Page 100 of His Two Hidden Masks

“Lissa,” Mama whisper-shouted, her voice low and sounded constrained, like she was upset, but didn’t want to be heard. “Lissa, come here.”

“Yes, Signora.” Lisa ran to the door and came inside.

“You left the room open.”

“I am sorry, but I can’t imagine I did.”

“The door was unlocked. Please be more careful, you understand?”

“Of course.”

My face pressed up against the carpet under the bed, I concentrated on shallow breathing. I knew that grief poweredmy mother’s actions, and listening to her scold Lissa, I realized how little I understood the depth of her loss.

My mother and Lissa left the room. I watched the door close, followed by the click of the lock. So mother wasn’t the only one who came into this room. Lissa was a part of these secrets? What was wrong with everyone?

I needed answers and guidance. I climbed out from under the bed, noticing there was no dust on my skirt or sweater. I was appreciative Roberto had shared the key with me.

I wondered if this was his way of proving his connection to Sara. Or perhaps he truly was making amends.

It felt healing to stand in Sara’s room, but I still needed help deciding whether to accept Roberto’s business proposal. There were times in my life when I felt true clarity. I craved clarity now.

The day I stood on the altar beside Roberto, he held my hand and I knew the walls of my world were closing in and threatening to crush me. I ran. Roberto’s revelation that he loved Sara before me was like finding a missing piece in the puzzle of my life.

I knew things were wrong between us. I should have trusted myself earlier. My intuition should have been enough for me, enough for everyone.

I felt clarity when I walked away from Dylan. I couldn’t trust a man who kept secrets from me, yet Dylan made me feel so much in such a short amount of time.

One man I had supposedly loved enough to marry. The other I wasn’t supposed to love at all, but yet, he imprinted on me with his kiss, his hands on my hips, his lips on my thighs.

My eyes landed on Sara’s wardrobe in the corner of her room. The door was carved, with an inset mirror and a glass knob. I felt compelled to open the wardrobe door.

The scent of the cedar planks mixed with a floral scent that I assumed was one of Sara’s perfumes. I pushed her dresses asideand climbed inside. I closed my eyes and inhaled, sinking to the ground as I held my knees.

I breathed in and out, asking my mind to tumble back in time as the sweet scent of the wood hovered like a lantern on a winding walkway. I wanted my mind to follow this path, no matter where it led. I remembered hiding here as a child. Echoed laughter replayed in my mind. My voice called to Sara.

We played Hide and Seek. All of us together. And once, Sara and I hid here from Roberto. I remembered those days. In my mind’s eye, I saw my sister again. Her chocolate brown hair hung long around her kind eyes. I remembered feeling truly seen in her gaze.

She was my hero, my gorgeous and kind older sister. Sara always made time for me; in fact, she acted more like my mother than my mother. There was Auntie Aurora, of course, but remembering Sara triggered memories of my mother’s coldness. Her icy rage. Her anger at my father, even before Sara died.

I gasped as another memory snapped into view. The laughter evaporated. Sara and I hid to escape a storm, to escape my mother’s rage. I closed my eyes and breathed, remembering Sara’s hand wrapped around mine.

My breathing was too loud, so Sara held a finger to her lips as my parents yelled and screamed. Their voices thundered down the hall, growing closer and closer. We froze as their argument moved into Sara’s room.

In a flash, I remembered the words. “You’re a liar. You’re a liar and monster.” My mother wailed. I don’t remember my father replying. He was always so calm. When my mother ignited, he grew quieter, incensing her even more.

Sara sat beside me, writing in her diary. She wrote down my mother’s words, and as the door slammed, she lifted a plank in the floor and put the diary inside. She raised her finger and whispered. “This is our secret.”

Was this the memory I longed to remember? I had dreamed of hiding in Sara’s room many times.

My fingertips inched along the grooves of the wooden floor, looking for gaps in the slats. There were none, until I felt a tiny bit of movement in a board close to the back wall.

I tugged the board. It creaked, and popped up. I reached inside, feeling along the inside of the secret drawer. The diary was gone.

I sat for a moment on the floor of that closet, deflated and shaking. I followed my intuition, listened for answers, and held nothing but a beautiful necklace of Sara’s that I remembered admiring as a child.

I climbed out of the wardrobe and closed the doors behind me. Perhaps this was enough. Perhaps Sara did not want me to know all her secrets. I closed my eyes, and reminded myself of what was at stake.

I needed to stop looking for answers in the past and reclaim my present. I walked out of Sara’s bedroom. I was going to trust myself, because I was enough.

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