Keep Me
Page 18
“Thank you, Ana,” I say, digging into my food. It’s incredibly delicious, the sweetness of the arepas complementing the zesty flavor of the eggs. “A tour would be great.”
We chat for a bit as I finish up my meal. In addition to learning about the estate, I find out that Ana has lived in this house most of her life, having started as a young maid working for Julian’s father. “That’s how I learned English,” she says, pouring me a cup of frothy hot chocolate. “Señora Esguerra was American, like you, and she didn’t speak any Spanish.”
I nod, remembering Julian telling me about his mother. She had been a model in New York City before marrying Julian’s father. “So you knew Julian when he was a child?” I ask, sipping the hot, rich drink. Like the eggs, it’s unusually flavorful, with hints of clove, cinnamon, and vanilla.
“I did.” Ana stops there, as though afraid of saying too much. I give her an encouraging smile, hoping to prod her into telling me more, but she begins to clear off the dishes instead, signaling an end to the conversation.
Sighing, I finish my hot chocolate and get up. I want to learn more about my husband, but I have a feeling Ana may be just as close-mouthed on this topic as Beth.
Beth. The familiar pain shoots through me again, bringing with it a burning rage. Memories of her violent death are never far from my mind, threatening to drown me in hate if I let them. When Julian first told me about what he did to Maria’s attackers, I had been horrified . . . but now I understand it. I wish I could somehow lay my hands on the terrorist who killed Beth, make him pay for what he did to her. Even the knowledge that he’s dead doesn’t pacify my anger; it’s always there, eating at me, poisoning me from within.
“Señora, this is Rosa,” Ana says, and I turn toward the dining room entrance to see a young dark-haired woman standing there. She looks to be about my age, with a round face and a bright smile. Like Ana, she’s wearing a short-sleeved black dress with a white apron. “Rosa, this is Señor Esguerra’s new wife, Nora.”
Rosa’s smile brightens further. “Oh, hello, Señora Esguerra, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” Her English is even better than Ana’s, her accent barely noticeable.
“Thank you, Rosa,” I say, taking an immediate liking to the girl. “It’s very nice to meet you too. And, please, call me Nora.” I look toward the housekeeper. “You too, please, Ana, if you don’t mind. I’m not used to the ‘Señora’ bit.” And it’s true. It’s especially strange to hear myself addressed as Señora Esguerra. Does this mean that Julian’s last name is now mine? We haven’t discussed this yet, but I suspect Julian would want to follow tradition in this case as well.
Nora Esguerra. My heart beats faster at the thought, some of yesterday’s irrational fear returning. For nineteen-and-a-half years, I have been Nora Leston. It’s a name that I’m used to, that I’m comfortable with. The idea of changing it makes me deeply uneasy, as though I’m losing another part of myself. As though Julian is stripping me of everything that I used to be, transforming me into someone I barely recognize.
“Of course,” Ana says, interrupting my anxious musings. “We’re happy to call you anything you wish.” Rosa nods vigorously in agreement, beaming at me, and I take a few deep breaths to calm my racing heartbeat.
“Thank you.” I manage to give them a smile. “I appreciate it.”
“Would you like to see the house before we go outside?” Rosa asks, smoothing her apron with her palms. “Or would you prefer to start outdoors?”
“We can start indoors, if that’s okay with you,” I tell her. Then I thank Ana for the breakfast, and we begin the tour.
Rosa shows me the downstairs first. There are over a dozen rooms, including a large library stocked with a variety of books, a home theater with a wall-sized TV, and a sizable gym filled with high-end exercise equipment. I’m also pleased to discover that Julian remembered my painting hobby; one of the rooms is set up as an art studio, with blank canvasses lined up in front of a huge south-facing window. “Señor Esguerra had all of this put in a couple of weeks before you came,” Rosa tells me, leading me from room to room. “So everything is brand-new.”
I blink, surprised to hear that. I had assumed that the art studio was new, since Julian is not into painting, but I didn’t realize he’d redone the entire house. “He didn’t have a pool put in too, did he?” I joke as we walk down the hall.
“No, the pool was already there,” Rosa says in absolute seriousness. “But he did have it renovated.” And leading me toward a screened back porch, she shows me an Olympic-sized pool surrounded by tropical greenery. In addition to the pool itself, there are lounge chairs that look amazingly comfortable, huge umbrellas that provide shade from the sun, and several outdoor tables with chairs.
“Nice,” I murmur, feeling the hot, humid air on my skin. I have a feeling the pool will come in quite handy in this weather.
Going back indoors, we head upstairs. Besides the master suite, there are a number of bedrooms, each one bigger than my entire apartment back home. “Why is the house so big?” I ask Rosa after we view all the lavishly decorated rooms. “There are only a few people living here, right?”
