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“Vincente and Afonso buried her at the edge of the woods and put a covered fence over the area so that animals wouldn’t dig up her remains. After Vincente left, I made my husband dig her up and we took her body to the Church of the Immaculate Conception. We buried her in a pauper’s grave. I have a yearly Mass for her soul on the anniversary of her death, and for years I kept the area around the grave in good condition. But now—” She points at her legs.
“Did the priest know who she was or what had happened?” Because if so, I’ll burn that goddamn church to the ground.
“I don’t think so. We told him that she was a woman who had run from her husband and took shelter in the barn.”
“Where in the cemetery is the grave?”
She gets up, and I follow her to a small decorative table with a statue of the Blessed Virgin, a prayer candle, and a Bible. She opens the Bible and pulls out the coordinates of the burial site, and presses the paper into my hand.
“Take care of her,” she says softly. “She was a good woman.”
I don’t know whether to thank her or to bury my knife in her chest. In the end, I do neither.
As I open the door to leave, Senhora Costa tells me one last thing. “Your mother spoke of you and your brother that night. She worried that your father had his hooks too deep into your brother. At first, she contemplated suicide, so as not to involve her sister. She was worried about Lydia going up against her husband and your father. But in the end, she couldn’t bear to leave you. She loved you, and your brother too, but while she feared it was too late for him, she believed you could still be saved.”
Up until now, I’ve managed to swallow the emotion, by rolling it in vitriol, but it’s precariously close to getting the better of me.
I turn and leave without another word.
* * *
Not sure how I got to the cemetery. It’s a blur.
She believed you could still be saved. It’s all I allow myself to think about—the idea of her dying alone, in a cage, is too much to take in right now.
I pull up in front of the unassuming white church and get out of the car. No one’s around to stop me. Not that anyone could stop me. I have a purpose now, and that purpose is helping to keep the worst of my emotions in check, but it wouldn’t take much to derail me.
The frogs are croaking as I go around back to the cemetery. With a heavy heart, I scale the fence, and follow the coordinates to my mother.
It doesn’t take me long to find her.
The grave consists of a flat stone that the earth has grown around, almost swallowing the humble marker. It doesn’t have her name, just the words Loving Mother and the date of her death.
I plant my feet—more uncomfortable than I’ve ever been—unsure what to do. I’m not the kind of man who prays. God isn’t a part of my life.
Eventually, I lower myself to my haunches and gently wipe the dust from the stone. Loving Mother.
She was.
When my thighs ache from the crouched position, I sink down into the unkempt grass. The silence is uneasy as I struggle to find my way.
The moon is a glowing crescent and the stars shine bright, too, but they have no answers for me, and they offer no guidance.
“I’ve missed you,” I whisper, in a quiet prayer. “I hope you’re somewhere safe with Tia Lydia and Maria Rosa for company. Somewhere where no one can hurt you.”
I feel the sting behind my eyes, and on a sniff, I push it away.
“You have a granddaughter,” I continue, telling her about Valentina. “She’s beautiful and sweet and looks so much like you that sometimes it takes my breath away.”
At first, I have trouble forming the words, but once I start, they come spilling out.
“I met a woman. Her name is Alexis Clarke. Everyone calls her Lexie, but I call her Angel. She’s beautiful, and courageous, and full of goodness and spunk. Her soul is a lot like yours. Actually, she’s so much like you—or at least what I imagine you would have been like if you’d been allowed to follow your heart and speak your mind. You’d love her.”
I’m quiet for a while, until the heaviness in my chest returns, as though there’s more I need to tell her.
“I don’t hurt women or children, but I’m not a good man.” It’s hard to admit, because she wanted that for me. “It’s not my destiny. Although even with all my flaws, and I have plenty, I do have honor. You weren’t here to save me, but Antonio stepped in. He taught me to be the kind of man that would, mostly, make you proud.”
The sky gets dark, before the rain begins. It’s just a drizzle, but even so, my shirt eventually sticks to my body. But I don’t move from the ground.
