“I’m still waiting for Tom to arrive back from America so I can tell him face-to-face.” Carla’s lips wobbled and she found it difficult to speak. She looked down and tried to use her hair as a shield to cover her distressed face. When her tears threatened to escape again, she overzealously rearranged a bouquet. “I’ll make us both coffee,” she said, avoiding eye contact as she headed for the door.
In the kitchen, she made their drinks and tried not to spill the cups when she carried them back into her office.
She found Diego standing in front of her framed business ethos. “This is interesting and very noble,” he said as he read it.
Carla sighed and plonked herself down in her chair. “After my divorce, I thought I’d engineered a solution to prevent people from getting hurt. I’ve since realized it’s going to happen anyway.”
“This is life,” Diego agreed. He surveyed her many cards. “Bad things happen and you deal with them the best way you can at the time. Your clients appear to love what you’ve done for them.”
His kindness brought a lump to Carla’s throat, and the emotion she’d been holding back suddenly overflowed. A desperate and feral-sounding noise burst out of her, and tears cascaded down her cheeks.
“Oh dear.” Diego fumbled for a cotton handkerchief in his pocket and pressed it into her hand. “I did not mean to upset you.”
“Thanks,” Carla said, between gulps of air. “It’s not you, honestly. It’s all me.”
“It is okay. Please take your time. You have nothing to apologize for.” He picked up her cup and handed it to her gently. “Take a sip of this.”
His calmness and the warmth of her coffee helped Carla’s pulse to gradually slow. “You can tell you’re a doctor.” She softly laughed through her tears.
Diego circled the room to give her a bit of space, intermittently glancing back over his shoulder to check on her. He stopped when his eyes settled upon a photo of Carla, Jess and Suzette. Jess was tiny and Carla had both arms wrapped around their mum’s neck.
Carla dabbed her eyes with Diego’s handkerchief. “I think Mum would be horrified that I’ve been trying to rationalize love. She was a free spirit.”
“I remember...” Diego smiled and she could tell his thoughts took him elsewhere. “You do look like her,” he said. “You have the same hair and eyes. It was tragic that she died so young.”
Carla felt a familiar stab in her rib cage and wanted to rub it away. “It was thirty-two years ago and I still miss her every day.”
Diego nodded. “She was very proud of you and Jess.”
Carla hesitated and frowned. One by one, the hairs on the back of her neck stood to attention and she tried to assemble some time frames in her head. Her senses became more alert and something was telling her to question Diego. “My mother left Spain before I was born. When did she mention Jess to you? My sister is eight years younger than me...”
Diego’s Adam’s apple bobbed and he took a quick gulp of his coffee. His eyes shifted as he thought of his reply. “No doubt Suzette wrote to Barbara and told her of such things.”
Carla shook her head, knowing this was unlikely. Her mum had been diagnosed when Jess was one year old. In the midst of such devastating news, all while caring for a baby and a young child, would Suzette really have written to an old friend in Spain? One she hadn’t seen for years and that Carla hadn’t even known existed? Was proud a word Suzette would have used to describe her baby? A mist swirled in Carla’s mind, not allowing her to see clearly yet. “How well did you actually know my mum?”
A look of longing in Diego’s eyes was fleeting, but Carla spotted it. The feeling in her belly intensified. “Were you once together?” she asked him.
Diego froze then nodded slightly.
Carla feverishly calculated more dates in her head. She noticed the aquiline shape of Diego’s nose and his curly hair. Ever since she’d met him, he’d felt somehow familiar, like there was more she should know about him. She’d seen him in photographs with Babs and Suzette, a friendship that had resulted in him and Babs falling in love in Spain. Had there been more to the trio’s story than that?
Carla was overcome by a realization so strong she almost didn’t dare to ask her next question. It seemed too big, too monumental, but deep down inside, she knew it was right. “Are you...my father?”
Diego screwed his eyes shut, his features stationary as he took in this moment. A lone tear escaped and wound down his face. “Yes,” he whispered. “I believe that I am.”
The earth suddenly stopped spinning for Carla.
Her breath faltered as she tried to begin to process this unexpected news. She wanted to skip, sing and cry at the same time. She tried not to look at Diego because she didn’t think she’d be able to stop. Did he have a kink in the left-hand side of his hair that wouldn’t lay flat? Did he love cherries but hate strawberries? Did he eat omelets but didn’t like eggs on their own?
But she also felt a surge of abandonment. Why had Diego lived in Spain for so many years without reaching out to her? He’d known about her all this time, but she didn’t know about him. He hadn’t been there to put Band-Aids on her knee, or to comfort her after her mum’s death. She had so many questions and didn’t know where to begin.
She stole another look at him.
He’s my dad?
Diego upturned his palms. “I have been wondering how to tell you, if I should tell you...”
Carla reached out for her desk to anchor herself. “What happened between you and Mum? Why didn’t I know anything about this, about you, until now?” Her emotions veered from joy to anger, then back again.
“I should sit down,” Diego suggested. “So I can tell you the full story.”
Carla couldn’t feel her limbs as they faced each other across her desk.
“As you know, my parents rented an apartment in Lloret to Barbara and Suzette, many years ago,” Diego began. “I remember they were fun girls, both so adventurous. They were always diving, or dancing, and laughing together, though I noticed Suzette had a quieter, more studious side that wasn’t so apparent to others. There seemed to be a weight on her shoulders that she carried around.
“I used to call at the apartment each week to collect their rent money and to also make sure they weren’t having any parties. One of my parents’ former tenants set fire to the kitchen in the property, so they were wary about young people staying there.
“Suzette was sometimes alone when I called, and we talked about the best places to visit in Barcelona. I liked how she was hungry for knowledge and she quizzed me all about my family, telling me that hers was very superstitious. She showed me her eye pendant—the one you’ve been wearing—and claimed it protected her. Your mother informed me she and Barbara had attracted some unwanted attention on their travels and wanted to learn a Spanish phrase or two to respond.”
“What did you teach her?” Carla asked, touching the broken chain that lay on her desk.
“It is a long time ago, but I still remember. Eres tan feo que hiciste llorar a una cebolla. It means ‘you’re so ugly you made an onion cry.’”
Carla let out a laugh she didn’t expect. “I thought it might be something far worse.”
He smiled. “I may have taught her those things, too. Your mother was easy to talk to and I liked her company very much. We talked and laughed over glasses of wine, and things slowly developed between us. It made me very happy.” Diego’s eyes then clouded. “Suzette told me not to tell Barbara about our special friendship.”
His beleaguered look told Carla that Babs still didn’t know about Diego’s relationship with Suzette. “Why not?” she asked hesitantly.
