Happy That It's Not True (13 page)

              “Hey Diego, I have to get going—we’ll catch up soon.  Will you be here on Sunday?” Jerry said.

              “I’ll be here,” Diego said, standing up with Jerry for the night’s final embrace.  “It’s great to see you, Jerry.”

              “Oh man, it’s so good to see you-”

              Larry was talking to Christine with one hand on her shoulder, his eyeglasses perched on the edge of his nose—fatherly and stern.  “In Philippians, it says—do not—do not be anxious.  That’s not a request—it doesn’t say it would be nice if you weren’t anxious.  It is a command from God.  You are commanded by God not to be anxious—all you need is faith.  You understand young lady?”

              “I think so,” Christine said.

              “Good.  I have to go—I need to get home early tonight.”  Larry patted Christine’s back and walked out of the room, leaving Diego alone with Christine and the young couple that had brought her.

              “Okay, now it’s my turn—I get a crack at you too,” Diego said with a grin that caused Christine to smile.  “Look, I don’t know if anything you heard tonight made any sense, but please don’t give up trying to find out what’s wrong.  It could be anything.  These people here get a little carried away with all this spiritual warfare stuff.  But please, make sure you see a doctor.  You could be pre-diabetic, or have a heart condition—or it could be one of your glands—or a food allergy—it could be anything.”             

              “She eats nothing but junk food,” her friend jumped in.

              “Yeah, I eat pretty bad,” Christine said.

              “Promise me you’ll never give up trying to find out what’s wrong.  Don’t let anyone tell you that you don’t have enough faith in God.”                           

              “I was so worried that maybe God was angry at me somehow.”  Christine trembled as tears glittered in her blue eyes.             

              “No—no—no—don’t ever think that.”  Diego was moved by the young woman, part of him wanting to adopt her and coach her never to give up the fight.  She looked almost suicidal to him, and he wished that if it ever came to that—he could die instead of her. 

              By Diego’s calculations, the prayer group hadn’t been especially helpful for the young woman.  He had seen this many times before—someone facing an enormous battle, showing up one Wednesday night, asking for prayers—never returning.  Christine didn’t seem like the type that would ever come back—not after all the Bible verses callously thrown at her—not after she had been talked down to by people who thought anxiety and depression were character flaws.  Diego would find it easy to remember Christine in his prayers.  It was Alex and Cara that were going to be under his care, and Christine had played an important role in changing Diego that night.  Thoughts of self had been dissolved away by despairing beautiful eyes.

Chapter Fourteen

            
 
Alex and Cara had not anticipated it taking most of the day to pack their belongings and stuff them into the back seat and trunk of the Hyundai.  The car felt heavy and sluggish on the Miami roads—the balding tires made the ride seem rough.  The twilight sky was casting strange shadows on Brickell Avenue, like a thousand black birds marking the changing of seasons.  The many palm trees flew past, covering and uncovering sparkling condominiums, some tall enough to still be above the sunset—pale magenta rays touching the upper floors.

              Cara had seen these buildings before—from across the bay—the times she had parked her car on Key Biscayne and beheld the skyline shimmering in the night.  A fading bruise on her cheek—partially hidden by her sunglasses—the only evidence of her attack.  That and a small cut on her lower lip.  Her voice no longer hoarse from the screaming and crying, her soul—not as hollow from the silent wailing.

              Cara was wearing a scoop neck tank top, the color of cantaloupe with a large screen-print rhinoceros, a voguish reminder, in case Diego had forgotten, that she was an artist just like him.  Alex, wearing an extra sized plain beige polo, was scanning the playlist on Cara’s MP3 player.  “I’m gonna borrow your player for a while—you can use mine,” Alex said.

              “I don’t wanna use yours—you don’t have any Radiohead or Coldplay or Death Cab.” Cara said.

              “Coldplay?  Chris Martin is such a geek.”

              “Takes one to know one.”             

              “Whatever.”             

              “Just transfer the songs over—Fathead—when you get a chance.”

              “Hey, we’re almost here.  GPS says it’s one of these tall buildings.  Okay—make the next right.”

              A short curving road led to a guard booth and security gate.  An emaciated looking man in a uniform walked up to the car with a clipboard, “¿Quién viene a ver?”

              “Diego Alonso,” Cara said.

              “Sí, te espera.”             

              “¿A—don—de?”

              Cara could see that the guard was annoyed—her Spanish wasn’t fluent.  He impatiently shook his head and blurted out directions, “Take dee road hasta el parking garash.  Take dee elevador.”  He handed her a small blue piece of paper with the handwritten words—Diego Alonso PH. 

              There was a soft buzzing sound and the gate opened.  The guard waved her through like an unwanted guest.  They parked and walked past a long row of luxury cars to the elevator.  As Cara looked at the buttons besides the floor numbers, she realized that PH stood for penthouse.  “Diego lives in the penthouse, Fathead.”

              “Penthouse,” Alex repeated with fascination as the buttons glowed a cream yellow, bringing them closer to their new summer home. 

              Cara looked at her reflection on the chrome panel where the names of the floors were engraved in gold letters, softly rubbing her finger on the cut on her lip. 

              The elevator door opened and they stepped out into a short hallway that led to a single door.  As soon as the door chime rung, they heard barking and the door opened.  Diego was grinning and reaching out to hug them both at the same time—two excited basset hounds sniffed and wagged their tails.             

              “Hey! Guys—long time no see,” Diego said hugging Alex a second time and kissing Cara’s cheek.

              “I didn’t know you had dogs,” Cara laughed as she knelt to pet one of the dogs, getting slobbered.   

              “These are my girls—Ebay and Yahoo—they’re service dogs.  Come in-Come in!”

