“Dad, you look good,” I say, walking to where he’s sitting behind a table, working on a laptop. I hug him, and he hugs me back. “This is new.” The desk is sturdy and the chair a comfortable-looking office chair. Not his wheelchair, which is good to see, but I don’t miss the furrow between his brows. His mind is on something else even while I visit.
“How are you, Ivy? How’s Eva?”
“We’re both good. Eva’s annoyed about school again so that’s a good sign of life going back to normal, right?”
“That is a good sign.” He says the words absently.
“Do you think we’ll ever get to normal, Dad?”
He blinks, then smiles at me. “Sorry, what?”
“Do you think we’ll ever get to normal? Eva and I? And the baby when he or she comes.” I pause. “And Santiago?” I add. Although what is his normal? Maybe this is it.
“I hope so, sweetheart.”
“What are you doing with the computer? Why does he have you working when you should just be focused on getting better?”
“Ivy, your husband is a complicated man.”
“Do you think I don’t know that?”
“He has demons, and I know he’s trying to banish them. If my work helps—”
“He’s set on revenge, dad. That’s how he’ll banish them. By killing them.” By killing you. I don’t say it. He knows this better than I.
“We had a hand in what happened to him and his family.”
“What do you mean we?”
He shakes his head. “Not you. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.”
“I know about Abel, but you didn’t do anything wrong.”
“I can’t go back in time and fix what I didn’t do either, so there’s no sense in talking about it. He has a right, is all I’m saying.”
“No, he doesn’t. Not anymore. Not since he married me and since we’re bringing a baby into the world. He gave up that right when he decided those things,” I say, the words coming out of a place of hurt. I clear my throat and swallow back tears. “You should get some rest. Work after. When you’re home.”
“It’s important work, Ivy. Something he needs—”
“What about what you need?”
“Something I need. I was going to say something I need as much.”
The rain that had been a sprinkle on our drive now picks up hammering against the hospital window. The door opens. Marco clears his throat as another man, someone I don’t know, stands just outside.
I stand. “I guess that’s my cue.” It’s a short visit, and I wonder if it was Santiago’s way of showing me he hadn’t hurt my father. Yet.
Without a word, I walk out of the room and let Marco take me back home in silence. It’s still late morning when I’m back, and the house is quiet except for the housekeepers doing their work. I go upstairs to change into a bathing suit and put on a robe, but rather than going straight down to the pool, I walk through the secret entrance to the nursery. I haven’t been back here since the other morning, and many more boxes, presents from The Society and friends of Santiago’s family, are stacked and waiting to be unwrapped. I don’t have the heart for it right now, though, so I make my way to the glassed-in swimming pool attached to the house. I haven’t been swimming much, mostly because he doesn’t want me doing it alone, but it helps me expend some energy and clear my head. Besides, he has nothing to worry about. I am a fine swimmer, and I have never had any episodes while in the water.
I pad barefoot through the house and pass by the corridor that leads to his study, thinking about how he’d said I needed to stop hovering. I’d come to talk to him about what Colette told me when I’d overheard him speaking to Angelo, the friend who only seems to come at odd hours.
The sky is a deep, cloudy gray with rain coming down hard. It’s perfect for my mood.
I close the door behind me and stand in the warm, humid room. It’s pretty with plants hanging from the glass walls and the small squares of turquoise tiles making the water a gorgeous, vibrant blue. I strip off my robe and dip my toe in before walking into the warm water, extending my arms and going under. Holding my breath to swim the length of it, I love the sensation of water running through my hair, through my fingers as I glide. I swim a few slow laps before turning over onto my back, arms and legs stretched out like a star, the sound of the rain distant with my ears beneath the surface. I close my eyes and lay there, letting the water carry me, floating as I empty my mind and try to forget that morning. Forget my embarrassment at having said those words out loud. My embarrassment at his rejection.
Because that’s what all this comes down to.
He rejected me.
I take a deep breath in and finally open my eyes and startle the instant I do because there, watching me, is a dark figure sitting in the shadow of a pillar at the opposite end of the pool, legs wide, elbows on knees, face dark. Not angry. Something else.
I gasp, my heart thudding.
“I don’t want you swimming alone,” Santiago says, his voice sounding strange.
“You haven’t been here,” I remind him.
“I’m here now,” he says somberly. And I know something’s wrong.
I swim to the edge, and he stands up, gathers my robe, and wraps it around me as I step out, eyes lingering momentarily on my rounded stomach. When he lifts his gaze up to mine, I think I know what it is I see on his face, and
