Page 55 of The Night We Became Strangers

Matías

I was fifteen minutes late for Valeria’s wedding.

The traffic around me had come to a sudden halt.

Hitting the steering wheel and honking relentlessly didn’t work, even though several of us had more or less resorted to the same frustrated measures.

I got out of the car and stormed ahead. There was a brutal crash involving a bus and two vehicles.

No sign of moving anytime soon. Normally, I would’ve stayed to help, but these were no regular circumstances.

I returned to my car and attempted to park by a curb.

Conventional wisdom said the bride was always late, so I was counting on Valeria following the old tradition and not rushing to make the biggest mistake of her life.

Unfortunately, everything seemed to be running on course when I’d stopped by her house in the morning and the maid told me the bride-to-be went to get her hair done.

I locked my car and strode toward the church, but no matter how much I hustled or how many people I dodged, I was still late.

When I finally arrived at Iglesia de San Francisco, the church was empty except for exotic arrangements of lilies and orchids at the end of every pew.

I double-checked my watch. It was 12:30 p.m. According to an invitation I’d snatched from a reporter who’d gone to school with Félix, the ceremony was scheduled at noon.

I imagined the service would’ve started already, but not end so quickly.

My steps echoed inside the cavernous nave of the basilica as I looked for someone—anyone—to give me a hint as to where the bride and groom and all their entourage went.

As I advanced through the nave, I expected to see a few guests remaining, or at the very least, the satisfied priest who’d just united two souls for eternity, but I was completely alone in the incense-saturated sanctuary. I didn’t even encounter a church mouse.

This was one of the oldest and most grandiose structures in our city.

Like many churches in downtown Quito, it had taken decades to be completed—this one over 150 years—so it had gone through several phases, resulting in a notorious combination of architectural styles: Mannerism and Renaissance in the facade, Baroque and Mudéjar in the interior details, particularly the lavishly carved columns and intricate ceiling.

It was impossible, after just one visit, to note every detail—every cherubim engraved on the golden archways, every sculpture and painting of a saint, every depiction of Christ, every star gracing the dome above the altar.

I’d meant to write a series of articles about the impressive constructions in downtown Quito, but I’d been too distracted to begin the project.

But who cared about architecture at a time like this?

Apparently, the ceremony was over quickly.

Perhaps, I’d mistaken the time. I felt my back pocket for the invitation, but I’d left it in the car.

It was entirely possible that Valeria was a married woman now.

I had the urge to curse out loud, but the various holy men surrounding me made it impossible.

I left the church before my dark thoughts set in.

I was disconcerted. Perhaps I’d gotten the church wrong—not an impossibility, since there were dozens of religious buildings in historic downtown.

Now I doubted that I’d read the right location.

I didn’t even remember where the reception was going to be held—I hadn’t thought that far ahead, as I had planned to stop this nonsense during the ceremony.

The only option was to go back to Valeria’s house and get some answers from the maid.

I certainly didn’t want to sit at home and mope.

I had to do something . Undoubtedly, it would be faster to walk to her house than attempt to unbury my car from the mountains of traffic and drive. I headed over there with long strides.

By the time I reached the Anzures home, I was sweating—not the best look to persuade anyone to give me information about the wedding, or worse yet, to convince Valeria to annul her recent marriage and choose me instead.

I rang the doorbell several times, but nobody answered. The maid must have gone to the reception or gotten the rest of the day off.

Of course, Valeria wouldn’t be here. She was at her reception celebrating, and I, the biggest idiot on the planet, had been late while the woman I loved started a new life with someone else.