Forever Starts Tomorrow (9 page)

‘Maybe they're in the backyard.’ Marnie stretched her neck to peek over the low wooden fence, her eyes hopeful. ‘Maybe we should look around.’

‘Someone's coming.’ Melanie gestured toward the glass in the front door. Sure enough, there was movement on the other side.

Scott knocked again, louder and more insistent this time. They'd come all that way, and he’d be damned if he left without finishing off that insane business.

‘Si?’ The door opened just a bit, a young woman peeking cautiously at the three of them. She couldn’t have been more than eighteen, Scott decided. A little chubby girl in a pink dress clung to her chest with both arms.

‘Is this Mrs. Rocha’s house?’ Maybe they had the wrong number. Dolores didn’t mention any other inhabitants, according to Melanie—unless, of course, she had sent them on a wild-goose chase and hadn't even bothered to get the details right. Scott felt a fresh wave of anger wash over him as he recalled his conversation with the woman.

‘Yes.’ The girl hesitated, her eyes suspicious. ‘Can I help you?’

There was a rapid staccato of another voice from the inside of the house, too fast for him to understand, even though he was pretty fluent in Spanish. The girl turned and yelled something back.

‘We'd like to talk to her, if possible.’ Melanie smiled at the girl, her blue eyes on the baby. ‘Is this your daughter? She's lovely.’

The girl smiled back tentatively and opened the door wider. ‘Come in,’ she offered, her eyes on Melanie. ‘Yes, it’s my daughter, Ana. She's almost ten months old.’ The baby looked at the three of them. Her brown eyes were fringed by curly long eyelashes. She waved her arms in the air, babbling at Melanie.

‘She likes you.’ As if that were enough to make her trust them. The girl—who introduced herself as Ramona—visibly relaxed, making her look even younger. ‘Why do you want to talk to Abuela?’

OK, so that was new. José had a larger family than Dolores's sob story had implied.

‘We wanted to talk to her about José.’ He stepped inside the house, expecting the worst. The interior was very modest, the hallway and the family room, which he could see from the door, mostly empty. There was a stack of baby-diaper boxes in one corner of the hallway and an old, scratched-up bassinette. Two couches and a low coffee table took up most of the space in the room, and old crocheted blankets were thrown across the yellow upholstery. Scott could just make out an outline of someone lying on one of those couches, and his heart stopped for a second. Then the figure moved, and an older man wearing an undershirt and pants got to his feet, his dark hair flattened on one side.

‘My dad, he works the night shift,’ the girl explained, leading them to the miniscule kitchen. Her father watched them, one eye on his warm blankets. Protectiveness finally won, and he walked in, keeping his eyes on Scott.

‘You came to see our boy,
si
?’ he asked, his bushy eyebrows furrowed in disapproval. ‘What did he do this time?’

‘Nothing.’ Marnie shook her head and looked startled.

Scott let her talk to the older man, her almost-perfect Spanish coming in handy. Anyone that said majoring in foreign languages was a waste of time hadn’t met his sister.

‘She isn’t here,’ said Ramona. She switched the baby to her other hip, her face apologetic. ‘Got sick two days ago, acute pneumonia. Had to take her to the hospital. José is there now. He had to bring her some extra clothes and stuff.’

They stood in the small kitchen that probably wasn’t even designed to hold so many people. A figure of the Madonna, white and blue, stared at them accusingly from the wall, and he couldn’t wait to leave. He had followed Melanie's lead right to the door and beyond. I did what I promised, he told himself.

‘Which hospital?’ Melanie asked, and Scott knew he wasn’t even near the end of the story. If anything, it had just gotten more complicated.

‘You look a lot like him,’ said Ramona's father, who was staring at him with unnerving interest. ‘I thought I'd seen you somewhere before, you know? Just couldn’t figure out where. But now I know. You look a lot like Señor James, who used to visit and bring money for José. Is that why you’re here?’

‘Papa!’ Ramona spun around, looking embarrassed. ‘There is no need to talk about it now, is there? It’s not our business at all.’

‘But it will be soon.’ The older man's eyes were grave. ‘Who’s going to feed the boy and pay for him, now that the man stopped coming altogether? My mother has no money to support him. I don’t have any either. I have a daughter, and a granddaughter with no dad in sight.’ He nodded toward Ramona, who blushed a deep red. ‘Not your fault. Life happens. I just can’t support everyone.’

