Sunder (2 page)

There it was, out in the open. He said it so suddenly, she was not entirely sure he had meant it to be said aloud. The subject of Guillermo had never come up directly. It had been nearly a year since she started seeing him, close to three months that Etienne had been aware of it, but up until that moment, he had been content with passive-aggressive hints over breakfast.
Late night, huh?
Or his new favorite:
How was girls’ night?
  But now it seemed Guillermo’s presence at the funeral had set something off. 

She had planned to discuss what his future held for him after her trip tomorrow.  But he, as always, was ruining her plans.

“Are you listening to me Izzy? It has to stop.  People are talking and your father can’t protect you from the authorities forever.  If they get proof, nothing
I
say—”

She cut him off before he had the notion to threaten her in some way.  “My father owns the authorities, you little twit. I’ll do whatever I like.” The ice in her voice was so frigid one of his hands dropped from the steering wheel.

She gave a disgusted wave at the exit sign. “Pull over.” He obeyed. 

He took the nearest exit off the Miami Turnpike and parked near a lookout pavilion on the ocean. An elderly couple stood hand in hand on the deck of the pavilion, their backs to Isabella as they admired the waves and enjoyed the warm breeze. It was good they were there in case Etienne reacted more strongly than expected to what she had to tell him. Isabella waited a moment for the engine to power down before she spoke again. She wanted to make sure he listened to every word.

“I’m getting our marriage annulled.  A year after it is finalized, Guillermo and I will be married. 
You
will be given two years severance from the Agency and a choice of jobs in any Jaramillo-Diaz-owned corporation.  You could go to Boston, if you wanted to return to your roots.  If you contest the annulment, I’ll make sure you get nothing.” She slid her eyes toward him without turning her head. 

He stared at her like her hair was on fire.  He had to know this was coming.  And why should he protest? He hated it here.  He had no good friends and constantly complained of sunburns.  Why should he look so angry?  Why did Anglos turn so red when they were frustrated?

“If you think,” he spat between clenched teeth, “that I am going to let that
dick
take you from me—”

“You don’t
have
me, Etienne! I have
you
, clinging to me like a bad rash!  I’ve already spoken to Padre Lopez-Castaneda.”

“And told him what? Some ridiculous story? That I beat you? You’ll never be able to prove I’ve been unfaithful! What possible reason could you give the Vatican?”

Now she turned to look at him.  He was not going to like this and she wanted to be sure to catch the full effect of his tantrum. “I told them you refuse to have children. You reject sexual contact without taking a prophylactic shot obtained through your father’s convict friends in Virginia.” She hadn’t finished the last word before he started punching the dashboard. He was so predictable.

“You lying bitch! I’ll tell the Archbishop you got tubal implants.  Records don’t lie! They can do a body scan on you! I asked for kids, I begged! And then you got that surgery behind my back while telling your whore friends I’m impotent! How do you think that...”

“What records, you imbecile? You can go through every file in every hospital in Florida and there will be nary a record of me having surgery.  It’s illegal! Why would the doctor keep any records? And no one would
dare
subject me to a body scan.”

He took off his seatbelt and leaned over her. The claustrophobic combination of his breath pushing her hair from her face with warm staccato thrusts and the sun leaning on her through the window quickened her heart beat.

“I’ll tell your father.”

She bared her teeth in a savage almost-smile and sat up so she was closer to him. “Who do you think found a doctor to do the implants in the first place? Who got my application for annulment in front of the Archbishop within one day? You think he wanted me carrying your little mongrel offspring?” She leaned back and crossed her arms. “My father
is
the Agency, and half the Senate owes their careers to his endorsement. He owns this country, and I am his daughter.  Who would believe you over me,
Blancito
?”

Etienne’s whole body vibrated with fury.  Even through his anger, he had to see there was no good way out of this.  Either he could leave the marriage with money, a job, and free reign to remarry, or he could leave with nothing.  She just looked at him, eyebrows raised to their highest peak, baffled as to why he was making this so difficult. 

He recoiled into his own seat. “Get out of my car.”

