As I chew, I see Ana hesitating for a moment, as though she wants to say something else, but then she disappears into the kitchen, leaving me to my breakfast. For the next few minutes, I make a serious attempt to eat, but everything tastes like sand and I finally give up.
Getting up, I head to the porch, wanting to feel the sun on my skin. The coldness inside me seems to be spreading with each moment, my depression deepening as the morning wears on.
Stepping out the front door, I walk over to the edge of the porch and lean on the railing, breathing in the hot, humid air. As I gaze out onto the wide green lawn and the guards in the distance, I feel my vision blurring, hot tears welling up and beginning to slide down my cheeks.
I don’t know why I’m crying. Nobody died; nothing truly terrible has happened. I’ve been through so much worse in the past two years, and I’ve coped with it—I’ve adjusted and survived. This relatively minor thing shouldn’t make me feel like my heart has been ripped out.
My growing conviction that Julian is not capable of love shouldn’t destroy me like this.
A hand gently touches my shoulder, startling me out of my misery. Swiftly wiping my cheeks with the back of my hand, I turn around and am surprised to see Ana standing there, an uncertain expression on her face.
“Señora Esguerra . . . I mean, Nora . . .” She stumbles over my name, her accent thicker than usual. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but I was wondering if you had a minute to talk?”
Taken aback by the unusual request, I nod. “Of course, what is it?” Ana and I are not particularly close; she’s always been somewhat reserved around me, polite but not overly friendly. Rosa told me that Ana is like that because that’s what Julian’s father demanded of his staff, and the habit is difficult for her to break.
Looking relieved by my response, Ana smiles and walks up to join me at the railing, placing her forearms on the painted white wood. I give her a questioning look, wondering what she wants to discuss, but she seems content to just stand there for a moment, her gaze trained on the jungle in the distance.
When she finally turns her head to look at me and speaks, her words catch me off-guard. “I don’t know if you know this, Nora, but your husband lost everybody he’s ever cared about,” she says softly, no trace of her customary reserve in sight. “Maria, his parents . . . Not to mention many others he knew both here on the estate and out in the cities.”
“Yes, he told me,” I say slowly, eyeing her with some caution. I don’t know why she’s suddenly decided to talk to me about Julian, but I’m more than happy to listen. Maybe if I understand my husband better, it will be easier for me to maintain my emotional distance from him.
Maybe if he’s not such a puzzle, I won’t be drawn to him as strongly.
“Good,” Ana says quietly. “Then I hope you understand that Julian didn’t mean to hurt you last night . . . that whatever he did was because he cares for you.”
“Cares for me?” The laugh that escapes my throat is sharp and bitter. I don’t know why I’m talking about this with Ana, but now that the floodgates have been opened, I can’t seem to close them again. “Julian doesn’t care about anyone but himself.”
“No.” She shakes her head. “You’re wrong, Nora. He does. He cares about you very much. I can see it. He’s different with you than with others. Very different.”
I stare at her. “What do you mean?”
She sighs, then turns to face me fully. “Your husband was always a dark child,” she says, and I see a deep sadness in her gaze. “A beautiful boy, with his mother’s eyes and her features, but so hard inside . . . It was his father’s fault, I think. The older Señor never treated him like a child. From the time Julian was old enough to walk, his father would push him, make him do things that no child should do . . .”
I listen raptly, hardly daring to breathe as she continues.
“When Julian was little, he was afraid of spiders. We have big ones here, very scary ones. Some poisonous ones. When Juan Esguerra found out, he led his five-year-old son into the forest and made him catch a dozen large spiders with his bare hands. Then he made the boy kill them slowly with his fingers, so Julian would see what it’s like to conquer his fears and make his enemies suffer.” She pauses, her mouth tight-lipped with anger. “Julian didn’t sleep for two nights after that. When his mother found out, she cried, but there was nothing she could do. Señor’s word here was law, and everyone had to obey.”
I swallow the bile rising in my throat and look away. What I just learned only adds to my despair. How can I expect Julian to love someone after being raised that way? The fact that my husband is a stone-cold killer with sadistic tendencies is not surprising; the only wonder is that he’s not even worse.
It’s hopeless. Utterly hopeless.
Sensing my distress, Ana lays her hand on my arm, her touch warm and comforting, like that of my mom.
“For the longest time, I thought Julian would grow up to be just like his father,” she says when I turn to look at her. “Cruel and uncaring, incapable of any softer emotion. I thought that until I saw him with a kitten one day when he was twelve. It was a tiny creature, all fluffy white fur and big eyes, barely old enough to eat on its own. Something happened to its mother, and Julian found the kitten outside and brought it in. When I saw him, he was trying to coax it to drink milk, and the expression on his face—” She blinks, her eyes looking suspiciously wet. “It was so . . . so tender. He was so patient with the kitten, so gentle. And I knew then that his father hadn’t succeeded in breaking Julian completely, that the boy could still feel.”
