Chapter 64 Chapter 64
Chapter 64 Chapter 64
Six women and a baby attended the bachelorette party.
Carla at the head of the table with Carlos clinging to her chest, Marcela across from her with her face freshly made up for the occasion, Gloria on the left with a glass of water she insisted on keeping full, two of Carla’s old friends from Mount Sinai sitting at the far end, and Laura on the right, with a baby bump that had reached six full months that very week, her feet propped up on a stool that Marcela had placed there without asking permission.
“My love.”
“Marcela.”
“No alcohol tonight. Not a single drink.”
“Marcela, I haven’t touched alcohol in six months—you’re not going to remind me of that.”
“I remember it all the same.”
Carla laughed from the head of the bed, with Carlos pressed against her left shoulder and her palm resting on the baby’s nape with the calmness of women who’d spent four months learning to hold someone without thinking about how to hold them.
—Marcela, leave her alone. Lau, if you want a drink, sneak one behind my husband’s back. I’ll cover for you.
—Carla, Miguel’s in Brooklyn. You’re not covering for me at all.
“Well, it’s the thought that counts.”
Marcela motioned to Gloria to serve the iced tea. Gloria went out to the kitchen.
The party got off to a slow start, as things always do in big houses. Marcela had brought down three boxes from the attic filled with old things: photos from her own wedding, magazine clippings from the eighties, and a bridal veil she’d worn herself at twenty-two that smelled faintly of mothballs.
“Honey, put it on.”
“Marcela, that veil smells like a dead person.”
“I wore that veil when I married Cavalier’s father.”
“That’s why it smells like a dead person.”
Carla laughed so hard that Carlos woke up. Marcela did too, but she handed the veil to Laura anyway.
“Just put it on for five minutes, sweetheart. For the photo.”
Laura sighed, stood up—her belly swaying with the weight of her body—and let Marcela place the veil over her pulled-back hair. Marcela adjusted the edges. Carla took out her phone.
“Lau, stand up and hold your belly with both hands. Like the models.”
“Carla.”
“Like the models, I told you.”
“Like the models who are six months pregnant and wearing veils from the ’80s.”
“That’s it. Picture.”
Laura held her belly, smiled with her lips closed, and Carla took the photo. Then she took another one. Then she took five more. Marcela cried during the third one.
—Sweetheart, you look divine.
“Marcela, I look like a village virgin impregnated by the Holy Spirit.”
—Don’t blaspheme.
“It’s not blasphemy, it’s a description.”
Marcela told stories while Carla breastfed.
She told how Cavalier’s father had arrived late to church because of a business meeting in Boston. How Manuel had warned Marcela the day before that if her future grandson was even a minute late, she had every right not to wait for him. How Marcela had waited anyway, because she was already dressed and didn’t feel like messing up her hair.
“Honey, we Cavaliers are always late to church. But we always show up.”
“Marcela, what if your son is late?”
“If my son is late, my love, I’ll kill him myself.”
Carla laughed again. Carlos fell asleep on his left side.
One of the old friends from Mount Sinai pulled a box of heart-shaped chocolates out of her purse—a bachelorette party gift from ten years ago. Laura opened the box, handed two to Carla, two to Marcela, two to Gloria, and kept six for herself.
—Lau.
—Carla.
“I’m going to tell the new girls the story about the balcony.”
“Carla, no.”
“Yes. Marcela, do you know the one about the balcony?”
—I do.
—But the girls don’t.
Carla told the story of the balcony. The one about Cavalier giving a statement to the press with his arm freshly wounded by a bullet. The one about Laura stepping out from behind the doorframe in her stained uniform, grabbing him by the elbow to pull him back into the studio, and the look on the reporters’ faces when they realized that the newspaper’s nurse was the CEO’s new wife. The one about Manuel clapping quietly from the armchair.
The friends at Mount Sinai laughed for half an hour.
At 9:30 p.m., while Marcela was serving chamomile tea before bed, Laura put her hand to her chest.
“Carla.”
“Lau.”
“Wait.”
She brought her left hand to her sternum, over the thin chain she’d been wearing around her neck since the Riverdale rescue. A chain with a small clasp that Cavalier had given her along with the tracking ring, so she could wear it around her neck when it no longer fit on her finger due to pregnancy swelling—which was already starting to subside.
She pulled the chain upward to look at the ring.
The opaque crystal in the center—which Cavalier had explained was the chip—had been emitting the same faint, almost imperceptible green light for the past three weeks, visible only when someone looked directly at it.
Not anymore.
Now the light was off.
Three seconds.
Then it came on.
It went out again for another second.
And it came back on again.
“Carla.”
“What’s going on?”
“Nothing. Wait.”
Laura stared at the glass for a full forty seconds. The light went out once more, for just a moment, before settling back into a steady glow.
