Page 61 of The Night We Became Strangers

E PILOGUE

Valeria

Two years later

I t was unconceivable that all these people were here for us.

Granted, many of them were family members: Matías’s parents and his maternal grandfather, my uncle and all his offspring, Graciela and her sailor, who’d finally come back and married her. But there were more than a dozen strangers, too.

The only one missing was my dad, but at least I’d had six months with him before he passed away, and he’d been a good guide and mentor for Matías and me as we embarked on this project.

Between bookshelves and chairs, there was hardly any room to move in the tiny downtown bookstore, but we were ecstatic.

As people formed a line to get copies of our book signed, I squeezed Matías’s arm.

“Can you believe this?”

“No,” he said, autographing the first page for one of our readers.

It had taken two years of hard work and investigation to get here.

Matías had come up with the concept: a book about the monumental churches in Quito.

He would write the text, and I would take the photographs.

It had been almost perfect, as my co-author and I had occasionally bumped heads, but in the end, we had this magnificent project in our hands.

I sat next to him to sign.

An old woman in a colorful dress approached us.

“I’ve been waiting so long to meet you, Valeria,” she said.

There was something familiar about the shape of her eyes, about her smile. But the book had just come out this week. We couldn’t possibly have admirers already. I smiled back, politely. She was an old woman; she was probably confusing me with someone else.

“To whom do I write this dedication?”

“Luisa de Vallejo,” she said.

I lifted my head. Vallejo had been my mother’s maiden name before they renamed her Del Valle and before she married my father and became an Anzures.

“Or you could just write grandmother .”

Matías stopped writing and raised his head, equally shocked. My grandmother had been missing for years . As the story went, she’d left my grandfather when my mom was still in her teenage years. Nobody had seen or heard from her in decades. And she was here—today?

Now that I examined her facial expressions, the way she squinted at me, the shape of her chin, I could see my mom’s features. “ Abuela ,” I repeated, uncertain of what else to say. “Where have you been? We didn’t think you were still alive.”

“I’ve been all over, querida . Traveling the world. Making art. In more recent years, I settled in the Galápagos.”

Matías and I exchanged a shocked look. Only adventurers and rogues lived there.

“I have a lovely little house in San Cristóbal. You’re both welcome to come, of course.

You’ll find the most marvelous views and creatures there—perfect for photographs, just as stunning as the ones in this book.

” She tapped the cover of her copy. “You’ve inherited my talent, mi reina .

I’m so proud of you and I know my Marisa would be proud of you, too. ”

The thought that my mother would’ve approved of me brought tears to my eyes. We didn’t have time to talk any more, but she left me a piece of paper with her address.

My crazy grandmother.

When everybody left the bookstore and all our books had sold out, I interlaced my fingers with Matías’s. “I think it’s time for us to start a new project.”

“By any chance, does this new project involve exotic animals and beaches?”

I offered my most convincing smile.

“Oh Lord, you’re serious.”

“You know you want to do it,” I said, poking his side.

Through the glass door, he looked after my grandmother’s bright dress as she stepped into a taxi. “When do you want to go?”