“Nada,” she said firmly.
“Okay. I want to talk about Bejucal.”
“What about Bejucal?”
“I went there. When Sofia and I were in Cuba.”
Her expression fell. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because…” A slight pang of guilt gnawed from the inside. He felt as if he was about to drop an anvil on her head. “Because I met with Celia Méndez’s younger sister.”
Abuela went white. Her voice tightened. “Did you have a nice talk?”
“Very nice.”
“What did you talk about?”
“My mother.”
“Why would you do that?” She had switched to Spanish, and Jack answered in kind.
“Because I want to know about her.”
“Jack, you don’t have to go to the Méndez family to find out about your mother. Everything you need to know about your mother, I can tell you.”
Their eyes locked, and Jack was suddenly drowning in a roiling mess of mixed emotions. He was angry that she hadn’t told him everything. Yet he felt sorry for this sweet old woman who was so proud, so Catholic, and so deeply entrenched in the moral dogma of another generation that she had no alternative but to lie to her own grandson, lest he think his own mother had been a loose woman. He leaned forward and softened his voice. “Abuela, I love you. I would never do anything to hurt you. But I want to know the truth.”
“What truth?” she said.
He was straining his limited knowledge of Spanish, but he wanted to put the question to her as softly as possible. Finally, he found the words, looked her in the eye, and asked, “Do I have a half brother or half sister in Cuba?”
Abuela caught her breath. Her bosom swelled, and for a moment Jack thought he might have to dial 911.
“Who told you that?”
“Felicia Méndez. Celia’s younger sister.”
“Why would you ask her about something like that?”
“I didn’t ask, I just-”
“Why are you doing this, digging up such stories?” she said in a shrill, racing voice. “Your poor mother, God rest her soul, what would she think? Why must her own son dishonor her memory?”
“I’m honoring her memory. I’m just trying to find out who she really was.”
Tears were streaming down Abuela’s cheeks, the wrinkles and worry lines directing the flow of her sorrow this way then that. Her voice quaked as she said, “I want you to stop this.”
“Stop what?”
She rose quickly, her arms waving. Her fist bounced off her chest as she somehow found a voice that scorched him. “I want you to stop breaking your grandmother’s heart!”
Jack wanted to say something, but he could come up with nothing. He watched in agony as she stormed out of the room, weeping. The door slammed when she reached her bedroom.
His gaze slid across the living room, toward the end table, until it finally settled on an old photograph of Abuela and Jack’s mother. They were hugging each other, smiling widely, turquoise surf and brightly colored beach umbrellas in the background. It was a happy photograph, a joyous time. But as the silence lingered, Jack felt a tightness in his chest that was already beginning to feel like lifelong regret. His mind kept coming back to the same thought.
Abuela had denied none of it.
I’m no longer an only child.
25
As the case drew closer to trial, Jack found himself spending more and more time with Sofia. It was agreed that Jack would be the lead trial counsel, but Sofia still had a major role in the preparation, especially since Jack had given Lindsey his word that Sofia would be the point person for any direct communication with Brian.
“Any luck setting up an interview?” asked Jack.
Sofia took a seat at the conference table. “Same old story. I call Mr. Pintado. He promises to get back to me right away with a date when I can meet with his grandson. And then I never hear from him again.”
“We’re ten days from trial,” said Jack. “We have to talk with him.”
“We may have to go to the judge.”
“I hate to do that. It makes us seem like the bad guys.”
“I know Lindsey won’t like it either,” said Sofia. “Just from the standpoint of what it does to Brian.”
There was a knock at the door. Jack’s secretary entered with their food delivery. Orange beef and cashew chicken from New Chinatown restaurant. Jack pushed aside the papers to make room for the food.
“Want to know one of the world’s best-kept culinary secrets?” said Jack.
“What?” his secretary asked as she placed the cartons on the table.
“White rice. Cuban Americans make it better than the Chinese.”
“I wouldn’t argue with that. But how was the rice when you went to Cuba?”
“Rationed. Like everything else. Unless you’re a tourist. But don’t get me started.” Jack served himself some orange beef. “You care to join us, Maria?”
“No, thanks. I’ll let you two legal scholars get your brain food. But stop being such a slave driver, Jack. Take the girl out once in a while, won’t you?”
Jack and Sofia exchanged glances, then offered a simultaneous, “Good night, Maria.”
The door closed, and for the third evening in a row, it was just the two of them. Sofia poked at her food with a chopstick, then put the carton atop the desk.
“I wonder what Lindsey’s eating tonight,” she said wistfully.
“Probably the same thing she ate last night,” said Jack.
“Do you think she’ll ever get out?”
Jack coughed on an orange peel, not expecting such a direct question. “Are you asking if I think she’s guilty, or if I think she’ll be acquitted?”
“Do those questions have different answers?”
Jack didn’t respond, at least not directly. “She has some serious problems, no doubt about it. You start with her statement that she was at work when her husband was shot. The medical examiner’s estimated time of death says otherwise.”
“But her son told the police that he found the body and called her at work.”
“Hopefully he’ll confirm that. If his grandfather ever lets him talk to us.”
Sofia opened a diet soda. “Of course, Brian isn’t going to save the day. He was sleeping when his father was shot. So Lindsey could have shot her husband, and then gone to work.”
“Unless there was an intruder,” said Jack.
“But there is no sign of break-in. Nothing of value was taken. So if it was an intruder, it was someone who came for no other reason than to kill Captain Pintado.”
“Or someone who got scared off before he could take anything of value.”
Sofia got a cup of ice, poured herself some soda, and gave the rest to Jack. “Which brings us right back to our original problem. We have only one witness who puts an intruder at the scene.”
“And he happens to wear the wrong nation’s uniform,” said Jack.
The words seemed to take the fizz right out of their Diet Coke. “What are we going to do about that?” she asked. “You plan to call him to the witness stand or not?”
“I’m still pondering it.”
“Well, I think I might let you ponder that one alone tonight.”
“You’re punching out already?”
“I figure my social life will go completely to hell once the trial actually starts. So I have a date tonight.”
“I didn’t know you had a boyfriend.”
“I didn’t say I had a boyfriend. I said I had a date.”
“So you date women?”
“No,” she said with a playful smile. “Now get the hell out of your cross-examination mode, and mind your own business.”
“No problem. Have fun.”
“See you tomorrow.” She grabbed her bag and headed out the door. She’d parked in a metered spot right outside Jack’s office, and Jack watched through the window as she walked to her car. She glanced over her shoulder and caught him peeking through the blinds.