Page 8 of Naked Truth

Chapter Five

Valentina

I’mbeyond excited to walk with Dom Hernandez through his beautiful home, but suddenly feel incredibly shy as well. This man could be my grandfather…My grandfather!

And when I consider what I just did beneath his roof—what was I thinking?

I can’t keep the intense blush from my cheeks, yet I’m so happy it’s all I can do not to shout for joy. To my surprise and intense relief, Raoul remains with us, close enough to me to touch, which only adds to my happiness.

Dom Hernandez curls my hand into the crook of his arm, and strolls down a long hallway into the main portion of the house, the corridor brilliantly painted in reds, golds, deep greens and azure blues.

“I think we shall wait on the portraits tonight—instead I will show you the back garden,” he announces. “It was your mother’s favorite part of the house.”

“The garden would be lovely,” I say, imagining my mother walking through this magnificent home and feeling not at all out of place, while I feel like I might as well be on the moon. Everything is so boldly colorful, I don’t know where to focus first.

Dom Hernandez’s voice recalls my attention. “Where did you come to me from, Ms. Henry?” His eyes crinkle when he says my name, and I know he’s wondering whether he may be eventually calling me “Ms. Hernandez.” I like the sound of that very much.

But he’s asked me a question, and of course, he deserves an answer. Now I’m even more self-conscious as I consider Raoul walking right behind us. He asked me for the same information, but I stubbornly refused to give it. I can’t deny my grandfather, however. And the truth will come out soon enough, so really, there’s no reason for me to lie.

“I’m from Colorado, near Boulder,” I say, my voice trembling more than I want. “My aunt had a small pottery studio there, and we lived next to it in a small, but beautiful stone house that looked out over the mountains. My aunt used to say we had everything there—forest and flowing rivers, mountain and sky. We lived very simply, but I never wanted for anything.”

“Good, good,” Dom Hernandez says. “And did she ever tell you how she came to take you into her home?”

I tense, but my hand is trapped in Dom’s warm clasp, and Raoul is right behind me. Once again, I feel compelled to tell the truth—the truth as I know it, anyway.

“She didn’t, not really,” I reply, shaking my head. “When I was very young, she used to tell me stories of how she found me, each more elaborate than the last, but there were so many of them I grew unsure of what to believe. When I was old enough to understand better, I pressed her for the truth, but she would only say that she found me at the Rio Grande, and that she instinctively knew she had to protect me. She said she later found out that my mother had…well, died that day.”

“Died,” Dom Hernandez repeats, his voice quiet.

The soft melancholy of the word catches at me and I bite my lip. Though Raoul has done a fantastic job of distracting me from my purpose here today, the fact remains, this man may be my grandfather…someone who believed I died more than two decades ago. What must he be thinking—or feeling? I can’t even imagine his pain, and in my heart I suddenly understand the root of Raoul’s mistrust for me. He doesn’t want to see Señor Hernandez hurt. Apparently, I’m not the only long-lost granddaughter who’s darkened his door.

What if I’m wrong?I suddenly wonder. What if all my careful research led me to an old man who’s of no actual relation to me? I can see already that he’ll be devastated, the light in his eyes dimming, his broad smile dropping back to one of resigned sadness.

I want so much to be right! I find myself praying even more fervently that what I believe to be in my heart will prove out in my blood.

“She never told me who my mother was, but she made up so many stories about her, it was almost as if she knew her,” I say hurriedly, wanting to turn Señor Hernandez’s thoughts to happier subjects. “She said she was always laughing and singing, and that she would just as soon dance as she would walk across the room. She was always in motion, my aunt said, never knowing when to stay still or when to fly away. Her stories always made me laugh.”

Beside me, Dom Hernandez is eyeing me more curiously. “And yet she said she didn’t know who your mother truly was?”

“Not that she ever told me when she was alive, no. It was only after she died that I received the keys to a safe deposit box. In that box was a letter and a few photographs and the vase I presented to you. Even then, she didn’t have a name. I don’t truly know if she ever took the time to discover for sure that you were my grandfather, I had to do that research on my own. But though she’d grown up on the Rio Grande in southern Texas, and she’d done so much of her earliest work in pottery there, my tía never visited Texas with me. I used to pester her all the time about coming here, since she told so many wonderful stories about how beautiful it was, But we never did. I never understood why until I realized that you lived here.” I look down. “I feel bad, Señor Hernandez. I don’t want to believe she was trying to keep me from you, but I can’t explain why she didn’t tell me.”

Dom pats my hand almost absently, but to my surprise, he doesn’t seem upset by my admission. “Your tía did the right thing,” he said. “She wanted to keep you safe, and if she suspected you were my granddaughter, she probably believed your life was in danger. You must have read the story of how my daughter died…my daughter who was also your mother.”

I nod. “She drowned in an accident on the Rio Grande, during a boating trip.”

His lips twist, and Raoul shifts beside me. “Drowned,” Dom Hernandez says bitterly. “Yes, she drowned. But it was no accident. I’m well aware the newspapers all hinted at that truth.”

He’s right, of course, and though I’ve tried for weeks to compose the appropriate words for this moment, I find I can’t say any of my carefully prepared responses. They seem so inadequate in the face of the quiet grief swirling around this man. Instead I squeeze Dom Hernandez’s fingers. “I’m so sorry,” I murmur. “I can’t imagine how hard it is to lose a child.”

At my words, he seems to shake himself free of his sadness, patting my hand briskly. “Then you also can’t imagine the joy I am feeling at the possibility of having found a child again, in you. You were very brave to come here, Valentina.”

“Well, please know that I’ll do whatever you would like me to,” I say quickly. “DNA test—blood test—whatever you would like. I brought a copy of my medical records too, if that will help, I have them…” I bite my lip briefly, shooting Raoul a glance as I tighten my left hand on my shoulder bag. “I have them with me.”

“Photographs, too,” Raoul nods, and Dom turns to me, surprised.

“The other photographs from your tía?” he asks.

“I—yes,” I nod, already hating to disappoint the man. “But they’re not very good. Apparently, my mother’s purse washed up with me, but there was nothing in it except these photographs in a zippered pouch. My tía didn’t have the purse any longer, but she described it as a handmade leather bag, ruined by the water. The photos—well, they probably won’t mean anything to you.”

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