Normally, she would have refused just out of principal.  But, she reasoned, he needed time to process this.  She grabbed her handbag and her veil and stepped out of the car onto the sandy shoulder.  The ignition hummed to life, and before she had her port phone out of her purse, the car had sped away in the direction of their house.  She was still expected at her father’s for the wake, and she doubted anyone would question Etienne’s absence.  It would be nice to call Guillermo to come pick her up, but arriving with him would be unforgivable, and she needed everyone on her side.  Troubling her father for a ride was out of the question, so she called her personal assistant, Elizabeth.

“Yes, hello Dear. I’m terribly sorry to bother you on your day off, but I’ve found myself in something of a bind.”

3

Alfredo Jaramillo looked at his watch and frowned. His daughter was late, an absolutely unheard of state of affairs.  When he spoke to Esperanza upon her arrival to his home, she said Isabella and the boy were right behind her.  He wanted to enquire further, but Carlos Vega interrupted, entirely too excited to have been invited to the wake.  Ever the gracious host, Alfredo had indulged him in an unremarkable conversation about La Verdadera Destreza, the exquisite art of Spanish swordsmanship. But he remained preoccupied with thoughts of his absent child.

The event planners had cordoned off the rear gardens for the wake with new arrivals directed through one of seven beautifully appointed archways. The flood of newcomers had slowed, yet still no Isabella.  He could only conclude she had decided to tell the boy about the annulment.  When she had called to ask for his help last week, she seemed to believe Etienne would not mind the dissolution of their marriage, but he knew better.  It was a heady thing, to be a Jaramillo.  The boy had come from a nice family, prior to his father’s disgrace and imprisonment.  His mother’s subsequent downward spiral into bankruptcy had no doubt made him further appreciate the superior wealth and status of the family he had married into. 

Isabella’s great shortcoming had always been her complete lack of insight into the hearts and minds of others.  She was spoiled and self-centered, an affliction Alfredo could admit was his own fault.  His wife Monica had always stressed the importance of a normal upbringing and wanted Isabella to attend public schools, use public transport, and work for her allowance.  But when Monica died, Alfredo could not bring himself to refuse his darling anything.  He had never really cared for his wife’s constant intercessions, but if she had lived, she would have had the strength to forbid their daughter’s marriage to Etienne in the first place. But she had not lived; she had not stayed to help him raise their daughter.

The buzz of conversation around him became slightly louder.  Alfredo looked up to see Isabella walking into the throng, greeting people as she went.  Even clad in black, she looked like an angel.  But Alfredo could sense she was upset, and he knew he had been right to worry.  She shook Señor Vega’s hand and exchanged greetings with a few more guests before finally making it to his side.  She smiled as he gave her a kiss.

“I was worried,” he said in a low voice, keeping his face pleasant and passive for the benefit of all the people watching.  Esperanza may have been the widow, but Alfredo accepted most of the guests had come to see Isabella, to feel as if they were a part of her life.

Isabella’s expression mirrored the neutrality of his own, reflecting well on her upbringing. “It was just Etienne. I told him about the arrangement.” A soft breeze ruffled her hair, which she had taken down after the service. “You were right; he was angry.  But I suspect he will be amenable to the annulment.”

Alfredo leaned his head closer to her ear as they took several casual steps toward the tennis courts and away from the guests. “Why would you ever imagine such a thing?” he asked.  She looked up at him quizzically, as if she didn’t understand the question. “Underestimating a man’s anger is unwise, Mija. You will stay here in the house until he moves out; Elizabeth as well.”

“I appreciate your concern, Father, but I think—”

He stopped walking and cast a stern gaze; she fell silent.  Though she plainly enjoyed ordering her husband around like a servant, Alfredo was still her father and he was to be obeyed. It took only his face to remind her of that.

“I am sorry,” she continued, her eyes downcast, “Of course I’ll stay at your house.  You are far too generous to point out my lack of listening to you is how we arrived in this debacle in the first place.”

“Good girl.” He put his arm around her and kissed her forehead. “All of this will be set right soon enough.”  This ugliness would soon be behind them, and they could move on.  Guillermo Ramirez was a good man, a
respectful
man who had come to ask his permission to see his daughter after the annulment was final.  He understood what it was to be a man and he deserved to marry into the Jaramillo family. They just had to wait for propriety’s sake.