Getting up, I head to the porch, wanting to feel the sun on my skin. The coldness inside me seems to be spreading with each moment, my depression deepening as the morning wears on.
Stepping out the front door, I walk over to the edge of the porch and lean on the railing, breathing in the hot, humid air. As I gaze out onto the wide green lawn and the guards in the distance, I feel my vision blurring, hot tears welling up and beginning to slide down my cheeks.
I don’t know why I’m crying. Nobody died; nothing truly terrible has happened. I’ve been through so much worse in the past two years, and I’ve coped with it—I’ve adjusted and survived. This relatively minor thing shouldn’t make me feel like my heart has been ripped out.
My growing conviction that Julian is not capable of love shouldn’t destroy me like this.
A hand gently touches my shoulder, startling me out of my misery. Swiftly wiping my cheeks with the back of my hand, I turn around and am surprised to see Ana standing there, an uncertain expression on her face.
“Señora Esguerra . . . I mean, Nora . . .” She stumbles over my name, her accent thicker than usual. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but I was wondering if you had a minute to talk?”
Taken aback by the unusual request, I nod. “Of course, what is it?” Ana and I are not particularly close; she’s always been somewhat reserved around me, polite but not overly friendly. Rosa told me that Ana is like that because that’s what Julian’s father demanded of his staff, and the habit is difficult for her to break.
Looking relieved by my response, Ana smiles and walks up to join me at the railing, placing her forearms on the painted white wood. I give her a questioning look, wondering what she wants to discuss, but she seems content to just stand there for a moment, her gaze trained on the jungle in the distance.
When she finally turns her head to look at me and speaks, her words catch me off-guard. “I don’t know if you know this, Nora, but your husband lost everybody he’s ever cared about,” she says softly, no trace of her customary reserve in sight. “Maria, his parents . . . Not to mention many others he knew both here on the estate and out in the cities.”
“Yes, he told me,” I say slowly, eyeing her with some caution. I don’t know why she’s suddenly decided to talk to me about Julian, but I’m more than happy to listen. Maybe if I understand my husband better, it will be easier for me to maintain my emotional distance from him.
Maybe if he’s not such a puzzle, I won’t be drawn to him as strongly.
“Good,” Ana says quietly. “Then I hope you understand that Julian didn’t mean to hurt you last night . . . that whatever he did was because he cares for you.”
“Cares for me?” The laugh that escapes my throat is sharp and bitter. I don’t know why I’m talking about this with Ana, but now that the floodgates have been opened, I can’t seem to close them again. “Julian doesn’t care about anyone but himself.”
“No.” She shakes her head. “You’re wrong, Nora. He does. He cares about you very much. I can see it. He’s different with you than with others. Very different.”
I stare at her. “What do you mean?”
She sighs, then turns to face me fully. “Your husband was always a dark child,” she says, and I see a deep sadness in her gaze. “A beautiful boy, with his mother’s eyes and her features, but so hard inside . . . It was his father’s fault, I think. The older Señor never treated him like a child. From the time Julian was old enough to walk, his father would push him, make him do things that no child should do . . .”
I listen raptly, hardly daring to breathe as she continues.
“When Julian was little, he was afraid of spiders. We have big ones here, very scary ones. Some poisonous ones. When Juan Esguerra found out, he led his five-year-old son into the forest and made him catch a dozen large spiders with his bare hands. Then he made the boy kill them slowly with his fingers, so Julian would see what it’s like to conquer his fears and make his enemies suffer.” She pauses, her mouth tight-lipped with anger. “Julian didn’t sleep for two nights after that. When his mother found out, she cried, but there was nothing she could do. Señor’s word here was law, and everyone had to obey.”
I swallow the bile rising in my throat and look away. What I just learned only adds to my despair. How can I expect Julian to love someone after being raised that way? The fact that my husband is a stone-cold killer with sadistic tendencies is not surprising; the only wonder is that he’s not even worse.
It’s hopeless. Utterly hopeless.
Sensing my distress, Ana lays her hand on my arm, her touch warm and comforting, like that of my mom.
“For the longest time, I thought Julian would grow up to be just like his father,” she says when I turn to look at her. “Cruel and uncaring, incapable of any softer emotion. I thought that until I saw him with a kitten one day when he was twelve. It was a tiny creature, all fluffy white fur and big eyes, barely old enough to eat on its own. Something happened to its mother, and Julian found the kitten outside and brought it in. When I saw him, he was trying to coax it to drink milk, and the expression on his face—” She blinks, her eyes looking suspiciously wet. “It was so . . . so tender. He was so patient with the kitten, so gentle. And I knew then that his father hadn’t succeeded in breaking Julian completely, that the boy could still feel.”
