Chapter 7 - The Man Her Father Had Been
Clara had spent years dividing her father into two people.
The man who taught her to peel an orange in one long curl.
And the man who left her to answer the door.
She had never found a way to place them in the same memory.
Now an investigator sat across from her with a folder and explained that neither picture had been complete.
Her father had gambled.
He had owed money.
He had also kept books for men whose business involved much more than gambling.
At first, he had helped conceal transactions.
Later, when he realized what some of those transactions represented, he had begun copying records.
“Why?” Clara asked.
“We can’t tell you exactly what he intended.”
“Was he going to sell them?”
“Possibly. Or use them to protect himself. There are references to contacting someone outside the organization.”
Clara looked down at her hands.
She had wanted a clean answer.
An innocent father.
A cowardly father.
A living father she could confront.
The investigator’s expression told her the last possibility was gone before he said it.
Information recovered during the investigation had led authorities to evidence of her father’s death.
Further confirmation had taken time.
They had not wanted to tell her until they were certain.
Clara heard the words as though someone were speaking from the far end of a tunnel.
“How long?”
He answered.
Her father had died before she fled.
For eight months on the road, she had feared he might call and ask why she had abandoned him.
For years before that, she had wondered whether he was watching her struggle from somewhere safer.
He had been gone.
The relief inside the grief made her feel monstrous.
Maren noticed her expression.
“Whatever you’re feeling is allowed.”
Clara covered her face.
She cried for the man who carried her home when she fell asleep in the market.
She cried for the choices he made.
She cried because nobody had told an eighteen-year-old girl that a door was never going to open again.
Later, Isabella sat beside her without trying to interpret the loss.
After a while, Clara asked, “Can you love someone and be angry with them forever?”
“Yes.”
“That sounds exhausting.”
“It can be.”
Clara gave a broken laugh.
Isabella handed her a tissue.
“My brother told you the truth?”
“Some of it.”
“He’s trying to tell the rest now.”
“Do you trust him?”
Isabella considered.
“I trust what I’ve seen him do this week. He’ll have to earn next week separately.”
That answer stayed with Clara.
Meanwhile, Luca was located through the broader investigation and arrested without the confrontation Virgilio’s old crew had once expected to provide.
Rojas was taken into custody later.
There were other suspects, other records, and other women whose names Clara never learned.
The story was larger than her.
For the first time, that did not make her feel invisible.
It meant she was not alone.
Several weeks later, Clara asked to visit El Puente.
The damaged table had been removed.
She stood in the empty space where it had been.
Her ribs had healed enough that breathing no longer reminded her every minute.
Her body still remembered the room.
Virgilio waited near the office.
“Do you want me to leave?” he asked.
“No.”
She walked slowly toward the bar.
Mateo stood behind it.
He did not rush to apologize again.
He placed a glass of water within reach and stepped back.
Clara appreciated that more than she expected.
“I’m not coming back to work here,” she said.
Virgilio nodded.
“I understand.”
“I got a job at a bakery.”
“That’s good.”
“The owner knows some of what happened. She asked what hours I wanted.”
His mouth softened.
“What did you say?”
“Mornings.”
She smiled faintly.
“I want to see what a normal Tuesday looks like.”
He looked toward the windows.
“I hope it’s a good one.”
Clara studied him.
There was something between them now that frightened her for reasons unrelated to his reputation.
Attention.
Tenderness.
The possibility of wanting.
She refused to name it while her life was still being rebuilt around an injury.
Instead, she said, “You should call your sister when nothing is wrong.”
Virgilio looked surprised.
Then he nodded.
After she left, he did.
Isabella answered on the fourth ring.
“What happened?”
“Nothing.”
A pause.
“Then why are you calling?”
May you like
He looked at the empty place where the table had stood.
“I wanted to ask how your day was.”
