That night, Adriana sat at the Rosario’s dining table with everyone she loved in the world: Isabel, Isabel’s parents, and Papai. All of them had cheery expressions, except for her father, whose face furrowed as he chewed, as though he had never eaten in front of fine people before; as if those twelve years of living with the da Silvas in posh Lauro de Freitas had never happened.
“Tell us, Carlinhos, what do you do for work?” Papá João asked. “Because you look like a man who does an honest day’s labor.”
Papai nodded and took a careful sip of wine. He covered his scabbed fingers with his other hand, saw it was just as battered, and set down the glass.
Papá João adjusted his spectacles and smoothed the wisps of hair on his balding head. “Nothing wrong with that. Without dependable labor, my designs would remain scribbles on a page. Ana can tell you. Nothing gets built without skill and hard work.”
Mamã Ana gave Papai a conspiratorial wink. “They are messy scribbles, I assure you.”
Mamã Ana had the same cherubic features as Isabel, except on her, the soft lines appeared elegant and motherly instead of childish and naive. Her eyes sparkled with merriment, and her cheeks balled into apples when she smiled, which was often. She wore her toffee-brown hair swept up in a twist and fastened with a silver filigree comb. Her navy dress showed just enough cleavage to appear womanly without the slightest hint of impropriety. Although her waist was a bit thicker than Isabel’s, she still retained a youthful voluptuousness. Isabel would be lucky to look like her mother when she grew older.
Sadness flooded Adriana. She would never look like her mother. The Olegario genes would see to that.
“We’re so glad to finally meet you,” Mamã Ana said, passing the platter of sliced steak to her husband. “Adriana is dear to us and has been a good friend to our daughter.”
Papá João snorted in agreement. “With the way those girls pick on Isabel that’s no small thing.”
“They aren’t that bad,” Isabel said.
Papá João took several slices and passed the plate to Papai. “She’s making light of a bad situation. We know how cruel kids can be, right Carlinhos?”
The corners of Papai’s mouth dropped into a frown, making Adriana wonder just how well he knew. He had never spoken of his childhood, but from the way the da Silvas had bullied him, Adriana could guess. Was that why he was so dependent on his mother? Had she protected Papai the way Adriana tried to protect Isabel? The possibility stirred up uncomfortable thoughts.
Adriana had always admired the da Silvas and feared the Olegarios. What if her fear of Avó Serafina stemmed from the same bigotry she had experienced from Avô Guilherme and Avó Jurema? What did that say about Adriana as a person?
Papai took her hand, as if he could read her mind, and squeezed it reassuringly. Then he cleared his throat and spoke for the first time. “My Adriana…” He cleared his throat again. “She’s a good girl.” He took a sip of water, paused, then drank the rest, his hand trembling so much he had to steady the glass with the other to keep it from knocking against his teeth.
Was he ill? Or just uncomfortable? Adriana had never seen him this uncertain and downtrodden. Even when Avô Guilherme and Avó Jurema were at their worst, Papai had always been able to talk and hold himself with dignity. What had happened to him over the last four years?
He set down the glass and clasped his hands. When he spoke again, he did so with fluidity, like the father she remembered. “It makes me proud to hear how she protects her friend. I’m grateful for the kindness you have shown her. All of you. Your generosity…” He shook his head. “It means more than you know.”
Mamã Ana waved away his concerns. “She’s like a daughter to us.”
“Absolutely,” Papá João agreed.
While they said this with easy smiles and lighthearted voices, Papai responded with surprising seriousness. “Do you mean this? Can I count on you?”
The Rosarios exchanged puzzled looks, shrugged, then nodded—first to each other and then to him. “Of course.” Their unity lent conviction to their words.
“Obrigado. Then I can rest easy.”
Adriana replayed her father’s words during the rest of dinner and dessert. When the Rosarios departed to attend to the dishes, she leaned in close. “What did you mean, Papai?”
“About what, querida?”
“When you said you could ‘rest easy.’ It was an odd thing to say.”
He shrugged. “I’m not used to speaking with such grand people.”
“Yes, you are. The Rosarios are no grander than Mamãe’s family.”
“I’m out of practice.”
“I don’t believe you. Tell me the truth. What have you been doing all these years? Why haven’t you called or written? Why did you send me away?”
Papai wiped her tears but did not hug her as she hoped. “I wanted us to be together, forever. Your mother… you and me…” He shook his head. “Sometimes parents must do things they don’t want to do.”
Papai shook his head. “It’s not important. All that matters is that I wanted you to have a better chance in life.”
“I didn’t need a better chance. I needed you.”
He shook his head. “I’m nothing, Adriana. I work in the fields and live with my mother. I have nothing to offer a daughter as fine as you.”
“Why are you here?” The words came out harsh, but she didn’t take them back. Four years was a long time to be alone.
He took a deep breath and squeezed her hand. “I had to raise enough money to buy a car and pay for the gas that would bring me to Rio, but every day, I thought of you. I couldn’t let your sixteenth birthday pass without seeing for myself the good life you are living.”
“But—”
“Enough,” he said, in the same abrupt tone Avô Guilherme had often used with Avó Jurema. “You wanted the truth. I’m giving it to you.” He gestured around the room. “This is where you belong, in a beautiful house, with kind and educated people who love you. This is what you have always deserved.”
He raised her hand and kissed it tenderly.
“I love you, Adriana. Now dry your eyes and walk me to the door.”