He walked over to the cabinets and rummaged through a drawer, swearing softly in Spanish under his breath. Then he found what he was looking for, his expression triumphant.

‘See, that’s him.’ He held out a yellowed photograph of a little boy in a man’s lap, smiling. ‘Took it myself about ten years ago. He was coming regularly, then—at least once a month. I remember he got really mad I snapped the picture. We almost got into a fight.’

It was his father. Scott knew it the moment he looked, and his heart sank. He recognized the slim, elegant face with dark eyes and high-bridged nose. He’d inherited them all, together with his temper and stubbornness. He handed the photo wordlessly to Marnie, who gasped and covered her mouth with her hand. She looked up at him, her eyes wide open.

‘She wasn’t lying after all.’ Even though Dolores had spared her the visit, Scott and Melanie had filled her in on all the details. ‘Scott, what now?’

‘Do you want to pay for him, too?’ The man was watching them expectantly, his face tired. 

‘Papa!’ Ramona protested again, her voice indignant. She got into a heated discussion with her father, while Scott stared at the picture, unable to put it down. His father had another child—a boy, who smiled in the photo as if his world was absolutely perfect. Who knew; maybe for him it was.

Just then, Scott heard yelling from the neighboring yard, again, and the sound of breaking bottles and dogs barking as loud as if it were happening right next to them, and he realized that no amount of sugarcoating could change the fact that his half brother was living in conditions not suitable for any twelve-year-old.

‘We have too many mouths to feed,’ the man sighed, gesturing around the house. ‘Take a good look. I work two jobs, Ramona is helping out too. Still, we have barely enough to pay for the necessities. My mother got sick, and now we have to pay for her medication, too. You should talk to her as soon as possible. She is the one who takes care of José. It’s up to her to ask you what you want to do next.’

‘Let’s go and see him in the hospital,’ insisted Melanie. She must have thought he was reaching his breaking point, because her fingers wrapped gently around his hand. ‘Let’s go and meet him.’

They drove in silence, deep in their own thoughts. Scott caught Melanie casting a glance at him here and there, probably when she thought he would be too busy to notice. But he did notice, of course. Did she think him a monster because he wasn’t welcoming with open arms the thought of having a brother? Did he disappoint her? There was no way that he could explain why he felt so trapped by the situation. His father had ruined the first few years of his and Marnie's life. Cleaning up his father's messes should have been last on his list of priorities.

Only, this isn’t a mess
, his conscience whispered. It was a child, innocent and trapped, just as much as Scott had been. José's mother’s family had cared for him, he was certain of that. Still, they didn’t have the means to take care of him the way he deserved. Scott didn’t want to stay longer at the house and find out more about their lives. He had questions, but he was sure there would be no happy answers. What happened to José’s mother? This was the first, most pressing question.

‘How much do you think Dad gave them?’ Marnie asked in subdued tone, her usual buoyancy gone. ‘It didn’t look like it was enough to make the house a home.’

‘No idea.’ He shrugged, his neck aching from the tension. ‘Probably just enough to keep the kid alive.’

He knew he sounded spiteful, but after seeing the house, he had little—if any—sympathy left for his father. The man had pretty much failed all his children. His only good deed seemed to have been his belated worry about José.

‘He could stay with me for a while.’ Marnie sighed. ‘James is already in New York, sprucing up the apartment. It wouldn’t be the perfect solution for the kid, but we could make it work.’

Four years ago, their mother had passed away, and a letter from her lawyer had informed them that they'd inherited her apartment. For a woman who'd left everything to pursue her career, she hadn’t achieved much in the twenty-five years she spent in the Big Apple. The small one-bedroom studio was the only inheritance they received, and Scott had signed off his rights to it the moment he got the paper into his hands. It took some convincing to get Marnie to accept his wish. The place had been rented out for years and they talked about selling it, but neither of them could actually go through with the sale. It was their only link to their mother, Marnie told him once, her eyes glazed over with tears. It held her books, her art and her collections.