“Honey.”
—Marcela.
“Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. But I want them to call me at Cavalier’s studio.”
Marcela stared at her for three seconds.
“Honey, my son’s on the phone with the accountant. He’ll be out in fifteen minutes.”
“Tell him to leave right now.”
“Okay.”
Marcela went out into the hallway and asked Gloria to let the studio know.
Cavalier went up to the suite six minutes later. He closed the door to the room where Marcela had set up the party. Marcela took Carla and the baby out into the hallway without arguing. The friends from Mount Sinai went to the kitchen.
“Laura.”
“Cavalier.”
“What’s going on?”
“The tracker.”
He showed her the ring hanging from the chain.
—Look.
Cavalier leaned in. He looked at the crystal for five seconds. He waited. The light remained steady.
“It’s on, Laura.”
“Wait.”
They waited together for a full minute.
The light didn’t flicker.
“Cavalier.”
“Yes.”
“Twenty minutes ago, it flickered three times. Each time, it went out for a second and then came back on. They weren’t flashes. They were outages.”
Cavalier stared at the glass for three seconds.
“All right.”
—Cavalier.
“Yes.”
“Did anyone turn it off today?”
“No.”
—Are you sure?
—Laura, I activate that ring from my watch. No one turns it off without me knowing. And I didn’t turn it off.
—Okay.
—But I’ll tell you one thing.
—Go ahead.
—I’m going to check it with Derek tonight. Sometimes the chips malfunction due to temperature. If it’s too cold or too hot, they flicker. That already happened two months ago.
—Okay.
Pause.
—Cavalier.
—Yes.
“Take it off.”
—What?
“Take it off me. I want you to take it to Derek tonight. Have him check it out. And tomorrow morning, either bring it back to me or tell me it’s no good.”
—All right.
Cavalier unfastened the clasp of the chain with two fingers, slipped the ring off the chain, and tucked it into his jacket pocket.
“Laura.”
“Yes.”
“Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, Cavalier. But something doesn’t sit right with me.”
“Good.”
He kissed her on the forehead and left the room.
Carla returned to the suite with Carlos asleep in her arms.
“Lau.”
“Carla.”
“What happened to your husband?”
“The tracker ring flashed three times. He took it to Derek to have it checked.”
“Lau.”
—Yeah.
—My love.
—Carla, don’t make that face.
“I’m making that face because I’m making it.”
Long pause.
—Lau.
—Yes.
“One question.”
—Go ahead.
“Do you trust that Marcelo won’t come back?”
Laura put both hands on her stomach. Three seconds.
“Carla, my husband has him under 24-hour surveillance ten thousand kilometers away. Derek confirms that to me once a week. Cavalier confirms it to me every Monday at breakfast.”
—Lau.
—Yes.
“That’s not the question. The question is whether you trust him.”
Long pause.
—I hope so, friend.
“I hope so too, Lau.”
Carla kissed her forehead with her free hand, adjusted the empty necklace around her neck, and went down to the room Marcela had prepared for her to spend the night with Carlos.
Cavalier didn’t return to the suite until after eleven.
Laura was already lying on her left side, her hand on her belly, the empty chain still hanging from her neck.
“Cavalier.”
“Laura.”
“Derek?”
“Derek took the ring down to the basement. He’s going to check it out tonight. We’ll know tomorrow morning.”
“Okay.”
—But I want to tell you something.
—Go ahead.
Cavalier sat down on the edge of the bed. He took her left hand.
“Before Derek went down to the basement, he told me something else.”
“What was it?”
“The guard at the south gate saw a man standing on the corner at 5:10 this afternoon, staring at the front of the mansion for six minutes. No camera. No phone. Just standing there, staring. Then he walked away. The street camera recorded him, but you can’t see his face.”
Pause.
“Cavalier.”
—Yes.
—Does that happen often?
—No, Laura. That doesn't happen often.
—So what, then?
“Then tomorrow morning, the two of us will have a conversation alone in the studio. Without Marcela. Without Manuel. Without Derek. Just you and me.”
“About what?”
Cavalier stared at the blanket for three seconds.
“About something that came to me three weeks ago and that I haven’t told you yet.”
—Cavalier.
—Yes.
“This is the fourth time you’ve kept something from me before the time was right.”
“I know.”
—But it’s the first time I’m telling you voluntarily, before you find out on your own. That difference, Laura, is no small thing.
—Okay.
—All right.
He turned off the lamp.
And while the mansion fell asleep and Carla breastfed in the back room and Marcela knitted a pink shawl in the west wing, Laura lay on her back with her hand on her belly, staring at the ceiling, free of the weight of the ring around her neck for the first time in four weeks, counting down the hours until she found out what her husband had been keeping to himself for twenty-one days.