Page 108 of Cryptic Curse

Then I nod.I can’t talk.Words will fail me in this moment.

For in the palm of my gloved hand, I hold a silver earring in the shape of a star.

32

DANIELA

Señor Vega was my most frequent visitor.

Eventually he became so enamored with me that he asked my father for my hand.

I honestly don’t know why.He got to have me any way he wanted anyway, and he knew I was tainted by other men regularly.

Maybe he wanted to be the only one tainting me.Men like him are territorial and don’t like to share their property.

Papa agreed, but part of the deal was that he would keep me until I was eighteen, and I could continue to entertain his friends and colleagues and guests in the meantime.

If Diego Vega cared, he never let on.

Then again, he wasn’t a normal person.Neither was my father.

They were criminals.Indecent men.The kind who smiled too easily and touched without asking.They operated in shadows, but always acted like they owned the room, like rules were for the people who didn’t have the stomach to break them.

My father welcomed all these men into our home.Seated them at our table.Poured their drinks with a steady hand while I sat there, small and silent, trying to make myself invisible.I used to wonder why he didn’t see it—how rotten they were.But I get it now.

He was one of them.Maybe the worst of them.

Because while they took what they wanted and left, he stayed.Pretended to be the protector, the provider.But he never shielded me.Not once.He opened the door and watched it happen.

Not only did he make decisions about who would enjoy my body, he also made decisions about how I could use it.Every time a baby tried to grow inside me, he’d have it removed without so much as a conversation with me.

And no matter how many years pass, no matter how far I run, I can still smell the smoke of his friends’ cigars.Still hear their laughter in my bones.

I hear the crying of my unborn children as well.I hope that, wherever they are, they have learned to forgive me.

I can still feel the way my body used to go quiet just to survive.

At least my father is dead now.

Señor Vega is dead.

Neither of them can ever hurt me again.

Chef Charleston is finishing up our last class of the day.

We’re actually putting together a salad.

It’s not exactly cooking.We’re tearing—always tear greens, never cut, he says—different varieties of lettuce into bite-size pieces and then adding our chopped vegetables.

“For vinaigrette,” he says, “less is more.Extra virgin olive oil, balsamic vinegar from Modena, and just a touch of salt-and-pepper.”

“What about MSG?”Jordan asks.

Chef Charleston frowns.“That does add a good flavor, but most chefs are steering away from MSG these days.”

“Why?”another person asks.

He paces the classroom.“For a while, the FDA had questions about its safety, but more recent research has indicated that it is generally safe except for sensitivity in a small number of individuals.The better reason is that in this basic vinaigrette, it’s not necessary.In cooking, it’s better to get umami from natural ingredients like mushrooms, tomatoes, seaweed, fermented sauces, or slow-cooked broth.Why rely on additives?”

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