The situation had changed a few months ago, when Marnie's husband got a job in Manhattan, and Marnie soon after accepted an offer from the Metropolitan Museum of Art. As a full-fledged archeologist, Marnie was ecstatic to dip her fingers into the artifacts the museum had to offer.

‘You know it would never work.’ While they were waiting for the lights to change, Scott took the opportunity to turn around and look at his sister. ‘There is only one bedroom, Mar.’

He knew what he would have to do. He'd known it from the moment Dolores had mentioned that mysterious kid, who'd barged into his life at the most inconvenient time. He just couldn’t bring himself to put it into words. That would make it binding, irrevocable, and most of all, scarily real. Scott had no experience with kids, especially teens. He wasn’t even sure he liked them. God knew, he remembered himself and Marnie at that age.

‘He could come and visit with me for a while,’ he murmured grudgingly. Suddenly he felt Melanie’s fingers come to cover his palm, a fleeting gesture accompanied by a smile that could have lighted up a room. Was she happy because he'd said he would put up with a kid who might end up rejecting any form of contact? The answer was yes, judging by her shining eyes and wide smile.

Melanie’s joy was so distracting that he almost missed the entrance to the hospital. They circled around until Marnie spotted a parking spot right at the entrance.

He wished it were a bit less difficult, he thought nervously. As they walked into the main entrance, the scent and sounds of the hospital made his blood pressure rise even higher. He hated being sick—always had. The thought of being surrounded by human suffering and disease reminded him of his own vulnerability. He hated that.

Maria Rocha had been in the lower level, but her condition had improved enough that the hospital staff moved her from intensive care to a regular bed. The nurse didn’t seem surprised that they were asking about her, since it was visitation time. She directed them down the pale-yellow corridor, pointing out signs on the walls that would make it impossible for them to lose their way.

Scott could feel his anxiety growing. The smell of the hospital, together with the rushing steps of nurses and groups of visitors, was driving him crazy. If his half brother was at all like him, he must have disliked it, too.

‘It must be here.’ Melanie pointed to the number on the door: 211.

Before he could open it, she rose on tiptoe and kissed him, her lips warm and gentle.

‘It will be fine,’ she whispered, her eyes locked with his. In that short moment, he was sure that she understood. However impossible it seemed, that woman with eyes as blue as a summer sky had managed to connect with him on a level he would never have thought possible. He was lucky enough to have met her and even luckier to have her care for him the way she did. He’d make sure he never lost her again. He sent a silent prayer to whoever held his destiny. He knew that together, he and Melanie could do anything.

Suddenly, he wasn’t so worried anymore. He pushed down the handle and opened the door.

SEVEN

The room was dim, the blinds keeping out the afternoon sunlight. The first thing that met Scott's eyes was the bed, its bulky shape taking up most of the space. Medical equipment took up the rest of it, a small night table the only familiar-looking piece of furniture in the room. Scott felt the urge to turn around and run away from the monotonous sound of the machines, which hummed softly in the background. The smell, a mix of cleaning supplies and medication, hit his nostrils, and he had to swallow down the lump of fear that was as real as it was embarrassing. His workers would have a blast seeing him like that, he thought, as he pressed his lips together. The mighty Scott Masden, panicking in the hospital like a five-year-old coming to have his tonsils removed.

The person lying in the bed was tiny, her slim form shrouded in a hospital blanket. She was talking agitatedly as they walked in, her skinny hands moving in rhythm with her voice. Propped on a pillow, she didn’t even notice them at first, her attention focused, instead, on a boy sitting on the edge of her bed.

Scott swallowed hard, the realization that he was about to meet José finally sinking in. Sure, he knew they were coming to see José . On the way over, he'd prepared many different variants of the speech he’d give to his mysterious half brother, each carefully tailored to achieve a balance between showing interest in helping him and giving him false hope. The last thing he wanted was to have the kid assume that since they were related, he’d take care of everything from then on. He didn’t need it in his life, he repeated to himself stubbornly as he laid eyes on the boy for the first time.

Marnie was the one who alerted José and his grandmother of their presence. With her usual spontaneity, she stepped forward, only to get her jacket caught on one of the metal bowls that was stacked neatly on the table. They toppled over, falling down with a loud bang, and two pairs of eyes finally turned their way. It wasn't the entry he'd had in mind, but it would have to do.