“Señora Jaramillo!” Señor Vega huffed toward them, dragging Esperanza behind him.  She looked exhausted and unhappy with her late husband’s former supervisor and his exuberant socializing, acting as if he were attending a gala, rather than a wake. “Señora Jaramillo, I was just talking to your father about the beauty of the Spanish sword. And Señora Macias has just told me that you are a great student of archery?” 

Behind him, Esperanza looked at her friend and mouthed
I’m sorry.
Isabella suppressed a laugh.  Alfredo saw this and prized himself on having taught his daughter the importance of playing politics, not just for oneself, but also one’s friends.  Her indulgence of Señor Vega could mean a promotion for Esperanza, who had been tucked away in the audit department for several years now. A kind word from Vega, combined with public sympathy for her husband, could get her placed on the executive level.

“Why yes, Señor.  I have been competing in long-bow archery since I was thirteen.” She gestured to Alfredo. “My father always said being skilled in the ancient craft of war should be the second highest priority of every American. He said that relying on technology, particularly in our line of work, was a fool’s mistake.”

The man gave her a crooked smile. “The second priority? What is the first?”  

Isabella and Alfredo both smiled and spoke simultaneously. “Protecting the timeline, of course.”

Vega cackled with exaggerated obsequious laughter. “You’ve taught your daughter well, Don Jaramillo. I only wish my own children would devote themselves to the Agency the way she does.” He leaned over and touched Isabella’s arm.  The way he did it made Alfredo want to reach out and smack him.

“You should come down to my office sometime, Señora. I have wonderful footage of my brother competing in the great arena at Poitiers.  You know,” he whispered conspiratorially, “my family is descended from the great swordsman Don Alvaro Guerra de la Vega. War is in our blood.”

Alfredo doubted anyone could trace his roots back that far, but he said nothing.  Isabella smiled at the buffoon, displaying the impeccable manners he had taught her.

“I would love to Señor. How kind of you to offer.” She looked at him and Esperanza. “I hope you will both forgive me, but my father and I must address an issue concerning the parking permits in front of the house.”

“Of course, Señora.” Vega smiled even more grandly at Alfredo and shook his hand.  “And I thank you, Don Jaramillo, for inviting me to your home on this day of mourning.”

“You are most welcome, Señor.” Alfredo lightly grasped Isabella’s elbow and steered her toward the archway leading out of the gardens.  When they were safely out of earshot, he allowed himself a chuckle and recited in English: “Don Corleone, I am honored and grateful that you have invited me to your daughter's wedding... on the day of your daughter's wedding.” He laughed again as Isabella looked at him in confusion.

“Is that a quote from something?” she asked.

He grimaced evasively, kicking himself for the slip. “Yes, my dear.  It’s from one of those long-forgotten films your mother and I used to love; I’m sure you wouldn’t know it. That moron just reminded me of someone.” A good enough cover, Alfredo thought to himself. It was always better to be cautious, but he lamented his daughter could not laugh with him. 

There actually was a problem with the parking permits, but that minor bureaucratic detail could wait.  Isabella had clearly wanted privacy and it became obvious why as she started pulling her phone from her purse.

“I’m going to call Etienne.  Do you want to listen?”

Alfredo glanced around the front drive to ensure no guest had returned to his car, then nodded.  She selected Etienne’s name from her contacts and put it on speaker. 

He answered after two rings. “Hello Isabella.”

His voice was calm and without anger, and it did not sound slurred from drink.

“Hello Etienne.  I just wanted to let you know I’m staying at my father’s house.”

He was silent for a moment. “If you feel it’s best.  But I don’t want you to feel you have to stay away.  I’m sorry I flew off the handle in the car.  I had no right to speak to you that way.”

Isabella looked both surprised and contrite and Alfredo had to admit he felt rather astonished himself.

