Page 68 of One Year Ago in Spain
She thought of Matías’ mouth, soft and hot at the same time, on hers.
Of his hands, roving over her bare skin.
Of the way their bodies crushed closer, as if they could never be near enough, as if there were a way to occupy the same space.
She let the kiss and the daydream linger for a long moment, like the feeling of sun on your skin after a summer day.
Then she opened her eyes, expectant.
There was no one there besides the people from before. And the old man with the newspaper was looking at her now in grandfatherly concern, his two bushy eyebrows raised.
“Shit,” Claire said. Why wasn’t it working? Matías had always appeared before when she pressed on that spot on her hand.
She stayed at the café for another hour, repeating the process of pushing on her palm. She tried pouring coins in. Cradling another cup of coffee. Stabbing at it with a pen she borrowed from the waitress.
But no Matías.
Finally, Claire had to give up so she could get to his bedside. If she couldn’t be with Matías’s wandering soul, then she needed to be with his stationary body.
Claire choked on the thought of him as just an unmoving mass of flesh and bones.
No, he’s more than that.So much more.
She threw down more money than she owed for the breakfast and hurried over to the hospital.
—
In hospitals, boringis good. After the terrible evening over Matías’s heart, it was a sad but welcome relief for Claire just to sit next to him.
Tía Juanita and Tío Victor rose from their places on theopposite side of the bed. They had been there for an hour, and Abuela Gloria had been there for an hour before that, singing to him; it was someone else’s turn now. Claire marveled at the dedication of the de León family. For every minute of visiting hours, there were people in this room, making sure Matías could feel their love and know that, on this side of consciousness, plenty of people cared and longed for him to return.
She had never had a big family. Claire didn’t even remember her biological parents, who’d died before she had memories that stuck. And then her new family had been small. Brimming with love, but just their little trio.
What would it have been like to grow up surrounded by so many relatives? To know that if you fell, so many hands were ready to pick you up again?
Traitor,Claire thought. She had been lucky to have Jim and Sarah. Some of the other kids in her foster home never got a permanent place to stay, let alone became adopted. They bounced from house to house, year after year, until they turned eighteen and were spit out into the world still completely alone.
At least Claire had had a family once.
Aracely and Soledad stepped into Matías’s room. Claire smiled upon seeing them.
Soledad did not smile back. “Where have you been?”
“I…I had to work late because of the time difference,” Claire said. “So I overslept. And then I had to take care of something before I could get here. I mentioned it to Aracely.”
Soledad dropped into her seat heavily, arms crossed. “You should not be working while you are here.”
“I know. But my job—”
“Americans are married to their jobs. But a job is not a life.”
Claire pursed her lips. She knew that. Everyone knew that. But she also loved her job—the excitement of working on deals that made headlines, the adrenaline spike of juggling so many expensive balls in the air at once and not dropping them, of knowing that without you, none of it would be happening. That you were the wizard behind the curtain.
It’s true that Americans were often workaholics to the detriment of other facets of their lives. But Claire also knew that she didn’t want the fantasy that so many others dreamed of—sitting around with nothing but leisure time. She would drive herself (and Matías) bonkers within a month if she didn’t have a high-intensity goal to work toward.
But Claire didn’t want Soledad and Aracely to think she was absent just because of work. They were the only family she had right now—even if she wasn’t officially part of them yet—and she needed them to understand that shewastrying to help Matías.
Would they believe her?
