Abuela was a phenomenal cook. She always seemed to be preparing a meal or planning the next one, as if on a mission to make up for thirty-eight years of living under Castro with virtually nothing to cook and nothing to eat. Almost five years had passed since Jack’s father called to tell him that Abuela was coming to Miami, and Abuela became Jack’s window to the past-to his mother’s roots. Of course there would always be the gap that no one could fill, the gaping hole of a life that was never lived, the tragedy of a mother who died bringing her son into the world. Jack’s father had told him stories about Ana Maria, the beautiful young Cuban girl with whom Harry had fallen head over heels in love. Jack knew how they’d met, he knew about the fresh yellow flower she used to wear in her long brown hair, he knew how jaws would drop when she walked into a party, and he knew that when someone told a joke, she was the first to laugh and the last to stop. All of those things mattered to Jack, but even on those rare occasions when his father did open up and talk about the wife he’d lost, he could offer Jack only a snippet of her life, just the handful of those final years in Miami. Abuela was the rest of the story. When she talked of her sweet, young daughter, her aging eyes would light up with so much magic that Jack could be certain that Ana Maria had truly lived. And Abuela could be certain that she still lived, the way only a grandmother could be certain of such things, the kind of certainty that came when you took a grandchild by the hand, or looked into his eyes, or cupped his cheek in your hand, and the generations seemed to blur.
Abuela placed a loaf of Cuban bread in their shopping cart, then continued down the aisle. “So, who is the young lady?”
“What young lady?”
“I see you at Deli Lane the other day. Very pretty young lady with you.”
Jack realized she was talking about Lindsey. Obviously she’d spotted them before things had turned nasty. “Her name is Lindsey.”
“She live here?”
“She does now. She moved here from Guantánamo Bay.”
“ Cuba?” she said, her eyes sparkling. “She Cuban?”
Jack smiled, knowing that nothing would have made Abuela happier than for her grandson to meet a nice Cuban girl. “No, she just lived in Cuba.”
“Not Cuban, but she lived in Cuba,” said Abuela. “Maybe I can live with that. She good friend?”
“She’s actually more of a client than a friend.” An ex-client, but Jack didn’t want to get into that.
“She have trouble?”
“Yes.”
“What kind?”
“They say she killed her husband.”
Abuela’s mouth was agape. “She kill her husband?”
“No. She’s accused of it.”
“Dios mío!” she said with a shudder. Then she did a double take. “That’s her, no? That your friend Lindsey?”
The man behind the checkout counter was watching a small portable television, and Abuela was pointing in that direction. Sure enough, Lindsey’s image was on the screen, the lead story on one of the Spanish-language news stations. Jack understood the language much better than he spoke it, so he stepped closer to catch the report in progress.
“Lindsey Hart, the daughter-in-law of Brothers for Freedom founder and president Alejandro Pintado, surrendered to federal marshals this afternoon after a grand jury returned an indictment charging her with murder in the first degree. Ms. Hart allegedly shot her husband, Oscar Pintado, a captain in the United States Marine Corps. Captain Pintado, the thirty-eight-year-old son of the well-known Cuban-exile leader, was found shot to death in his home on the U.S. Naval Air Station at Guantánamo Bay, Cuba. At a press conference today, United States Attorney Hector Torres announced that he, personally, would see to it that his office would commit whatever resources were necessary to ensure that justice was done in this matter. Mr. Pintado is reportedly pleased by today’s developments and was unavailable for comment. However, Sofia Suarez, the attorney for Lindsey Hart, had this to say about the indictment-”
“Her attorney?” Jack said, his words coming like a reflex.
The on-screen image switched to an attractive female attorney, standing on the courthouse steps and speaking to a bouquet of microphones. “My client is shocked by today’s indictment. Lindsey Hart is completely innocent. I cannot get into the details of our defense at this time, but suffice it to say that we smell a cover-up. We are convinced that Captain Pintado was murdered for reasons that this indictment does not even begin to describe, and we intend to prove that the military has something to hide here.”
Jack had no idea who this Sofia Suarez was, or when Lindsey had even hired her. But the whole idea of taking on the U.S. military from the get-go seemed a bit over the top.
The anchorman returned to the screen and said, “Ms. Hart entered a plea of not guilty at her arraignment late this afternoon. She was denied bail and will remain in custody pending trial.”
The newscast switched to another story, and Jack turned away from the television set. He’d known for some time that an indictment was looming, and it certainly wasn’t unusual for the accused to be denied bail in a case of first-degree murder. But the thought of young Brian having to deal with his mother’s incarceration was still difficult for Jack to stomach.
Abuela grabbed his hand and said, “Listen to me, mi vida. I saw how this Lindsey look at you in the restaurant. It seem nice, when I thought she maybe was good for you.”
“Looking at me how? She was a client.”
“Aye, you are so blind. That woman is big trouble. You forget that one. Understand me? Forget that one.”
He was still reeling from the news of the indictment, but Abuela’s words struck a chord. Forget that one. People were so quick to judge, and Lindsey was getting it from everyone-from people she once considered friends at the naval base, and from people she’d never even met, like Abuela. Who could blame her for having been so angry at the restaurant, after her own lawyer had laid on a hefty dose of doubt?
“Forget about her, you say?” said Jack.
“Sí, sí. Forget her.”
Jack shook his head, his thoughts still with Lindsey’s son. His son. “It’s not that easy.”
12
They made it through the checkout line without too much financial damage, and Jack drove them to his house. Abuela had a fine kitchen, but nothing seemed to give her quite as much pleasure as taking over someone else’s. In minutes she had unpacked the groceries and set up various food-preparation stations around Jack’s kitchen counters and stove.
Jack went straight to the television and switched on Action News at Six. The feed-in for the lead story was basically the same report that Jack had watched in Spanish. As a bonus, however, the anchorwoman had somehow snagged an exclusive live interview with Alejandro Pintado from his mega-mansion in Journey’s End, one of south Florida ’s most exclusive communities.
“Mr. Pintado, we understand that your son and daughter-in-law had just one child, a ten-year-old son. What will become of him now that his mother has been indicted and denied bail?”
Pintado spoke in a solemn voice, his wife seated at his side on the couch. “The loss of our son is a terrible tragedy, but we are determined to avoid more harm to our family. Our grandson has decided that he wants to stay with us while his mother is in jail, and Lindsey’s attorney has indicated her agreement to that arrangement.”
“Will that become permanent if your daughter-in-law is convicted of murder?”
“We expect that it will, yes.”
The anchorwoman tried to get him to talk about the evidence against Lindsey, but Pintado wisely declined, probably at the behind-the-scenes direction of the prosecutor. She thanked him and brought the interview to a close.