              “Service dogs?  You’re not handicapped–”             

              “Mentally—I most definitely am.”

              “Tio, you’re so funny,” Cara laughed.  “All our stuff is downstairs in the car—actually Dad put most of it away in storage for us, but everything we need is in the car.”

              “I’ll help you guys bring everything up.  You wanna come inside for a bit—cool off?  Want some water?”

              Cara and Alex accepted the offer—Alex, who was always a bit aloof and calculating, was himself caught up in the pleasantries.  Cara noticed Diego was a little grayer, but still her strapping, handsome uncle.

              Alex scratched one dog behind the ear, “I don’t know—I might be allergic—or maybe not—we’ll have to see-”

              “Let me look at your face, Cara—what did that man do to you?” Diego said tenderly as he put his hand under Cara’s chin and studied her face. 

              Cara sighed and made a closed lipped smile, noticing sadness in Diego’s face. 

              “Look at this face—who would want to hurt you?”

              “A psycho—that’s who,” Alex said.

              Cara couldn’t remember a time when she felt so secure—so at home.  If only Octavio could be there too—a trinity of love and protection.  Diego—he was good for them—this they somehow knew without speaking a word.

              “This place rocks—I didn’t know you were rich,” Alex said.

              “Not anymore,” Diego smiled.  “This is my last big investment.  It’s really nice isn’t it?  All the furniture came with it—not really my taste—a bit extravagant.  I’m not a corporate big shot anymore—I’m teaching at the college, so all the money I’ve made has to last me until—who knows—till I turn ninety or whatever—God willing.”

              “This whole top floor is yours, Tio?” Alex said.

              “Yeah, come with me—let me give you the tour—there’s an incredible view.”

              With the dogs following closely, they made their way through the living room that had been turned into an art studio.  A large neglected television screen filled most of the wall obstructed by two easels, one metal and one a seven-foot H frame made out of red oak wood.  Against the walls were large painted canvases—mountains covered by mist—landscapes.  A large panel of wood filled with globs of paint covered the coffee table—the largest palette Cara or Alex had ever seen.  A burlap drop cloth lay on the carpeting—everywhere brushes and containers of paint. 

              Cara inspected one of the canvases closely, wanting to savor the brushstrokes. “Beautiful,” was all she could manage to say.

              “Thanks, I don’t know where I’m getting the inspiration for mountains—Florida is as flat as a pancake.”             

              “Cool,” Alex said almost to himself.

              “Come, you have to see the view,” Diego said.

              As they moved through the maze of rooms, Cara and Alex were astounded by the many things that the previous owner had left behind—the globes and fine lamps, sculptures and lavish interior décor.  There were several large armoires; some intended for clothes, others were unused entertainment units.  Alex beamed when he saw the vintage pinball and Space Invaders arcade machines.  Large fixed windows provided an almost panoramic view of the city and the Atlantic, the apartment and all the paintings bathed in lavender pink as the sun set. 

              “Awesome,” Alex said.

              Cara was moved beyond words—Diego, her Tio, having conquered the world—a wizard perched on top his high tower, surveying the kingdom.  She was proud of Diego—glancing at him for a moment so she could define him—then looking out into the expanse of Miami that appeared like a valley—almost spiritual in its mystery.

              “Just like everything, you get used to it—but it is beautiful,” Diego said.

              “You have a network?” Alex said.

              “There’s a wireless router in the office room—you can just switch it on anytime.”

              Alex nodded, sticking out his lower lip in humility, “Cool.  You don’t go on the internet much—Tio?”

              “Not really.  I think I was suffering from techno-brain burnout.  I only go online when I need to now—just chillin—painting—reading.  I canceled all my social networking accounts.”

              “Becoming anti-social—Tio?” Cara teased.

              “Oh—maybe a little,” Diego laughed.

              “My students are my friends.  I really love teaching—you know I’m working at the community college, right?”

              Cara turned away from the window to focus all her attention on Diego.  “Yeah, you’re an art professor now.”

              “I hear you’ve become quite an artist, Cara.”

              “Mom told you that?  I don’t think she’s crazy about my art.”

              “I’m the expert—only what I say counts,” Diego said.  “I’m dying to see your work.  Besides, maybe it’ll cheer these two up,” he said pointing to the dogs.

              “How do you know they’re sad?” Alex asked.

              “Just look at them—don’t they look depressed?”

              Cara and Alex both laughed.

              “Look at those eyes—I’ve never seen Yahoo and Ebay smile—not once.  I don’t think they like their dog food anymore.  Life is like that sometimes—you get tired of the same old dog food.  That’s what happened to me at my old job—Anyways, I think they’ll like you two being here.”  Diego nodded and they all understood he was expressing his own feelings through the basset hounds. 

              “How was your ride down to Miami?  Did you find the place all right?”

              “It’s not that far—easy to find,” said Alex.

              “I don’t think the security guard was too happy that we didn’t speak Spanish,” Cara said.

              Alex nervously adjusted his glasses to ask what he thought was an important question.  “Tio, why didn’t our parents teach us Spanish?”

              Diego tilted his head, searching his periphery for an answer.  “Hm—oh—I don’t know—some parents worry too much sometimes—maybe your Mom and Dad didn’t want you to have any trouble adjusting to American culture.  But eventually everyone gets swallowed up by the culture.  It might be unfortunate, but that’s what happens—just something about America that causes people to lose a little bit of who they are—but I wouldn’t worry about it too much.  Whether your parents teach you Spanish or they don’t—just accept it and love life, unless of course you’ve had some tragedy, then you have the right to be grumpy.”  Diego smiled warmly, carefully observing his two new students.