Page 49 of The Night We Became Strangers

Alicia

A gustín raised his head as soon as I opened his office door unannounced.

He’d been writing something with that fountain pain she’d given him.

My rage grew. A constellation of creases formed on his forehead upon seeing me.

At least he wasn’t in the arms of another woman.

Even though I was fairly certain that Marisa was his mistress, there was the slight possibility that I might be wrong.

“What are you doing here?” he said, and not in his kindest tone.

Things hadn’t been exactly smooth between us lately. My jealousy, my constant suspicion and distrust had put him on edge—I admitted it. But the way I saw it, I was completely justified. Especially now . The one thing I could never tolerate was betrayal.

Many women put up with cheating husbands—I knew that—but they didn’t have the means to support themselves or an education to pursue a career, so they had no other option but to turn a blind eye on their men’s indiscretions.

I didn’t have that problem; I had my own money.

My father still owned the soda factory, andI occasionally helped with payroll and other administrative tasks.

Iworked part-time, as my priorities were my marriage and Matías.

However, being financially solvent didn’t mean I was ready for the stigma of divorce—even less to share my husband with my so-called best friend.

“I should ask the same thing,” I said. “It’s Saturday night.”

“And as you can see, I’m behaving responsibly at work .”

He looked so handsome in that new striped gray suit, I had a fleeting urge to forget all about the dove scarf.

“What was so important that Raúl couldn’t handle, especially on a weekend?” I asked. I hadn’t yet decided whether to throw the evidence in his face or ease into the subject of what I’d casually found in his car.

“What’s so important that you had to come to my office in person? Is Matías all right?”

“He’s fine.”

“So?”

I hated that harsh tone that emerged more frequently the longer we were married. What had happened to the carefree, charming man I had met? But if he was going to be hostile, I had no reason to be kind or subtle. I was the offended party. I removed the scarf and placed it on his desk.

His ears turned bright red. He recognized it—I knew it. “What’s this?” he said.

And still, he had the gall to lie to me.

“You tell me. I found it in the back seat of your car.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Alicia, we’re on a deadline here. You know we go to print at ten p.m. I still have to approve this article and send it to the linotypist.”

I couldn’t care less about deadlines. “Answer me.” I picked up the scarf from the desk and waved it. “What was this doing in your car?”

He brought both hands to his head. “I. Don’t. Know.”

“Stop lying!”

“Alicia, couldn’t this wait until later? There’s been rumors that Velasco Ibarra may come back, and you know the kind of political unrest that would cause.”

“Who cares about that!” I slapped the desk.

“It’s our duty to report what’s happening.”

“Velasco Ibarra is not coming back, and you know it. He’s happily living his exile in Buenos Aires. Why would he want to come back here?”

“You don’t know that.”

“Whether he returns or not is the least of my concerns now. Stop trying to distract me.” With shaking hands, I shoved the scarf back in my purse. “I know you’re having an affair with Marisa.”

He stood up, as if propelled by a spring.

“You don’t know what you’re saying, Alicia. You’re blinded by jealousy.”

“I know exactly what I’m saying. I gave her this damn scarf years ago. And this is how she repays years of friendship?”

He shook his head, looking at me as if I were a disgusting insect.

“Dare to deny that you love her!” I despised how my voice cracked at that moment.

“I always suspected there was something between the two of you. Since we met . She changed after I started dating you, and she was never the same. I’ve seen the way you look at her, Agustín.

How you didn’t say a word the day of her wedding to Polo.

How you drank yourself into oblivion every night after she got married.

For weeks . And then, you didn’t want to meet her baby until she was, like, four months old already! ”

He circled me, like a watchful lion.

“Not to mention the hug you gave her at Gabo’s funeral last week!” I said. “You guys nearly melted into one another!”

“He was one of my best friends. He worked for me for years. His death was tragic!”

“Yes, and she clearly took advantage of the tragedy—using your shoulder to cry on!”

“You’re seeing things, Alicia. There’s nothing between Marisa and me.”

For a heartbeat, I wavered. Had I fabricated the whole thing in my mind? My throat ached, not only from my screaming accusations, but also from the pain of what I had just realized.

