”
Ramón stared at her, then drained off the rest of his drink. “You were supposed to be at Tío Juan’s. You can’t trust anybody these days.”
“That’s not the point.” Rosita slumped onto the bench beside Ramón.
The evening birds chattered in the trees below them and rapid gunfire popped in the distance. The undersides of towering clouds glowed pink in the last rays of the sun, but inside the half-walls, Rosita and Ramón sat in the deeper shades of night already come.
“You could have told me,” she said quietly.
“No, I couldn’t.” Ramón slammed down his glass. “That idiot brother of yours was so foolish. He ran with the wrong sort and made my CDR work impossible. I tried to talk to him, but he wouldn’t listen. I checked out the different camps, made sure he went to the most lenient one. You should thank me for saving him from certain arrest and prosecution.”
“But now he can’t come home. He’s dead.”
“He was going to leave anyway. That Carlos—he smuggles out money too, you know. It’s true. Tomasito would’ve left us all to answer to the authorities. It’s best this way.”
“We were running around, praying to La Señora.” Rosita sat up and stared at Ramón. “You could have told me.”
Ramón tipped his glass to his mouth, although not a drop was left. He got up and leaned on the top of the wall to look toward the bay. The stiff breeze ruffled his shirt and caused him to squint. With his back to Rosita, he said, “You don’t get it. You Monteros. If I had told you anything, the whole damn family would’ve been in an uproar until you got him killed.” He shook his head. “It’s not my fault he had an accident.”
A car door slammed on the next street over. The wind roiled in their enclosure and swirled the crackling dead leaves at their feet. A silence grew between them.
Rosita put her hand in her pocket. “My family thinks you’re worthless, and I get tired of defending you. Now this. Tell me one thing you’ve done for us.”
Ramón whipped around and stabbed a finger at her. “I’ll tell you.” His lips barely moved. “I killed my brother.”
“No.”
“Yes. He wasn’t to be trusted, but Quique trusted him. Carlos did too. Your daughters were at stake. So I drugged him.” He slid down to a sitting position against the wall and bowed his head. “I rolled him over.” He put a hand to his forehead. “Into the lime.” He dropped his hand like a boom lowering.
“Really.” Rosita’s tone was flat, disbelieving.
“You don’t believe me?” Ramón looked up at her. Sweat bathed his face.
“You never said anything.” She withdrew a handkerchief from her pocket and offered it to him. He didn’t respond, so she returned it out of sight. “After we find out what you did to Tomasito, suddenly it was you who did in your brother.” She shook her head. “What’s happened, Ramón? We used to tell each other everything.”
He stretched both hands to her. “Please forgive me.”
“My poor, dear one,” she said. “You’ve always taken care of your own, haven’t you? That’s one thing I’ll always love about you.” She knelt and gazed at him for a long time.
“Rosita, my love.” Again his hands went out to her.
“I forgive you, but I can no longer trust you.”
She took the Derringer out of her pocket. It wasn’t very powerful, but it did excellent close work. She laid it on the concrete between them. Ramón furrowed his brow as he glanced from her face, to the pistol, and back again.
She rose and stepped back. “I’m going to see about dinner. You stay and rest.” She turned and descended the steep stairs into the life of the Montero House.
