Page 101 of The Wondrous Life and Loves of Nella Carter

Diego had been thrilled to come, and it was as if the world were brand new, seeing through his eyes the glaciers in Santa Cruz, dancing in the streets of Cali, Colombia, and hiking Machu Picchu in Peru. The time was ours to enjoy. It reminded me of taking steamers down to Monrovia on a whim. It also reminded me of my trips with Gabby and all the postcards. I didn’t revisit the places we’d been—that felt like it would be crossing a line—so I planned other places that Diego and I would travel to.

I had collected so many stories, recording them as evidence for Death of all the goodness that still existed. Diego was beside me as weexplored the region, learning and collecting. After learning how to make wood carvings in Antigua, Guatemala, he’d gifted me a wooden sun he’d made and painted gold, which now hung in the kitchen.

It hadn’t all been easy, though.

The longer I spent with him, the more questions he had. How did I know so many languages and dialects? That couldn’t be explained away with a Rosetta Stone CD. More than once, the question arose about my funds and how I could afford all this.

Anyone else would’ve been ecstatic to have a rich girlfriend with unlimited funds. Still, the more I knew Diego, the more I understood that having a sudden font of wealth would be a problem since I hadn’t shared the truth of my situation early on.

Diego was big on truth—his one nonnegotiable—because it turned out that Diego’s dad had lied.

A lot.

To Diego.

To Diego’s brothers and his sister.

To the people he owed money to.

But most of all, to Diego’s mom.

Despite the years of fighting and barely making ends meet, Diego’s mom, Luciana, had stuck by his father’s side, supporting the kids through her sewing business, making sure their family stayed whole. So when Raul died suddenly of a heart attack, Luciana planned a stellar funeral and ensured he would be remembered for the few good times.

Imagine her surprise when four other children and their mothers showed up at the funeral, the children’s ages ranging from nineteen to two.

She had a nervous breakdown in the middle of the church, never making it to the graveside service.

Diego had shared all this with me in a small rental in Tikal, Guatemala, as the rain poured down, having spoiled our plans to explore the ancient Mayan pyramids. So we were staying in bed watching satellite TV with terrible reception when the topic of lying came up.

“I’m not sure, Diego. Circumstances aren’t cut and dried, and sometimes lies can be necessary.” I was only speaking my truth. Lies made complicated lives easier, especially mine. They made my life work.

He had sat up, thrown his legs over the side of the bed, and faced the open window, watching the rain pour down. I moved to his side and watched the struggle over his face. I could never forget how haunted it was.

“I love you, Carmella. I do, but I’m sorry, I disagree. There’s no reason to lie—not ever.” And so, he told me all of Raul’s numerous lies.

About his gambling.

About losing that small house.

Pretending to work when he had already been fired.

Stealing the money Diego had saved for a school trip.

Drinking the grocery money away.

About hitting Luciana.

“If you can lie to your loved ones,” he said, “what else could you do?”

So I hadn’t told him.

Any of it.

I ignored that little red flag of truth.

I needed Diego and his light, his happiness, and his optimism. Traveling with him made everything special again and reinforced my work with Death. I promised myself I would break it to him gently when the time came.

I quickly chopped the parsley for the chimichurri sauce and thought about how I would do it. He loved me. It would be okay. Diego was forgiving and kind. I had nothing to worry about.