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Everything’s gone to hell. I look at the packed boxes, and my heart breaks. My trip to Germany is canceled, and my life seems to be too, at least for now. I shove some things into a backpack and disappear before Eric comes looking for me. My phone rings and rings and rings. It’s him, but I refuse to answer. I don’t want to talk.
After I leave my house, I go to a café and call my sister. I make her promise she won’t tell anyone where I am, and she agrees to meet me. After hugging me because she probably knows I need it, she hears me out. I tell her part of the story but only part of it; I am certain the rest would only baffle her. When things don’t add up, she starts in on me: “You’re crazy!” “Eric is a good catch!” “How could you do that?” In the end, I say goodbye, and, despite her insistence, I don’t tell her where I’m going. I know her, and she’ll tell Eric as soon as he calls her.
Next, I call my father. I convince him that I’ll go to Jerez soon and explain everything; then I hop in the car and drive to Valencia. I’m still not answering Eric’s calls. I just don’t want to.
Several days later, I’m feeling more relaxed, and I drive to Jerez, where my father welcomes me with open arms and gives me all his love and affection. I tell him my relationship with Eric is over, but he won’t believe it. Eric has called several times, worried; according to my father, that man loves me too much to let me get away. My poor father is a hopeless romantic.
When I get up the next day, Eric is at my father’s house.
My father has called him, which irks me to no end.
He tries to talk to me, but I refuse. I’m furious with him; I scream and yell, and I let go of everything inside me before slamming the door in his face and locking myself in my room. I finally hear my father asking him to leave, and, for a moment, I let myself breathe. My father seems to know I can’t reason right now.
Eric comes to the door of my room, where I’m barricaded, and, in a tense and angry voice, tells me he’s leaving. That he’s going to Germany to take care of certain matters. He insists once more that I come out, but when I won’t, he eventually goes away.
Two days go by, and my anguish doesn’t diminish.
Forgetting Eric is impossible for me, especially when he’s constantly calling. But when he chose to believe Betta’s lies about those pictures, he broke my heart, so I still don’t answer. Of course, because I’m a masochist, I listen to our songs again and again to torment myself and wallow in my grief, feeling sorry for myself. The only positive thing about all this is that I know he’s very far away and I have my motorcycle to blow off steam, by getting muddy and jumping around the fields of Jerez.
After a few days, Miguel, my former colleague at Müller, calls and gives me astonishing news. Eric fired my former boss. Incredulous, I listen as Miguel tells me Eric had a huge argument with her when he caught her mocking me in the cafeteria. Result: unemployment. Got what you deserved, bitch!
I shouldn’t be so happy about it, but a wicked part of me rejoices that she has finally gotten her due. As my father very wisely says, “Time eventually puts everyone in their place,” and time’s finally put her on the damned street where she belongs.
That same afternoon, my sister comes over with Jesús and Luz, and they surprise us with the news that they’ll be parents again. My father and I look at each other and grin. My sister and brother-in-law are happy, and my niece, Luz, looks delighted.
“You’re going to have a little sibling!” I exclaim.
The next day, Fernando visits too. We hug for a long and meaningful while. We haven’t communicated in months, and we both understand that whatever was between us—that thing that never existed—has finally ended.
As we stroll over to Pachuca’s restaurant, we chat, but he doesn’t ask about Eric. He seems to sense our relationship is over, or that something has happened.
“Fernando, if I asked you for a favor, would you do it?” I ask him while he and I and my sister have some of Pachuca’s snacks at the bar. Fernando’s a detective, and he has access to all sorts of information.
“Depends on the favor.”
We both smile, and I clarify.
“I need addresses for two women.”
“Who?”
I take a drink from my Coke. “First, there’s Marisa de la Rosa; she lives in Huelva. She’s married to a guy named Mario Rodríguez, a plastic surgeon. I don’t know much more. The other person’s name is Betta, and she was Eric Zimmerman’s girlfriend for a couple of years.”
“Judith,” protests my sister, “please!”
“Shut up, Raquel. Can you get that for me or not?”
“What do you want it for?” he inquires.
I’m not ready to tell him what happened.
“Fernando, it’s nothing bad,” I say, “and if you could help me, I’d appreciate it.”
For a few seconds, he looks at me solemnly. Finally, he nods, gets up, and steps away; I see him on his cell. Ten minutes later, he comes back with a piece of paper in his hand.
“All I can tell you about Betta is that she’s in Germany, but she doesn’t have a fixed address. Here’s the address for the other woman. By the way, your friends move in a very wild circle and play a lot of the same games as Eric Zimmerman.”