Page 50 of The Night We Became Strangers

Valeria

O ne week before my wedding, I finally had a chance to be alone with my future mother-in-law.

So far, Tía Marga had made it impossible for me to talk to Mrs. Recalde about my mother, since she had been there every step of the way: from picking flowers and choosing invitations to talks with the parish priest, visits from my fiancé, and the dreadful task of making a guest list. I only had a few guests of my own: Dona Amparito and my friends from school, but I had resisted sending out their invitations as I still believed and hoped—deep down in my heart—that something would stop this farce.

And yet, the days were passing by with unrelenting speed and all my commitments with Mrs. Recalde and Tía Marga had made it impossible for me to come up with a plan for an escape.

At night, I would come up with alternatives and solutions that I hadn’t yet dared to try: I could run away when I went with Graciela to the market, or ask for a job at a photography studio I’d spotted on one of our walks, or find my father and beg him to take me to Lima with him.

At least today, I would finally have a chance to speak freely with Mrs. Recalde about my mother and, hopefully, uncover the truth about her.

For the first time since the wedding preparations had begun, Tía Marga didn’t deem it necessary to attend my dress fitting, so I had Mrs. Recalde all to myself.

I couldn’t deny that the gown was coming out beautifully.

The bodice was made out of fitted lace all the way to the long sleeves.

A thick satin band, wrapped around my waist, gave way to a full organza skirt.

As a final touch, Dona Berenice placed a tulle veil on my head.

If only I could wear this dress to marry Matías, but he might never propose.

I hadn’t even seen him since our little escapade—not under my uncle’s watchful eye.

“What do you think?” the seamstress told my future suegra .

“Perfect, Dona Berenice. You’ve outdone yourself!”

They both turned to look at my reflection in the mirror—at the fraud I had become. Getting married to someone I didn’t love. And for what? Financial security? Appearances?

“Come to my house for tea,” Mrs. Recalde said. “That way you can see Félix.”

I agreed immediately. This was my chance to ask what, if anything, she knew about my mother’s last days.

I decided to approach the subject in the car. Even though her driver was listening, it would be better than Félix or Mr. Recalde being present.

“Dona Caridad,” I said.

She sat by my side in the back seat of her fancy car.

“The other day you mentioned you had met my mother.”

“Yes. She did a few commercials for us.”

From what I remember of my childhood, voice actors and actresses got jobs at different radio stations to do spots or shows since it was difficult to make a living exclusively from their profession.

My mom had moved from one station to another until she married my father and fully committed to the radioteatro at Radio La Voz.

“She was so talented,” Félix’s mom said.

“Were you friends with her?”

“I wouldn’t call her a friend, but she knew who I was. She was always pleasant and kind to me.”

“What about Alicia de Montero? Do you know her?”

“Of course. We all know each other.”

“But you’re not close.”

“No. Alicia was always more difficult. It was hard to believe she was such good friends with your mother, who was so approachable. Of course, the rumors didn’t help their relationship.”

“What rumors?”

“Oh,” she waved a hand, “let’s not talk about that. It’s all in the past. I shouldn’t have even brought it up.”

“Please tell me more. I lost her when I was so young. I’m eager to know about her.”

She looked out the window as we were leaving downtown.

“Please?” I said.

“Oh, people are horrible. They love to gossip, and there was a time when they liked to say that Agustín Montero and Marisa were too close for their own good.”

“And you believe that?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know anything about them, but Agustín was a complicated man.”

“What do you mean?”

“You know, he was so young when he took over the administration of Crónicas. His father was in a fatal traffic accident and passed away shortly after, so Agustín had to take charge with hardly any preparation. That’s a lot of responsibility for someone so young that also happened to have a new wife and a small son. ”

What did youth have to do with fidelity?

“What are you saying?” I told her.

“That I wouldn’t put it past him to have an affair. Men are different than us, especially in our country. But I don’t think your mother was like that. She struck me as a decent woman. I don’t think she would’ve done that to your father or her closest friend.”

The Recaldes’ mansion came into view, which meant our conversation was about to come to an end. She turned toward me, rather abruptly.

“Have you met Beatriz Lara?”

The question was so unexpected, I didn’t even understand who she was talking about.

