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Authors: Colin Falconer
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own, there’s no one to take care of him.
If I could have been more positive, perhaps he would have held on. He knew I wanted to get away, that was why he gave up.
We got back to the flat in Little Havana, and Angel made his goons wait in the car. It was the first time he’d been in the flat. He looked around at the motel furniture crammed into the tiny room, the newspapers Papi had left piled up on the table beside his bed, the sweat-stained sheets on my father’s bed, and his face twisted into a grimace. He looked so tailored, so out of place there. “Jesus,” he said.
“Do you want coffee?” I said. I just stood in the middle of the room. I didn’t know what I was supposed to do.
“You can’t stay here.”
“This is where I live.”
“Baby, listen to me, you can’t stay here.”
He was right. I couldn’t stay there, not anymore. I found a suitcase and started blindly throwing clothes and shoes in it. When it was full I shut it and sat down on the bed.
“I can’t find my purse,” I said.
He found my handbag next to the bed, found my wallet inside. He opened it and looked through it like he was a cop and I was under arrest or something. I realized then: he does think he owns me.
“What’s this?” he said. It was the newspaper cutting of Reyes and me, the one I had torn out of the Diario del Marina . “You keeping pictures of Garcia?”
I didn’t answer him. I made Papi’s bed, fluffed up the sheets, arranged the pillow just the way he liked it. I tidied his books beside his bed.
“What the fuck are you doing?”
“He hates it when the flat looks messy.”
“He’s dead, baby. It doesn’t matter anymore.” Dead? No, that didn’t make sense.
I sat down, then stood up again. “Do you want coffee?”
“No, I don’t want any fucking coffee. Are you okay? You don’t look so good.”
I heard a woman screaming from a very long way away and I realized that it was me. Suddenly I was on the floor, curled up in a ball, and Angel was talking to me but I couldn’t hear what he was saying. I saw Lena standing in the doorway with her hand over her mouth, and then Angel’s goons barged in and one of them scooped me up in his arms and carried me outside to the car.
Chapter 15
When I woke up the sun was streaming in through the window, it was another fine day in Miami. I stretched, looked at the digital clock beside the bed. It read two sixteen, but that couldn’t be right.
I looked around, tried to work out where I was. The sun glittered on the ocean, the cars streaming up and down Collins Street. I was in the Fontainebleau. How did I get here? Then I remembered: Papi is dead .
Angel walked in from the balcony holding a copy of Life magazine. He took off his sunglasses. “Hey, you’re awake.”
“How did I get here?”
“I brought you in the car. You couldn’t stay in that dump you were living in. You needed someone to look after you. I had to call the doctor, he gave you something to help you sleep.”
I was just in my underwear. I started looking around for my clothes.
“What are you doing?”
“I have to get out of here.”
He grabbed me and tried to put me back into the bed. I twisted away. “The doctor said you have to rest.” He fumbled on the bedside table for some pills, unscrewed the lid, dropped a couple into his palm. “Here, take these, it’ll help.”
“Why are you here?”
“I told you, baby, now your father’s gone you’ll need someone to take care of you.”
He couldn’t show up to the hospital when his wife was having a baby, but here he was with his girlfriend, holed up in one of his father-in-law’s hotels when his girlfriend’s father dies. He was a strange guy. “Angel, I appreciate how you’ve helped me, I really do, but I have to get home now. I have things to organize.”
“You don’t have to worry about anything, I’ll take care of it.”
“No, you don’t have to take care of anything, not anymore. I
If I could have been more positive, perhaps he would have held on. He knew I wanted to get away, that was why he gave up.
We got back to the flat in Little Havana, and Angel made his goons wait in the car. It was the first time he’d been in the flat. He looked around at the motel furniture crammed into the tiny room, the newspapers Papi had left piled up on the table beside his bed, the sweat-stained sheets on my father’s bed, and his face twisted into a grimace. He looked so tailored, so out of place there. “Jesus,” he said.
“Do you want coffee?” I said. I just stood in the middle of the room. I didn’t know what I was supposed to do.
“You can’t stay here.”
“This is where I live.”
“Baby, listen to me, you can’t stay here.”
He was right. I couldn’t stay there, not anymore. I found a suitcase and started blindly throwing clothes and shoes in it. When it was full I shut it and sat down on the bed.
“I can’t find my purse,” I said.
He found my handbag next to the bed, found my wallet inside. He opened it and looked through it like he was a cop and I was under arrest or something. I realized then: he does think he owns me.
“What’s this?” he said. It was the newspaper cutting of Reyes and me, the one I had torn out of the Diario del Marina . “You keeping pictures of Garcia?”
I didn’t answer him. I made Papi’s bed, fluffed up the sheets, arranged the pillow just the way he liked it. I tidied his books beside his bed.
“What the fuck are you doing?”
“He hates it when the flat looks messy.”
“He’s dead, baby. It doesn’t matter anymore.” Dead? No, that didn’t make sense.
I sat down, then stood up again. “Do you want coffee?”
“No, I don’t want any fucking coffee. Are you okay? You don’t look so good.”
I heard a woman screaming from a very long way away and I realized that it was me. Suddenly I was on the floor, curled up in a ball, and Angel was talking to me but I couldn’t hear what he was saying. I saw Lena standing in the doorway with her hand over her mouth, and then Angel’s goons barged in and one of them scooped me up in his arms and carried me outside to the car.
Chapter 15
When I woke up the sun was streaming in through the window, it was another fine day in Miami. I stretched, looked at the digital clock beside the bed. It read two sixteen, but that couldn’t be right.
I looked around, tried to work out where I was. The sun glittered on the ocean, the cars streaming up and down Collins Street. I was in the Fontainebleau. How did I get here? Then I remembered: Papi is dead .
Angel walked in from the balcony holding a copy of Life magazine. He took off his sunglasses. “Hey, you’re awake.”
“How did I get here?”
“I brought you in the car. You couldn’t stay in that dump you were living in. You needed someone to look after you. I had to call the doctor, he gave you something to help you sleep.”
I was just in my underwear. I started looking around for my clothes.
“What are you doing?”
“I have to get out of here.”
He grabbed me and tried to put me back into the bed. I twisted away. “The doctor said you have to rest.” He fumbled on the bedside table for some pills, unscrewed the lid, dropped a couple into his palm. “Here, take these, it’ll help.”
“Why are you here?”
“I told you, baby, now your father’s gone you’ll need someone to take care of you.”
He couldn’t show up to the hospital when his wife was having a baby, but here he was with his girlfriend, holed up in one of his father-in-law’s hotels when his girlfriend’s father dies. He was a strange guy. “Angel, I appreciate how you’ve helped me, I really do, but I have to get home now. I have things to organize.”
“You don’t have to worry about anything, I’ll take care of it.”
“No, you don’t have to take care of anything, not anymore. I
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