Page 87 of One Year Ago in Spain
“Señora Walker,” the receptionist said. “I apologize for the disturbance. There is someone here to see you.”
Claire still hoped it was Matías, wanting to apologize. But then she realized that it couldn’t be him, because he’d just left. And the receptionist wouldn’t be able to see him anyway.
Was it Soledad or Aracely, here to reconcile?
“Do you want to come downstairs?” the receptionist said. “Or should I send her up?”
“Who is it?” Claire asked.
“She says you’ll know her as Abuela Gloria.”
Gloria
One of thekind receptionists had helped Gloria into an armchair in the lobby, with her walker right next to her in case she needed it. Of course, the receptionist was being polite. Gloria would definitely need the walker—no “just in case” about it—because it had been some years since she could move around unaided.
She had left the hospital soon after Claire. The family usually doted on Gloria, but this time, they were too busy extracting Vega from Matías’s room to notice when Gloria slipped away. They were probably working themselves into a frenzy now, but Gloria only chuckled at the thought. Her ninety-two-year-old body might be slow and creaky, but her mind was as sharp as it had ever been. As long as Gloria could sit—like in the taxi on the way here or now, in this plush armchair—she would be more than fine.
Besides, she hadhadto sneak away, because if Soledad or Aracely had known that Gloria was coming to the hotel, they likely would have tried to stop her. The de Leóns were legendary for how tightly they could hold on to grudges if someone hurt one of their own, and Claire had just joined Vega on their grievance list.
Claire emerged tentatively from the hotel elevator, takingsmall, slow steps like she was walking into a panther’s cage. Gloria didn’t blame her, after the thrashing she’d been given by Aracely and Soledad at the hospital.
But Gloria smiled to ease Claire’s worries. She was so young—an accomplished attorney and yet still only a fledgling adult. Most of the time, Gloria knew that young people needed to be allowed to stumble and make their own mistakes. But sometimes, like right now, she just wanted to help. She wanted to gather Claire up in her arms and tell her everything would be all right.
But how could she, when everything might never be all right again?
“Thank you for meet me,” Gloria said slowly, reciting the English sentence she’d looked up on her phone on the taxi ride here.
An uncertain spark of hope creased the corner of Claire’s mouth. “Hola, Abuela Gloria.”
“I…sorry. English very bad.” She wished it was better, but she couldn’t change history. Foreign-language education was nonexistent during her childhood in the midst of the Spanish Civil War, and thereafter, Franco had become dictator and declared Spanish the only language of the country. All other languages were either banned or strongly “discouraged.”
Claire waved away Gloria’s concern as she sat into the adjacent armchair. “Está bien. Yo estoy—I mean, soy—una mala estudiante de español.”
Gloria appreciated Claire’s attempt to speak Spanish. It was little better than Gloria’s English, but equally as earnest.
Claire took her phone out of her pocket, tapped on the screen, then said something rapidly in English.
“This is a translation program,” a computerized voice informed Gloria in Spanish.
“Dios mío, qué útil,” Gloria said.
The robot woman clearly translated her words into recognizable English, because Claire nodded. This would, indeed, be quite useful.
“Well, then,” Gloria said with a smile, the phone automatically translating what she said into something Claire could understand. “I suspect you wish to know why I am here.”
“Iamcurious,” Claire said through the phone. “Especially given how the rest of the family feels about me now.”
“They should not project their past experience with Vega onto you.”
Claire sighed. “I don’t think that’s it…I haven’t been at the hospital as much as they would like.”
“From the moment the doors open until the nurses kick you out?” Gloria said with a wry snort. “The chair that Soledad designated for you is as much a prison as a gift.”
Claire’s mouth parted in surprise. She probably had not realized that Gloria had been observing her all the times they were in Matías’s room together. But it had been quite clear to Gloria how much Claire loved Matías and wanted to help him, but also how trapped the poor girl was, under the well-meaning but heavy weight of Soledad’s love for her son.
“Um, the family means well, though,” Claire said, having gathered herself. “I understand why they’re mad. But I have good reasons for not being there.”
Gloria nodded solemnly. “I know. And that is the reason I came to the hotel. Please, tell me about Matías.”
