Adriana nibbled her breakfast cake and snuck glances at Mamãe. So did Papai.
“You don’t look well, meu amor,” he said, between sips of cafezinho.
Mamãe stiffened and struggled to sit taller in her chair. “I’m tired from the packing. That’s all.”
Papai lifted the coffee pot as if to offer; and when she didn’t answer, filled her cup half way to the top. He added milk without permission and dropped in a sugar cube.
Adriana frowned. Mamãe never let Papai do anything for her. Nor did she do anything for him.
“No one is forcing you to leave on Monday, Cesaria.”
“We’re going as planned.”
Mamãe sounded angry, although Adriana couldn’t imagine why—Papai was being so sweet to her. Why couldn’t she be kind to him in return? If Adriana had not been taught to stay out of grownup conversations, she would have asked.
Papai shrugged, as if he had read her mind. “How about you, Adriana? How are you feeling this morning?”
“Fine, Papai.”
“Are you excited about your trip?”
She glanced at Mamãe to make sure she wasn’t watching then shrugged, ever so slightly. Mamãe had been in a bad mood ever since the concert yesterday. Adriana did not want another lecture about how lucky she was supposed to feel.
Papai seemed to understand. “Try not to worry, querida. Everything will be fine.”
A moment later, Mamãe fell off her chair and onto the floor.
Adriana did not know which was more terrifying: the mound of dirt beside the grave or the coffin shaped hole that had just swallowed her mother.
She glanced at her grandparents who stood beside her. Avô Guilherme had his arm around Avó Jurema as she cried into her tissue. Neither of them acknowledged Adriana. They had been that way all day—in the church, in the funeral home—glaring at Papai and avoiding her.
They hate me, she thought, because of my Olegario blood.
On her other side, Papai patted his forehead with the handkerchief he had taken from the pocket of his new suit. Grief had transformed him into a gentleman. Mamãe’s burial had finally earned him a place in front of the da Silva clan. If only he could earn a place in their hearts.
Adriana stared at her shiny new shoes and tried not to think of what she had overheard yesterday. She had not meant to spy, but Avô Guilherme’s voice had been so loud it had carried through the bedroom door and into her ear.
Cesaria was in perfect health. She should be in São Paulo with Adriana. Instead, she’s lying in a mortuary. I find that a little too convenient.
What could be convenient about Mamãe dying?
Adriana’s heart was breaking and no one cared. Not Papai. Not her grandparents. Not any of the da Silva clan who were sitting behind her with dozens of Bahia’s high society guests. Adriana had never felt so alone.
The priest intoned the final blessing. Papai tugged on her hand. He had told her what to expect, but that didn’t make it any easier.
She bit her lip and tried not to cry as Papai led her to the open grave. Instead of standing with their backs to everyone, as he had told her they would do, he continued walking around the pit until they were standing on the other side, facing the entire da Silva clan and all of Avô Guilherme’s important friends. Everyone was watching. It took all of her willpower not to jump into the grave with Mamãe and never come out.
“Easy, querida. Just do like me.”
Papai picked up a handful of dirt and held it to his heart. Adriana started to do the same when photographers crept up to the front to capture the moment. She froze, her hand above the dirt.
“Pick it up,” Papai whispered.
“Não,” she whispered back. If she picked up the dirt, she and Papai would be in every newspaper throughout Bahia, and everyone would know about their bad Olegario blood.
She stared at her shoes. Why was Papai doing this to her? Why hadn’t they kept their backs to the people? She could have grabbed the dirt then. But like this? With everyone watching?
When Papai took her hand, she nearly cried with relief. Then he uncurled her fingers and poured his dirt into her palm.
“Wait for me,” he said, as he grabbed another handful for himself.
She had no choice but to do as he did and hold the dirt over Mamãe’s grave. Together, they opened their fingers and let the grains fall to the clicking of cameras.
Papai whispered. “Obrigado, Serafina. My life is yours.”
Adriana glanced at him in surprise then stared at her shoes as the cameras continued to click. She thought about those words for the next hour as family and guests paid their respects and headed for their cars.
“Why did you thank Avó Serafina?”
“What?”
“At the grave. You said your life was hers. What did you mean?”
Instead of answering, he pulled her toward the car. When she whimpered in pain, he eased his grip but didn’t apologize, which hurt her feelings more than his fingers had hurt her arm. She didn’t mention it because he was acting strange, looking everywhere except at her. Finally, when they arrived at the car, he stooped down and stared into her teary eyes.
“You’re mistaken.”
She started to object.
“Get in the car, querida. We’re going to a party to celebrate your mother. Try to put on a good face.”
How was she supposed to do that? Nothing he said made any sense—the dirt, the party, Avó Serafina. By the time they arrived at her grandparent’s Coconut Coast estate, Adriana was so confused she couldn’t be certain what she had heard.
Alone and dejected, she wandered into an empty parlor and sat in the corner. An antique cabinet boxed her in, making her feel cozy and secure for the first time in days. Once again, she heard things she should not have heard.
“Disgusting.” It was Avó Jurema. She sounded furious. “Did you see Carlinhos with our guests? I bet he even passed out business cards.”
“It doesn’t matter,” answered Avô Guilherme.
“It doesn’t matter? How can you say that? He turned our daughter’s funeral into his coming out party.”
“It doesn’t matter because I’m going to cut him loose.”
Adriana imagined him stroking her grandmother’s shoulders as he did when she was upset.
“Don’t worry. I know how he thinks. He wants to be accepted, to be part of our world, and the only way that he can do that now is through Adriana. If you noticed, he was working the São Paulo people, not those from Bahia. He intends to cut a niche for himself in São Paulo using my connections but beyond my control.”
Avó Jurema mewed like a cat in distress.
“Tranquilo, meu amor. It won’t happen. I did everything I could to teach him how to function in business and exist properly in our world, but he’s not capable of learning. He doesn’t have the foundation for business. He certainly doesn’t have the foundation to raise a young woman. Not on his own. Not without Cesaria.”
Adriana heard what sounded like a quick kiss. On the hand? On the forehead? She was tempted to peek around the cabinet, but Avô Guilherme was speaking again.
“We’ve always done what was best for Cesaria, but it wasn’t enough. Carlinhos ruined her. I won’t let his favela roots infect our family any more. We’re going to take custody of Adriana. Then you will escort her to São Paulo and do what you can to redeem the da Silva name.”
Although Adriana was upset with Papai, she didn’t want to be separated from him. Could Avô Guilherme really do such a thing?
“He’s her father,” said Avó Jurema.
“Yes. But I know the judge.”