Page 117 of That Last Summer

“Pris! I’m leaving tomorrow!” Alex yelled after her, annoyed, as he watched her ride away. That had escalated. And over such a stupid thing—he’d just wanted to surprise her. They’d argued before, but he didn’t like the reason this time.

“I’ll try to be back before you go, Alejandro! Bye!”

When Priscila arrived at her childhood home with a scowl on her face, it was obvious something had happened.

“St. Claire’s skipping family gatherings already? That was quick,” Adrián commented when his sister arrived alone.

“Where’s Alex, honey?” her mom asked.

“At home. He had important things to do.”

“More important than hanging out with his wife? Who he doesn’t see all week?”

Catalina, her sister-in-law, had spoken with feigned innocence—very poorly feigned, in Priscila’s opinion. In Marcos’ opinion too. And Hugo and Adrián’s. River had nothing to say.

“Looks like it,” Priscila answered, faking a smile. But on the inside, she was anxious. She didn’t like to argue with Alex; even less considering how little time they shared these days.

Priscila spent the whole lunch in her own world, lost in her head, in her worries. She’d never had any intention to sleep over at her parents’, she’d only said that to hurt Alex, and now she felt awful. So, she got up before she’d even had dessert. She said goodbye to her family and the table-talk she loved so much—the puns and verbal battles with, and between, her brothers were something worth witnessing—to go back home and surprise her husband.

Hugo, who’d noticed his little sister’s unease, pointed to the delicious-looking flan on the table. “Take him that and everything’ll be fine.”

“What?” Priscila asked, confused, after kissing her dad goodbye.

“He always wolfs down Mom’s homemade crème caramel,” her brother explained. “Take it and you’ll win him over.”

“You’re right, Hugo,” said their mother, also aware of her daughter’s mood. “I’ll fix it so you can take it with you.”

“What about the rest of us? We don’t deserve dessert?” Catalina protested.

“Get River to take you out for ice cream,” Marcos replied.

“Or ask your mother to make you crème caramel,” Adrián added, getting up to help his mom.

The Cabanas’ relationship with their sister-in-law had never really taken off. That girl didn’t fit River’s personality at all. She was snobbish, arrogant, jealous... and so out of place in this family. River’s reasons for marrying her were known to him alone, but the Cabanas—just the five siblings, the parents got along with her pretty well, actually—were sure about one thing: love was not one of those reasons. Those first days after the wedding they had all expected news about her pregnancy, but it never came. And six months had now passed.

Priscila said her farewells, hugging and kissing her family, and went to the coat rack at the main entrance to collect her denim jacket. She didn’t notice Catalina’s approach from behind until she heard her voice. “I hope this argument with Alex isn’t serious. It’s not wise to get on his nerves. You know what I mean.”

“Not really,” Priscila said flatly.

“Oh come on, Pris.” Oh, did she hate it when Catalina called her “Pris.” It didn’t sound the same on her sister-in-law’s lips; it was different from the way her family and friends said it. “Alex is the best catch not only in town, but almost in the whole country; he’s an Olympic champion, for God’s sake, and he’s hot. I doubt you’re unaware how many women are after him, waiting for the slightest opportunity, waiting for you to... screw it up.”

Priscila was about to ask her if she included herself among those women, but she kept quiet for River’s sake.

“Just think what they’d do if they saw their target sad, alone, away from his wife... Be careful.”

Priscila was sure her sister-in-law would have kept tormenting her if Adrián hadn’t appeared to interrupt. “Here, Pris. Take my car; you’re not riding your bike with this.”

Very carefully, she took the plate with the wrapped crème caramel and the car keys her brother held out to her, then gave him a big smacking kiss as she went out the door.

She placed the plate on the passenger seat and set off for home, hoping to surprise Alex—both with the dessert and with her early return. She pulled onto their street in record time; there was hardly any traffic. In summer, when the town was full of people, driving around it was a bit chaotic, but by the end of September things began to improve.

She parked near the house and walked up the driveway. The gate was ajar. She didn’t spare much thought for that; Alex would’ve left it that way. Maybe he’d gone out onto the street to run an errand or something.

But perhaps it caught her off guard. Perhaps the unexpectedness of it contributed to what happened next—although to be honest, what she saw would have surprised her just the same, had the gate been open or closed.

She didn’t approach the house. She didn’t have to: from where she was standing, she could see what was going on. And she was paralyzed.

Alex wasn’t alone.

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