He hadn’t denied that he loved her.

My eyes burned.

“You complain of all the secrecy,” he finally said. “But have you ever considered your part in my behavior?”

“Now you’re going to say it’s my fault?”

He rubbed his eyes with the palm of his hands. “You’re not an easy woman to live with.”

I’d had enough of this. He would never confess, he was just going to throw accusations at me and blame me for the failure of our marriage.

I grabbed my purse and stormed out of the office.

But something stopped me.

Right there, in the empty reception area, was my former best friend.

The rage was stronger than me. I took two steps toward Marisa and slapped her so hard it hurt my hand. Her shock was obvious. Wide-mouthed, she brought a hand to her face.

“What are you doing?”

“What am I doing? Why are you in my husband’s office?”

Behind me, Agustín grabbed my arm as I attempted another swing at her. “Alicia! You’ve lost your mind. Calm down!”

“No! I’m not going to calm down!” I told him, then turned to Marisa. “After all that we’ve gone through, all those years of friendship, this is how you treat me? Sleeping with my husband?”

She looked like a wounded animal. “I don’t know why you’re saying that.”

Fingers trembling, I fumbled inside my purse for the scarf-inquestion, and that was when I felt the cold metal barrel of my dad’s revolver, the one he’d given me years ago for protection.

I still didn’t know why I’d put it in there. To threaten them? To give it to Leopoldo so he would take matters into his own hands? I’d never used it before, but this felt like the right time.

I took it out and pointed the gun at Marisa.

“Alicia, put the gun down!” Agustín said. “You’re mistaken. Marisa and I have never disrespected you.”

I’d never felt more hatred toward anybody as I did at this very moment against Marisa.

“How could you do this to me?” I said, still pointing at her chest. “I considered you my sister. You were supposed to be my one true friend out of all those meaningless associations.”

“I haven’t done anything to you.”

“You’re going to deny your feelings for my husband?”

She peeked at him, and her expression revealed everything.

“No, and I should’ve told you years ago. But that doesn’t mean I ever acted on it.”

“I don’t believe you!” The gun trembled in my hand.

How dared she confess her love for my husband as if it was nothing, as if she wasn’t married to another man, as if Agustín weren’t mine?

She’d always been frank. I gave her that.

She wasn’t a good liar, either, which was why her deception was so out of character.

And yet, she couldn’t deny the mountains of evidence against her.

There were too many things to ignore, and I was absolutely certain that my husband was being unfaithful, but at the moment I didn’t feel like going through the list—I just knew I wanted her to suffer as much as I did.

I wanted to wipe that grim expression from her face that told me I was an idiot for not realizing how she felt for him all along.

I pulled the revolver’s hammer back but before I could fire, the weight of Agustín’s body crashed into mine, knocking me to the ground.

In a flash, Agustín was on top of me, trying to take the gun from me.

I tightened my grip on the pistol, even though I knew it would be futile—he was much stronger than me.

A shot escaped the barrel, loud and definitive. Marisa screamed. I stiffened my body, afraid to look around. Had I hit her? No, God, please.

“Are you crazy?” Agustín yelled.

His body was still on mine, so I couldn’t see Marisa. My legs turned to gelatin. Something sharp hit one of the windows and shattered the glass. Whatever it was—a small torch covered in flames—fell on one of the desks and lit a pile of papers.

A shout came from the threshold, but it wasn’t Marisa’s voice. “They’re attacking the building!” the woman’s voice said. “We have to evacuate!”

Agustín was still holding my wrists down with both of his, so I couldn’t get away, but behind his head, I spotted Beatriz Lara, some actress wannabe who always found ways to insert herself into our lives.

She was frantic, saying things that didn’t make sense about some angry people outside. But where was Marisa?

That awful woman kept talking. “They’re throwing rocks and torches at the building! We have to get out!”

“Why?” Agustín asked.

“The broadcast. People are furious.”

“What broadcast?” He looked annoyed more than worried.

“ La guerra de los mundos ,” Beatriz said.

He pulled me up. “You have to leave. Right now.” He shoved me and my purse toward the staircase door. “Wait for me at the house!”

My last glance was of Marisa’s body crumpled in the corner of the foyer.