“She was my neighbor during those years,” she said.

What did Beatriz have to do with my mother, or this conversation?

“I know she was an actress,” I said, cautiously. “She was my mother’s understudy.”

“Yes. Agustín used to visit her, you know.”

“Really?” I asked. “And whereabouts did you live then?”

“Oh, across from Hospital San Juan de Dios. Her house was cobalt blue. Unmistakable.”

We parked in the driveway and the driver opened the door for her.

“Do you know if she was there that night?” I asked her.

“What night?”

“The night the radio, you know, the night they died.”

She looked at me with an unreadable expression. “I don’t know, mijita , but I wouldn’t be surprised if she was.”

I barely participated in the conversation during tea, and I only had one alfajor .

Fortunately, Félix and his mother filled all the silences as she updated her son with our progress for the wedding preparations.

I nodded occasionally, while Félix kept his eyes on me.

But my mind was elsewhere. I was still thinking about what Dona Caridad had been saying about Beatriz Lara and making connections as though I was putting together a jigsaw puzzle.

When Félix offered to take me home, I promptly agreed and thanked his mother for all her kindness. Despite my reservations, I was starting to like her. She was certainly opinionated and somewhat crass, but so far, she had treated me with affability, which was more than I could say for Matías’s mom.

“Do you know we’re getting married on a full moon?” Félix said, after several attempts at small talk that I had dodged. “It’s supposed to bring abundance and f-f-f-fertility.” He avoided my gaze as he said this last part. I was surprised he knew—or cared—about moon cycles and myths.

“Yes. I’ve heard the full moon is ideal for starting new endeavors,” I said, barely present. “That’s why they say you should cut your hair on a full moon for it to grow faster and healthier.”

An idea occurred to me.

“You know what, Félix?” I said. “I almost forgot I have a hair appointment in fifteen minutes. Could you drop me off at the salon instead of my uncle’s house?”

“Sure …” he said, dumbfounded. “But I don’t think there’s a full moon tonight.”

“That’s all right, I’ll take my chances,” I said, perking up as my plan took shape in my mind.

“How will you g-g-get home? Should I wait for you or pick you up later?”

“No, no, don’t worry about me. It’s only a couple of blocks from the house. I can walk.”

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely.” This plan had given me an energy I’d been lacking all week.

Hesitantly, Félix parked next to Peluquería Florencia. He tried to give me a kiss before I stepped out of the car, but I pretended not to notice and opened the car door.

“Thank you, Félix. Have a wonderful evening!” I shut the door and waved at him before walking into the beauty salon, where a row of women sat with their heads under hair dryers, looking like extraterrestrial creatures.

“How can I help you?” A slim woman with an arrogant smirk said.

“Can I borrow your telephone?”

“Are you going to purchase any of our services?”

I looked around. “What’s the quickest thing?”

“We could wax your eyebrows.”

I brought a hand to my eyebrows. They had always been on the thicker side, and I’d never even considered reshaping them, but I so desperately needed the phone. I couldn’t waste this opportunity.

“All right,” I said. “But let me make my call first.”

The woman pointed at a teal phone, and I asked the operator to call Crónicas.

“You look different,” Matías said as I glided out of the salon, feeling like a new woman with my new polished eyebrows.

“In a good or bad way?”

“Let’s say that if there weren’t all these people around us, I would give you a kiss.”

Well, that was reassuring. I was so excited to see him after so many days, I fought the urge to hug him.

Before any of my family’s acquaintances saw me there, I entered his sedan.

Quito may have grown in the last few years but, at its core, it was still a small town where people in neighborhoods knew each other.

“Tell me again where we’re going?” he said, getting into the driver’s seat.

I hadn’t been able to explain my entire plan to him over the phone, but my conversation with Caridad Recalde had given my investigation a new direction. I gave him the address to the blue house.

Along the way, I explained who Beatriz Lara was and what Mrs. Recalde had told me about her. It didn’t escape my attention that he frowned when I mentioned Félix’s last name.

“So, are you set on marrying him?” he said.

“Can we not talk about that now?”

If he wasn’t going to contribute to the solution, then I definitely didn’t want to discuss my ominous fate with him.