Forever Starts Tomorrow (16 page)

Raoul nodded, his lips trembling as he tried to take a steadying breath. Ramona was crying quietly, her slim form almost lost in the chair.

‘I think she has been waiting for you, Scott.’ A calloused hand came to squeeze his arm, the awkward gesture lasting a second or so. ‘My mother has been getting weaker for a while now and has worried about José like crazy. I think that it was mostly this worry that has kept her going for so long. When you came in through that door she must have felt like she could pass the responsibility to someone else. I remember the relief in her face when I came after your visit, and she told me all about you. You’ve made her a happier woman. She must have felt that José had been finally noticed and acknowledged, after all those years. She would not go after your money; you must know that. It’s more the idea that José has another family that matters.’

There was nothing really he could say to that, Scott thought, shame, relief, and mostly sadness tugging on his heartstrings. The sandcastle he had started to build was disintegrating fast, the greedy tide of fate washing it away before it even had a chance to be finished. He had hoped to God that Maria would get better and that he could offer her some kind of relief after all those years of hard work and taking care of José. That hope had been shattered.

He left the two of them in Maria’s room, still undecided about what they wanted to do. He needed to see José and prepare him for yet another loss. He called Melanie, filling her in on what had happened. Just listening to her voice made him feel better, he thought, as he almost bumped into a tall, blond man entering the hospital. Scott avoided the collision in the last moment, and headed for his car.

For a moment, he had to fight the temptation to drive to his office. That had been his usual response to problems, up to that point. Burying himself in work had been his way out of pretty much every situation, the thrill of creating new things and forgetting the world outside enough to restore his equilibrium. But Melanie and José were waiting for him. The sense of responsibility that came with being a part of their unit should have felt oppressive. He didn’t like feeling obliged to do anything, normally. But amazingly, he couldn’t wait to reach home and talk to Melanie.

The house greeted him with silence. He walked in, his footsteps cautious as he listened for any kind of human presence. Nothing. Scott walked to the back of the house, where it opened to the garden, the terrace with lounging chairs, and the pond, whose blue surface shimmered in the sun. He heard faint laughter coming from the beach. José, of course. He hated to have to tell him the truth and destroy his moment of happiness. José liked being at his house, he noted, as he started making his way down to the beach. The path was narrow and rocky. Grass and small flowers dominated the slope, a few twisted pine trees adding a dramatic effect to the overall beauty of the place.

He saw Melanie first. She was sitting on a fallen trunk of a pine, which was old and weathered into a silvery grey. She didn’t see him coming. Her knees were pulled up and her arms wrapped around them. Her long hair curtained her face, and he felt his heart leap again, her serene beauty almost too much to take.

Then he heard the laughter and spotted José and Marnie skipping stones into the ocean. The water was blue and quiet. Small white-crested waves rushed in, one after another, licking the sand and escaping the feet of the seagulls gathered on the edge of the water. Clumps of seaweed littered the sand, and he had to think back to his lunch with José. It seemed like ages ago.

‘Hey.’ He walked over to Melanie, and she looked up, surprised. He sat next to her; the wood was dry and warm.

‘Are you OK?’ She watched him with concern. ‘Marnie came over about half an hour ago. We thought that it would be better to come out here.’ The wind carried José’s laughter, and she sighed. ‘He's so happy that I feel terrible about telling him anything. He’ll be devastated.’

‘I wonder if we shouldn’t postpone it till tomorrow.’ He ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. ‘I mean, it’s not like something will happen overnight, anyway. The doctor is pretty sure she’s stabilized now. She won’t wake up, but she won’t die, either.’

He could tell she was tempted to agree. Heck, he felt really tempted by that plan. José deserved a good day. He watched José and Marnie collect more stones. If he heard about Maria now, the evening would be miserable for the little guy. They'd probably end up driving to the hospital. He didn’t mind making the trip again. Only, it was futile, as both he and Melanie knew very well.

‘Still, he deserves to know the truth.’ Melanie rested her chin on her knees, her body rolled up into a tight ball. ‘Just imagine what he’ll think if he finds out you knew all along and kept it from him. He’ll hold it against you, for sure. Do you really want to risk that, at the very beginning of your relationship?’

