Read Online The Heart Has Its Reasons by María Dueñas - Free Book Online Page B

quite a large panel, with seven or eight participants from different areas and fields related to the Hispanic world. Professors of Latin American history, international relations, political science; some visiting professor, a doctoral student—”
    I didn’t even let him finish.
    â€œWould I put you in a tight spot if I said no?”
    â€œNot at all; it was only an idea. I can propose it to some other colleague. Or even I could participate.”
    â€œI’m sorry, but I’m not at my best right now, if you know what I mean.”
    â€œDon’t worry, it happens to all of us once in a while . . .”
    We began to gather up our trays and left them on the trolleys, since it was time to get back. Luis kept talking the whole way, monopolizing the conversation without asking me anything or waiting for me to speak, aware that I had little desire for conversation.
    â€œSo you’re in Rebecca’s hands now; she’ll give you all the details regarding the continuing-education course if in the end you’re up for it. Do let me know, okay?” he said as we exited the elevator.
    I forced a smile, muttered another okay in response to his, and turned to head back to my office. A hand on my wrist, however, stopped me before I began to walk. “If at some point you feel like talking, you know where to find me.”
    He turned down the hall toward the conference room and I went in search of Rebecca, still a little confused by that unexpected gesture. Perhaps I wasn’t as alone as I thought. Perhaps the solution lay in filling my life with new affections instead of continuing to lament the lost ones.
    I found her door closed, with a yellow Post-it reading: I’m off to lunch, so I returned to my office to continue working. Mulling over the course proposal, I still felt the unexpected hand of Luis Zarate on my skin. Then I remembered Alberto’s call.
    But I resisted once more. I forbade myself to think about his settlement proposal, forbade myself to ask how this could be happening to us.
    Fontana’s papers became my refuge once again. I plunged into them for a long time, using them as a painkiller, until the rapping on the door brought me out of my absorption. On looking up, I found Rebecca’s ever-pleasing face.
    â€œI know you wanted to see me, and I know what it’s about. Here’s all the information.”
    I asked her to sit down while I removed a bunch of documents from the only other seat in the small office apart from my old armchair.
    â€œHave you ever been to Spain, Rebecca?” I asked without even knowing why. Perhaps because, despite our current friendliness, I’dnever considered how much she actually knew of my country, or perhaps because at that moment I needed to have recourse to something that would give me a sense of warmth.
    She was slow to answer my simple question, taking off her glasses first and then wiping the lens with the end of her shirttail.
    â€œOnce I was about to go, many years ago. I had a Spanish friend, you know? A great friend. She lived here in Santa Cecilia and we’d organized a trip to spend the entire summer in Spain. But something unexpected happened that spring and we were never able to go.” She raised her eyes. “One of these days I just might try again.”
    We returned to the subject of the course project. I was practically convinced that I was going to accept, and we spoke of dates, time slots, and possible participants until we realized that it was almost five: time to start wrapping up the day. Rebecca gathered her papers and began to leave. Standing at the doorway, she paused, regarding me with a half smile, her eyes tinged with nostalgia.
    â€œShe was a wonderful woman. Her memory still lingers here.”

Chapter 8
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    T he following week the department was covered with signs announcing the National Hispanic Heritage Month debate, so we all saved the date.
    â€œYou’ll be