Page 118 of That Last Summer

There was a woman in her house, and they were embracing; Priscila could see them through the living room windows. It wasn’t an innocent, casual embrace, or she didn’t think so: it was something much more intimate. She recognized the girl instantly, the long, curly red hair gave her away: Carolina. The cause of almost all their arguments.

It took her a few seconds to react. Carolina’s head was hidden in Alex’s neck, and all Priscila could think about was those last words from her sister-in-law. And that she’d been right—that woman wanted Alex for herself. There was no longer any room for doubt.

She summoned all her willpower and approached the house, already trembling; she didn’t understand what was happening, what that hug meant, but... she was already trembling.

Imagination is a double-edged sword. Seeing her husband with another woman in his arms, that other woman, who was holding him as if he were her rock... Priscila could recreate the conversation they would be having easily:

“So, your wife isn’t coming home tonight?”

“No. She’s staying at her parents’ house.”

“Thank God! I had to see you, Alex, I needed to. I couldn’t take it anymore.”

A vibration brought her out of that horrible trance. A buzzing from nearby. She turned her head towards the sound and located a woman’s purse and a cell phone on a table. A table that hadn’t been there before, but that fact barely registered. Nor did she notice that the lawn had been cut and the shrubs so perfectly trimmed that the view through the windows was clear; a few hours earlier, seeing through into the living room would have been impossible. She did, however, notice the phone. It wasn’t Alex’s.

It was hers. Carolina’s.

She took a few steps forward. She left the crème caramel on the table and picked up the phone. It wasn’t the same brand as hers, but it didn’t take her too long to unlock it; there was no password, just some arrows to follow. She was acting on impulse. She wasn’t even sure what she was looking for.

She glanced at the couple one more time. They hadn’t moved.

As if activated by a spring, Priscila opened the photo gallery app. Her finger wandered nervously over every picture until she saw it: a photograph of a couple making love. It was Alex’s room; despite the tears, she recognized it immediately. The guy was Alex. And the woman... the redhead, of course. So, they were together. She didn’t know for how long now, but they’d cheated on her. She remembered every time Alex had told her she was paranoid. She remembered and closed her eyes in pain, the kind of pain you only feel when your whole world collapses.

In a state of extreme distress, and not even thinking about her actions, she grabbed her own cell phone to take a picture of the redhead’s phone screen. Everything was blurry.

She didn’t know why she was doing it—she didn’t need to see the picture anymore, that’s for sure.

Or maybe she did.

Maybe she needed to look at it to convince herself all this was real.

So, she took a snapshot and then she picked up the dessert. It took her a while to turn around and leave. Her legs wouldn’t respond; her whole body was paralyzed. She had to force herself to move.

She heard Dark barking and started to run. She looked back one more time before she went through the gate and saw her dog barking against the window. Alex, the girl still in his arms, tilted his head to check what was going on. He didn’t see her.

Priscila got into the car and started the engine, burning rubber as she left.

At that moment, she wished very hard she hadn’t grown up with rose-colored glasses. She felt so helpless. So vulnerable. And she didn’t know what to do, or how to react. She was suffering, for the first time in her life. Really suffering. She’d never had any serious problems at home, either with her siblings—who adored and spoiled her—or with her parents. And she’d been so sheltered at school, too. If her childhood had been less idyllic, probably she would have learned how to handle this kind of thing. But she hadn’t.

Not knowing where she was heading, she took the highway and kept driving until—three hours later—she arrived in Madrid. She couldn’t think. Her mind only had room for one thing: escape. She hadn’t even put music on; the car was silent, her sobbing the only sound.

Just as she had materialized in the city, she found herself at the airport and parked the car. She didn’t move for a few seconds, reflecting on what she was doing. She couldn’t flee that way, of course she couldn’t. She didn’t have her passport with her, for a start. But then she remembered: she hadn’t taken it out of the inner pocket of her bag since she’d returned from her honeymoon. And that bag was precisely the one resting on the passenger seat.

It was a sign. Destiny. She got out of the car with new determination and went straight to the departure area, stopping at the first counter she found.

“I want to buy a ticket.”

“Destination?”

Priscila glanced at the screen and didn’t hesitate: Los Angeles. It was far away, exactly what she needed. Besides, she was allowed to travel to the United States; she had the visa from her honeymoon.

“Los Angeles.”

“I’m sorry, that plane is full.”

“Oh. Okay... What’s the next flight to the United States?”

“Boston, in four hours. And there’s only one seat left.”