“Yes, that’s true,” Rosa confirms. “But this house was built by the older Señor Esguerra, and from what I understand, he entertained a lot here, frequently inviting his business associates to stay over.”
We chat for a bit as I finish up my meal. In addition to learning about the estate, I find out that Ana has lived in this house most of her life, having started as a young maid working for Julian’s father. “That’s how I learned English,” she says, pouring me a cup of frothy hot chocolate. “Señora Esguerra was American, like you, and she didn’t speak any Spanish.”
I nod, remembering Julian telling me about his mother. She had been a model in New York City before marrying Julian’s father. “So you knew Julian when he was a child?” I ask, sipping the hot, rich drink. Like the eggs, it’s unusually flavorful, with hints of clove, cinnamon, and vanilla.
“I did.” Ana stops there, as though afraid of saying too much. I give her an encouraging smile, hoping to prod her into telling me more, but she begins to clear off the dishes instead, signaling an end to the conversation.
Sighing, I finish my hot chocolate and get up. I want to learn more about my husband, but I have a feeling Ana may be just as close-mouthed on this topic as Beth.
Beth. The familiar pain shoots through me again, bringing with it a burning rage. Memories of her violent death are never far from my mind, threatening to drown me in hate if I let them. When Julian first told me about what he did to Maria’s attackers, I had been horrified . . . but now I understand it. I wish I could somehow lay my hands on the terrorist who killed Beth, make him pay for what he did to her. Even the knowledge that he’s dead doesn’t pacify my anger; it’s always there, eating at me, poisoning me from within.
“Señora, this is Rosa,” Ana says, and I turn toward the dining room entrance to see a young dark-haired woman standing there. She looks to be about my age, with a round face and a bright smile. Like Ana, she’s wearing a short-sleeved black dress with a white apron. “Rosa, this is Señor Esguerra’s new wife, Nora.”
Rosa’s smile brightens further. “Oh, hello, Señora Esguerra, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” Her English is even better than Ana’s, her accent barely noticeable.
“Thank you, Rosa,” I say, taking an immediate liking to the girl. “It’s very nice to meet you too. And, please, call me Nora.” I look toward the housekeeper. “You too, please, Ana, if you don’t mind. I’m not used to the ‘Señora’ bit.” And it’s true. It’s especially strange to hear myself addressed as Señora Esguerra. Does this mean that Julian’s last name is now mine? We haven’t discussed this yet, but I suspect Julian would want to follow tradition in this case as well.
Nora Esguerra. My heart beats faster at the thought, some of yesterday’s irrational fear returning. For nineteen-and-a-half years, I have been Nora Leston. It’s a name that I’m used to, that I’m comfortable with. The idea of changing it makes me deeply uneasy, as though I’m losing another part of myself. As though Julian is stripping me of everything that I used to be, transforming me into someone I barely recognize.
“Of course,” Ana says, interrupting my anxious musings. “We’re happy to call you anything you wish.” Rosa nods vigorously in agreement, beaming at me, and I take a few deep breaths to calm my racing heartbeat.
“Thank you.” I manage to give them a smile. “I appreciate it.”
“Would you like to see the house before we go outside?” Rosa asks, smoothing her apron with her palms. “Or would you prefer to start outdoors?”
“We can start indoors, if that’s okay with you,” I tell her. Then I thank Ana for the breakfast, and we begin the tour.
Rosa shows me the downstairs first. There are over a dozen rooms, including a large library stocked with a variety of books, a home theater with a wall-sized TV, and a sizable gym filled with high-end exercise equipment. I’m also pleased to discover that Julian remembered my painting hobby; one of the rooms is set up as an art studio, with blank canvasses lined up in front of a huge south-facing window. “Señor Esguerra had all of this put in a couple of weeks before you came,” Rosa tells me, leading me from room to room. “So everything is brand-new.”
I blink, surprised to hear that. I had assumed that the art studio was new, since Julian is not into painting, but I didn’t realize he’d redone the entire house. “He didn’t have a pool put in too, did he?” I joke as we walk down the hall.
“No, the pool was already there,” Rosa says in absolute seriousness. “But he did have it renovated.” And leading me toward a screened back porch, she shows me an Olympic-sized pool surrounded by tropical greenery. In addition to the pool itself, there are lounge chairs that look amazingly comfortable, huge umbrellas that provide shade from the sun, and several outdoor tables with chairs.
“Nice,” I murmur, feeling the hot, humid air on my skin. I have a feeling the pool will come in quite handy in this weather.
Going back indoors, we head upstairs. Besides the master suite, there are a number of bedrooms, each one bigger than my entire apartment back home. “Why is the house so big?” I ask Rosa after we view all the lavishly decorated rooms. “There are only a few people living here, right?”
“Yes, that’s true,” Rosa confirms. “But this house was built by the older Señor Esguerra, and from what I understand, he entertained a lot here, frequently inviting his business associates to stay over.”