She was right, of course. Scott hated what would come next, but nodded, rising to his feet. Melanie got up too, her hand coming to hold his, the grip warm and firm.

‘If you need any help, I’ll be there,’ she said calmly, her long legs easily matching his reluctant stride.

It turned out that they made the right choice. As expected, a tearful José asked to go and see his grandma and Scott obliged, taking Melanie and Marnie as backup. They spent an hour at Maria's side, José watching her with so much love and desperation that Scott felt like crying.

They finally went home and managed to get José to sleep. Both he and Melanie were utterly exhausted. They started watching a documentary to take their minds off the bad turn of events, but both fell asleep halfway through it, right there on the sofa.

Scott woke up to the ringing of the phone, his groggy mind needing a second to shake off the sleep. He disentangled himself gently from Melanie, anxious not to wake her up. She had sat with José for more than an hour, comforting him with her soothing voice.

Scott picked up the phone, stifling a yawn. His body protested the sudden interruption, craving a return to the warmth of the sofa. It had better be important, he thought. His body froze as he listened; his heart tightened painfully in his chest.

Maria Rocha had quietly passed away just two hours after they left the hospital, as silent and unobtrusive as she had been her whole life.

TWELVE

‘Did you read the paper?’

Melanie listened to Marnie, whose frantic voice was the first thing that had woken her up in the morning. She had gone to bed late, too wound up to drift off before two in the morning. After her few days at Scott’s, she needed to readjust to her own, twin-size bed.

It was the day before the funeral, and José had been back at his uncle’s house. It wasn’t the best solution, but he needed some sense of continuity, and being back in his old room helped him to come to terms with his grandma’s passing. Melanie could tell that Scott wasn’t thrilled with the arrangement, especially after Raoul vehemently refused his help in moving them to a better place. He was born in this house, and he’d die in it, he declared, his bushy mustache quivering with excitement. In the end, Scott managed to talk him into accepting help with renovating the house, the conditions not being suitable for a one-year-old.

Melanie knew that Scott was torn between his wish to do what was right for José and his worry about the responsibility that came with committing to his brother more permanently. She found him in the spare bedroom that had been José’s room during his stay at his house, sitting forlornly on the bed, staring into space. He didn’t even notice her.

He wanted José to stay with him longer. Melanie saw it in his face when he boiled with frustration at Raoul’s stubborn refusal to make his family’s life easier. However, such an arrangement came with a whole set of logistics that had to be addressed. It was one thing to have José stay for a weekend, and another to have him stay for days. With Scott’s work eating up most of his time, he could hardly give him enough attention to make the offer plausible.

‘No, I didn't read the paper. Why?’ It was only seven in the morning, and she was surprised to have Marnie calling her at such ungodly hour. Melanie had just gotten back from Scott’s house the night before. Her body still cringed as she recalled her departure. He hadn't wanted her to leave; she knew that. Of course, he’d probably rather die than admit it. When he drove her back to her place, his expression was enigmatic as he cast a quick glance at her packed overnight bag. His lips parted to say something, only to clamp shut again and retreat into the politeness of a stranger. She could have wept with disappointment; the warmth and connection that had been restored over the last few days dissipated into nothing. She didn’t understand Scott, she thought miserably, as they chatted about meaningless things, his driving smooth and effortless. He wove his way through the traffic with a grace that mocked the congestion of the evening commute. She couldn’t shake the feeling that he was waiting for her to say something, to open the door to a real conversation. And probably, not too long ago, she’d have made it easy for him. Right now, she was past making accommodations. If he wanted them to talk about something, he’d have to make the first step. She wasn’t a stranger, she wanted to yell into his handsome face; neither was she one of his ex-girlfriends, who might have tolerated his detached behavior. She and Scott were considering getting married, for God’s sake.

In the end, they parted, having agreed he’d pick Melanie up for the funeral. As usual, his phone rang just as they reached her door, and he left while answering it, his voice already distant.