“You were right,” Etienne continued. “This marriage isn’t right for either of us.  I don’t like Ramirez, Izzy.  But spite for him isn’t a good reason to make both of us suffer.  I won’t fight you on the annulment.  And I really appreciate the terms you offered.  It makes me remember what I loved about you.”

Isabella looked down at the tiny phone with tears welling up in her eyes.  She obviously had forgotten how desperately she loved her husband in the beginning, the high hopes she had held for their happiness, but Alfredo had not. She had been enamored of Etienne so completely that she met any criticism of him with violent anger.  Going ahead with the marriage was only the second time in her life Alfredo’s beloved daughter had disobeyed him; the first being when she got that hideous tattoo. Only on those two occasions had she cast his wishes aside with all the spite and malice she could muster.

Alfredo had not known where such fury came from, or why she suddenly directed it at him. As the years of her marriage wore on, and the hopes of finding contentment fizzled, she focused that same rage towards Etienne. The anger that had always filled her, seemingly without reason, became entirely her husband’s fault.  She had put Etienne through hell this past year. Now it seemed she was, perhaps for the first time, regretful of her actions.

“I’m so sorry I took out my misery on you, Etienne.” She swallowed a lump in her throat. “I think being apart will make us both happier. I’m glad you’re not angry anymore.”

“I’ve forgiven you Izzy. I hope you can do the same for me. What time is your trip to 1921 tomorrow?”

“I’m supposed to return at one minute past two. But the tourist is trying to push the time window up an hour. He believes the nonsense about High Noon. Will you be my technician?” She smiled, obviously relieved to be in a normal conversation with him again.

“I think so, but I’ll have to check the schedule. They’ve been moving me and Peterson around.  Let’s sit down with your father and Padre Lopez-Castaneda tomorrow evening and hammer out the details.  You know I’ll want Grandma’s tea set, right?”

She laughed a bit and wiped her eyes. “I would never dream of taking it away from you. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Alfredo pursed his lips, biting back the knowledge that if Etienne had fought the annulment, his family tea set would be the first thing she would take in the settlement and have destroyed. But no matter now.

“Sure. And Izzy?”

“Yes?”

“Please don’t tell anyone yet. I’d like a little time before we let people know.”

“Of course.  We’ll tell them all together. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

She signed off the phone and leaned against the hood of one of the cars.  Alfredo studied her, noting how tired and relieved she looked.  The situation had unfolded exactly as she had predicted.  The boy was angry at first, but then accepted what must be.  He even apologized.  Alfredo would never have believed any man would act so.  But it appeared Isabella knew her husband very well indeed.  He smiled to himself and leaned against the car next to her.  They would enjoy the breeze for a moment before rejoining their guests and rescuing Esperanza from the clutches of Señor Vega.  Everything was going to be just fine.

***

Etienne pushed the terminate button on his console and sat back in his chair.  The living room was dark and he did not call for the lights. It had taken all of his energy to sound sorry on the phone, and Isabella’s sudden compassion for him was enough to make him want to destroy everything in the house.  It was amazing how reasonable she became when her wishes were obeyed. She was just like her father: arrogant, domineering.

Still in his funeral attire, rumpled now from sitting in the armchair for the better part of two hours, Etienne surveyed his home.  The beautiful historic country house had been a present from Alfredo on his wedding day, fully renovated and furnished. It had been such a wonderful surprise and Etienne had not been able to hold back his tears as he thanked his new father in law for his generosity. It was everything he had ever dreamed of.

But now, he would have to leave. His life was to be packed into shipping containers and hauled away, the room intended to be a nursery would stay empty, and his bedroom would be occupied by another man.  All this because the Princess Isabella
wished
it so. His desires counted for nothing.

You could go to Boston if you wanted to get back to your roots.
If he had anything left to go back to, did she really think he would still be living in Miami? His father was in jail for the rest of his life and his mother and sister lived in poverty, just like everybody else in that disgusting city. His father, in all his wisdom, had seen performing abortions as his duty as a doctor.  The judge had not seen it that way, and James Danforth was sentenced to eight consecutive life sentences for the eight “murders” he had committed.  So now he was just another child of an Anglo convict, every bit as trashy as they all said he was. 
She can’t do this to me!