Chapter 31: Discomfort

Santiago

After I spoke his words, the air was charged with a tension as if the hands of a clock had stopped turning. There was already a silence, but it became even heavier. Only the sound of the cup being placed on the plate after taking a sip, or the sound of the teaspoon being stirred after adding sugar to the tea to mix it all together, can be heard. The silence was already there, but now it's even heavier. Only the sound of the cup being placed on the plate after taking a sip, or the sound of the teaspoon being stirred after adding sugar to the tea to mix it all together, can be heard.

We say nothing, as if even the walls are holding our breath. My godmother, sitting on her chair, suddenly stands up and I watch her walk towards the living room window, her trembling hands clasped together.

I sense that something is afoot, a revelation that could change the course of my life. She opens her mouth, ready to speak, but before she can utter a word, a shudder runs through her body. Her eyes widen, and for a moment I can see the fear in her face. Sitting at the solid wood table, covered with a checkered tablecloth, I continue to stare at her, tapping my fingers, and decide to break the ice.

"Aren't you saying anything anymore?" I finally say.

Then everything changes. She freezes, her face goes pale, and in a desperate movement, she collapses. The sound of her fall echoes through the room, a tragic echo that startles me. My heart races as I rush towards her, my feet slipping on the cold tiles. The atmosphere has turned suffocating, as if the air itself has become heavy with grief and worry. I lean over her, trying to understand what has just happened. Her breath is ragged, and I graze her forehead with my fingertips, trying to collect the warmth of her skin.

"Godmother! Can you hear me?" I shout, holding her in my arms.

Why now? Why at a time when I need answers so badly? The questions swirl in my mind, colliding with the reality of her discomfort. I scan his face, looking for signs of life, clues that might explain this sudden tragedy.

Memories of our past conversations, unrevealed secrets, hidden truths, flood into my mind. Anxiety grips my chest as I realize that this moment, this weighty silence, could be the turning point I've been dreading. I keep shouting her name for her to wake up, my voice broken with urgency, hoping she'll come to, that she'll finally be able to give me the answers I'm desperately seeking.

An hour later..

After calling the doctor, I helped her up and into her room. She lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling. The doctor diagnosed a simple drop in blood pressure, but I knew that wasn't all that was distressing her. She asked me to come closer, her voice soft but trembling.

"Here's the medication she'll have to take. And you, dear lady, plenty of rest. On that note, this is where I take my leave of you. Don't hesitate to call me if you need me," says the doc, who picks up his satchel and heads to the exit. I walk him to the door.

"Thanks doc." I said, shaking his hand.

Once gone, I return to my godmother. She's lying quietly watching from the side.

"Are you feeling better?" I inquired as I entered the room.

"Yes, I'm fine. Can you bring me that box over there? she murmurs, her eyes landing on the second shelf of her half-open cupboard. It's an old wooden box that stood there, almost forgotten.

I walk over to the cabinet to take it to her. I discovered that it was sealed with a padlock from a bygone era. I took it out carefully, feeling the weight of its history. As I approached my godmother, I saw her bend over the top of her bedside table and pull out a small key. It's obvious for her to open the box.

"Please open it," she says, handing me the key with a small object attached that looks just as old.

The tarnished metal key shows signs of oxidation and rust, adding to its nostalgic charm. It hangs from a metal ring, which rattles gently when the object is handled. The object itself is a heart-shaped, weathered piece of wood, about five centimetres long. Its surface is rough, marked by scratches and imperfections. On one side, the initials "S.R" are meticulously engraved in simple yet elegant calligraphy, as if each letter had been sculpted with particular care.

"S.R? Who do these initials belong to?" I thought, as I put the key in the lock.

Once the box was opened, a smell of old paper and memories wafted out. Inside, old photos and letters yellowed by time, followed by objects that seemed to be loaded with stories. She straightens up and rummages through the box. I see the faces on the photos, the handwritten words, all telling me of a life I never knew. I can see that the object hanging on the little key intrigues you, and I know you're itching to know whose initials it is, aren't you?

There you go! You can't hide anything from her. With her neutral face, she pretends not to see anything, but in fact she's observing everything. A bit like me, I must say. Maybe I get it from her.

"I suppose you're going to tell me?"

"Sit down. This box contains a lifetime of memories and secrets. These are your mother's initials. Her name was Suzie Rivera.

I wanted to know everything about her. What she looks like, her hobbies, her tastes.

"What about these photos," I asked impatiently.

"One step at a time, kiddo."

"All right. Don't get upset."

She can be so susceptible sometimes. She must be aware that I want to know all the details.

"Your mother was a beautiful woman that many men liked to look at and that made your father jealous."

"Since you're talking in the past tense, does that mean you don't know anything about the empty coffin?"

"How should I know? Didn't you see that I fainted because you dumped that news in my face! You almost killed me," she shouts, annoyed.

In this case, I deserved to be reprimanded. As she's a treasure chest of secrets, I thought I'd tricked her, when as a matter of fact I'd done quite the opposite. I approach the bed, kneel down and take her hands.

"I'm sorry, godmother, because I thought you knew and you hid it from me.

"As you can see from what just happened, I didn't know your mother's grave was empty. Why did you dig it up? My God, may her soul rest in peace," she says, looking up.

That's what I'm going to find out. What if she's still alive," I declared, opening my eyes wide.

She looks at me puzzled, frowning, and remains silent for a moment before saying something.

Why would she hide herself when your father loved her like crazy. Even after he remarried, that gleam I saw in his eyes when Suzie was by his side faded.

She's got a point. My father isn't that affectionate with Mercedes. So he may not have anything to do with it, but knowing him well, I'm still going to be on my guard up.

"Keep this box in a safe place. When the time comes, you'll know the truth, and don't ask me any more questions, I'm tired," she says, snapping me out of my thoughts.

This box will be my strength to continue my mission and finally discover who my mother really was. The fact that she died in childbirth for giving me life is always hard to take, especially when my father keeps reminding me. But all is not lost until I know where my mother's body is. At least, that's what I hope.

Okay, I'll let you rest and I'll come back to see you in the late afternoon to bring you some of those sweets you like so much." I confided, kissing her on the forehead.

"If it's for treats, you can come as often as you want, but don't think you can win me over with that."

"Nonsense! It's just to please you. You see evil everywhere."

"With you, one never knows.”

"You think too much. Try to get some rest and thanks for the box. I'll come by with the doc.

"You don't have to, I'm fine.”

“Ah stop it, godmother!”

I leave the house, the box under my arm, and head for my car. A light breeze caressing my cheeks, I run my thumb over the initials engraved on this small piece of wood and I content myself, imagining that my mother is here, by my side.