‘Well, you should probably take a look.’ Marnie was hyperventilating, and Melanie felt a sinking feeling in her stomach, the taste of her morning coffee rising bitterly to her mouth.

‘What’s going on?’ she asked weakly, preparing herself for bad news.

‘It’s an article about Scott, three pages long.’ She heard a faint rustling sound and knew Marnie was going through the pages as they spoke. ‘Pretty much the whole messy story of our dad, José, us as kids, and everything in between. And your relationship, too.’

‘Is it online?’ She was never one to read the paper, preferring the use of her computer. Marnie was teasing her and Scott mercilessly, blaming people like them for the downfall of the printed-word business.

‘Probably.’ Marnie waited for her to find the article, which didn’t take long at all.

The first thing that caught her eye was Scott’s picture, his smiling face staring at her from the screen.
I know that photo
, Melanie thought wretchedly, remembering the surprise party Scott's co-workers had thrown for him a few months ago. He had obliged them and worn the ‘I am #1’ hat, playing along with their theme. However, the photo showed just him, smiling confidently into camera, the glaring words oddly arrogant when taken out of context.

‘I'll call you back, OK?’ she asked hoarsely, not waiting for a response. The thought of discussing the article with Scott’s sister as she read it was unbearable.

‘The Number One Man and His Dirty Secrets.’ The title left little hope that the article would even pretend to strive for accuracy and balance. She skimmed the text, her eyes widening as she read about Scott’s childhood and his father’s trespasses, and moved on to the section about José. The house in the picture looked even worse than in real life, and she would have guessed a little editing had helped it to achieve the dramatic effect the writer of the smear article had aimed for. The article went on and on, describing in great detail the impoverished conditions of the Rocha family, the photo of José’s sad face making Melanie's eyes water with angry tears. That shot was taken after his grandmother died, she was certain of that. She recognized the shirt he was wearing, since she'd bought it for him herself only days before. That someone had gone to the trouble of using it as proof of the family’s financial woes was despicable beyond measure.

Things didn’t improve as she scrolled down to a picture of the hospital and a rather blurry snapshot of Maria. Next, she was looking at her own face, examining a photograph that showed her walking from her car, the caption describing her misery. ‘Dumped for the Brilliant Vanessa’ smarted more than it should have, given the fact that she knew it was a trashy article altogether. It was hard to remain objective when she saw a snapshot of Scott and Vanessa from the old days, Vanessa's flaming-red hair cascading over his shoulder as they embraced.

She had seen enough. She closed her laptop, the cover protesting the harsh treatment with a squeaky sound. Melanie remained sitting, unable to force her numb body to move. The article had left her feeling soiled and embarrassed, the aggressive and cynical words reverberating in her skull like a swarm of angry bees.

Scott had been in the public eye for years, of course. He had gotten his share of articles that were less than flattering, his passion for work, ruthless pursuit of perfection, and the obscene amount of money he was making easy targets for those who didn’t approve of his lifestyle. He didn’t really mind. It came with the territory, he explained to Melanie with a careless shrug, when she got upset over some of those stories.

Nothing, however, had prepared her for that level of viciousness, the pure malice of the writer seeping from each word like a poisonous potion, meant to kill. Sensationalism and notoriety sold news, of course. Wasn’t that the key to the popularity of all kinds of junky reality shows? The more drama and dirty secrets, the better.

Suddenly, she felt sick and ran to her bathroom, making it just in time before she threw up, the bitter taste of coffee in her mouth making her shiver with disgust. She remained seated on the ground, her eyes shut tight and her forehead against the cold porcelain toilet. She didn’t trust herself to get up. Her stomach was churning, and she felt nauseated, beads of cold sweat forming on her forehead.

Melanie couldn’t tell how much time had passed before she felt confident enough to open her eyes again. The horrible nausea had subsided, leaving behind just a remainder of a dull, hollow ache in her gut. She glanced around, her eyes resting on the little plastic bag hidden between the wall of her vanity and the toilet. She'd dropped it there a few days ago, after her trip to the pharmacy. She had pushed it to the very back, against the wall, too worried to actually unpack its contents.