Page 88 of One Year Ago in Spain
Claire let out a short laugh under her breath. “I doubt you’llbelieve me. I tried explaining it to Soledad and Aracely, and they didn’t believe me, either. But then, why should they, when it sounds so crazy, even to me? I’m usually the most logical person in any room, andIwouldn’t believe me.” She slouched in her chair.
Gloria had spent enough time in the past week watching Claire to know that she was not a woman who folded easily. Matías’s girlfriend was a fighter. She had been thrust into an unimaginably terrible situation in a foreign country and surrounded by the enormous, loving but sometimes overwhelming de León family, and she hadn’t quit. She had tried to be there for Matías while also juggling her demanding job, and if what Soledad had said at the hospital was true, Claire had been stretching herself thin for Matías away from the view of the family, too.
“Tell me,” Gloria said gently. “I will not judge.” She reached out and patted Claire’s hand, suddenly all too aware of the contrast between Claire’s firm young skin and her own. When had she gotten so old?
But that was the price to be paid for experience, and Gloria was glad for all she had lived through. It was how—at the end of a life—one could find peace. “I have seen a great deal over the years, and I like to think it has made me a little wiser.”
Claire exhaled deeply. Gloria wondered if this was what Claire did daily as a lawyer—steel herself to tell the truth, even if it scared her.
“You can do it,” Gloria said. “I am listening.”
“Okay…” Claire said. She still trembled, barely perceptibly, but her voice was strong. “Then here it is. I have seen Matías, outside of the hospital. That’s why I haven’t been at his bedside. I’ve been with him—at his studio, at a flamenco show, fallingasleep in Retiro Park.” She bit her lip, as if bracing for Gloria to chastise her as Soledad had.
But instead, Gloria said, “Like a ghost?” Soledad and the younger generations of the family may have drifted from what they thought were old-fashioned superstitious beliefs, but Gloria had grown up in civil war and Franco’s Spain. She knew ghosts were very real.
“No, his soul. He’s a little lost, and he thinks it’s one year ago.”
Gloria traced a button on her armrest as she thought about Matías’s soul, detached from his body. It would be just like her grandson to go wandering off.
But Claire had said he was lost, so it wasn’t curiosity driving his soul. “Hmm…” Gloria said. “That could make sense, if he is confused.”
Claire’s mouth dropped open. “Wait. You believe that I can see him? And that it’s really Matías’s soul?”
Gloria smiled sadly. “As I mentioned, I have seen a great deal in ninety-two years, and more recently, that has involved the passing of many of my friends. I have never been able to see their souls, but I have felt them the moment they leave their bodies. And—don’t tell Armando—but sometimes, I can feel the seam where my own soul is attached. The threads have begun to unravel.” It was not an alarming revelation for Gloria, just an observation, like one might notice that a well-loved coat was beginning to look thin at the elbows.
“Oh no, please don’t say that, Gloria!”
She shook her head. “It is all right, my dear. I have had my time on earth.” She had been through war, yes, but she had also seen the highs of being human—falling in love with herneighbor Pedro, bearing children and watching them grow, and then being there when they themselves fell in love and had their own children. Life always contained some traumas, but the most important things were the joys. And Gloria had had a lifetime’s worth of blessings.
But Matías had not. He deserved to live, to marry Claire, to have babies and teach them how to ride bicycles and to paint and to cook. His friends’ young lives had been cut off much too soon; Gloria could not bear for her own grandson to follow the same fate.
“Claire,” she said, leaning forward in the armchair, even though it took great effort to pull herself from the deep, plush cushion. “I think there is still something that can be done. If Matías’s soul is drawn to you, you are the one who can save him.”
Yet at her words, Claire only slumped deeper into her armchair. “Or maybe it’s not me. Maybe it’s supposed to be Vega. His soul thinks it’s one year ago, and a year ago, he was still in love withher.”
Gloria scoffed. “Matías’s soul hasnotvisited Vega. Believe me, if he had, she would have been marching all around gloating, rather than desperately sneaking into his hospital room. And you are wrong that he loved her a year ago.”
Claire looked confused. “But…weren’t they engaged?”
“Yes, but they had been together for so long that it was simply…how things were. It was not movement forward; it was, in truth, holding them back. Matías and Vega were both artists with great respect for each other’s talent. They lived in the same fickle world where most people don’t appreciate the work they toiled to create, and it is difficult to make a living. Having a constant like a relationship made it feel a bit less risky for Matías.
“But as his abuela, I know Matías to his core. He is enthusiastic about trying new things, but he also craves stability. He grew up with a solid, loving family, and once he and Vega were together, I believe he assumed she would be his new foundation.
“However, Vega has a difficult time committing to anything. Matías may have many interests, but he is also able to focus intently on the projects and people he loves. Vega, on the other hand…She is not good at following through. Her studio is littered with unfinished sculptures, and she complains about impatient clients who think it unreasonable that a piece they commissioned five years ago is still not complete. She is not made to be tied down—although I do not think Vega understood that about herself when she accepted Matías’s proposal, because they were so young then.
“But by the time Matías received the invitation to teach in New York, he and Vega had already grown apart. They lived together in the same apartment, but they were rarely there at the same time. He worked in his studio during daylight hours; she got her inspiration when it was dark. They loved each other in the way that one loves old friends—a deep, steady fondness that you assume will always be there, whether you see them every day or only once every few years.
“Their breakup was a relief to our whole family. I think even Matías was relieved. He is a man who keeps his promises, and he would never have taken back his proposal to Vega if she hadn’t broken it first. But Matías needs someone to be a home base, someone who is reliable to ground him. Someone who can give back to him as much as he gives out.
“His soul choseyou,Claire, not Vega. The conscious Matíasknows you are his home, so his subconscious feels it intuitively—even if, I suppose, he doesn’t remember you yet.”
Claire sat up a little straighter in her chair, as if something important just occurred to her. Gloria frowned.
“Is there more about Matías’s soul that you haven’t told me?” Gloria asked.
“Well…” Claire blushed.
Gloria crossed her arms. It made her elbows crackle, but the stern posture seemed to have the effect she wanted on Claire.
