name!—a tour.” Marta guided her down the hallway, rattling on about her collection of Talavera pottery.
Victoria took a moment to savor the scent of roasting chilies and the lively chatter that always welcomed her home. The picture window in the living room looked out on an ancient willow that kept one side of the house in perpetual shade. On an end table sat a frame decorated with chips of black glass and yellow feathers; an elementary school project—one she was not particularly proud of—and held a faded black-and-white photo of a young couple holding hands outside a church. She picked it up and thought about how people were thrust into each other’s lives, so often by accident. Had her aunt and uncle really been so young?
Not long before the photo was taken, Elias Barrón de Zarco had set out on a pilgrimage to see the world’s finest museums. He never got farther than the arms of a chili farmer’s daughter who left him breathless with her fiery kisses. Marta was only eighteen when she saw him at Mass one Sunday. He confessed to her that he was only there for the free luncheon afterwards. After a week of sleepless, lovesick nights, Marta enlisted the bewitching powers of the most powerful curandera in the valley to win his love.
Young and old women alike swooned at the sight of the handsome aristocrat who’d tapped his foot and straightened his tie at the altar. “You were as white as one of your marble statues,” Marta would say as she kissed his forehead. “Forty years can’t have passed.”
Elias’s answer was always the same. “What did I know about love? I was worried that my mother would chase you off.”
Victoria had never believed she would have that kind of love. Hearts like hers were better left alone.
Hurrying to her place at the table, she waited while Elias held the chairs for Marta and Khara. Her chair, as well as that of Rosario Dodge, was attended to by Robert. Her aunt invited him to dinner several times a year, usually during the holidays—a ploy to find Victoria a husband. As the wine glasses were filled, Victoria ignored Robert and her thoughts drifted back to the photo.
Elias never returned to the graceful old city of Cuernavaca. He made a life with Marta, who understood that his love of art would provide him countless mistresses, most of them hundreds, perhaps thousands of years older than she. Despite her simple upbringing, with Elias’s flawless taste and her incomparable heart, Marta grew into a woman whose closest friends included significant widows like Rosario Dodge.
“Your center hasn’t been in the news for at least a month. What gives?” Robert Chilton interrupted Victoria’s thoughts with a mischievous smile.
She had known him since college; they’d even had a couple of classes together. In those days, he always had a different girl on his arm and seemed to major in having fun. She’d watched him from across the room, wondering what it might be like to live such a charmed life—one completely devoid of scandal. It irritated her that he seemed bent on making up for it. No doubt he still spent much of his time partying, though he looked no worse for the wear. In fact, there was a rather respectable air to his good looks.
“What can I say? Business has been slow.”
“What are you doing these days?” “When I’m not crusading for immigration reform? Honestly, it doesn’t leave time for much.”
Robert ran a hand through his dark wavy hair and shook his head. “You’re making this into an argument, Victoria. It’s a perfectly civil question.”
She was embarrassed by how little of her life was not spent working, so she said nothing.
He leaned closer, fixing his eyes on hers, and whispered, “You’ve been avoiding me for ten years now.” Pulling away, he eyed Marta. “By the way, I thought I saw you in the plaza the other day,” he said, loudly enough to catch her attention.
“I rarely leave the office during the day,” Victoria retorted,
Victoria took a moment to savor the scent of roasting chilies and the lively chatter that always welcomed her home. The picture window in the living room looked out on an ancient willow that kept one side of the house in perpetual shade. On an end table sat a frame decorated with chips of black glass and yellow feathers; an elementary school project—one she was not particularly proud of—and held a faded black-and-white photo of a young couple holding hands outside a church. She picked it up and thought about how people were thrust into each other’s lives, so often by accident. Had her aunt and uncle really been so young?
Not long before the photo was taken, Elias Barrón de Zarco had set out on a pilgrimage to see the world’s finest museums. He never got farther than the arms of a chili farmer’s daughter who left him breathless with her fiery kisses. Marta was only eighteen when she saw him at Mass one Sunday. He confessed to her that he was only there for the free luncheon afterwards. After a week of sleepless, lovesick nights, Marta enlisted the bewitching powers of the most powerful curandera in the valley to win his love.
Young and old women alike swooned at the sight of the handsome aristocrat who’d tapped his foot and straightened his tie at the altar. “You were as white as one of your marble statues,” Marta would say as she kissed his forehead. “Forty years can’t have passed.”
Elias’s answer was always the same. “What did I know about love? I was worried that my mother would chase you off.”
Victoria had never believed she would have that kind of love. Hearts like hers were better left alone.
Hurrying to her place at the table, she waited while Elias held the chairs for Marta and Khara. Her chair, as well as that of Rosario Dodge, was attended to by Robert. Her aunt invited him to dinner several times a year, usually during the holidays—a ploy to find Victoria a husband. As the wine glasses were filled, Victoria ignored Robert and her thoughts drifted back to the photo.
Elias never returned to the graceful old city of Cuernavaca. He made a life with Marta, who understood that his love of art would provide him countless mistresses, most of them hundreds, perhaps thousands of years older than she. Despite her simple upbringing, with Elias’s flawless taste and her incomparable heart, Marta grew into a woman whose closest friends included significant widows like Rosario Dodge.
“Your center hasn’t been in the news for at least a month. What gives?” Robert Chilton interrupted Victoria’s thoughts with a mischievous smile.
She had known him since college; they’d even had a couple of classes together. In those days, he always had a different girl on his arm and seemed to major in having fun. She’d watched him from across the room, wondering what it might be like to live such a charmed life—one completely devoid of scandal. It irritated her that he seemed bent on making up for it. No doubt he still spent much of his time partying, though he looked no worse for the wear. In fact, there was a rather respectable air to his good looks.
“What can I say? Business has been slow.”
“What are you doing these days?” “When I’m not crusading for immigration reform? Honestly, it doesn’t leave time for much.”
Robert ran a hand through his dark wavy hair and shook his head. “You’re making this into an argument, Victoria. It’s a perfectly civil question.”
She was embarrassed by how little of her life was not spent working, so she said nothing.
He leaned closer, fixing his eyes on hers, and whispered, “You’ve been avoiding me for ten years now.” Pulling away, he eyed Marta. “By the way, I thought I saw you in the plaza the other day,” he said, loudly enough to catch her attention.
“I rarely leave the office during the day,” Victoria retorted,
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