The Fountains of Silence(102)

Eighteen years. He could have returned to Spain. But he didn’t. He could have accepted magazine assignments in Madrid. But didn’t. Instead, he remained miles away, both in geography and relationships. Photography kept him on the road, making it easy to be alone. He hopped from assignment to assignment, continent to continent. He developed film in the sea, broke his leg jumping from a helicopter, and worked through two bouts of dengue fever. Fellow Texans referred to him as intrepid, venturous, mysterious. When he returned home to Preston Hollow, people whispered.

Poor Daniel. No wife. He lost his mother to cancer. What did he see covering Vietnam? Had he been jilted by a fiancée along the way? So eligible, especially since he cut his long hair. The casserole committee came out in force.

“My daughter, Fern, made this Stroganoff for you. She isn’t married either.”

“You remember Alice. She’s quite recovered from her episodes.”

“Call me sometime. We could have a drink,” said Laura Beth.

“The sweet girl in Madrid,” his mother commented quietly one Christmas. “It probably wouldn’t have worked. The divide was too wide. Memories are hungry, tesoro. You mustn’t feed them. I’d hate to think that a teenage fling might leave you alone for the rest of your life.”

Ben never called it a fling. He understood. He scheduled intersections with Daniel’s assignments whenever he could to reminisce.

“Our summer in Madrid, Dan. That summer in Madrid! I’m counting down to the ‘I told you so.’”

The card from Nick gave him hope. Cristina’s interest gave him courage. Nick was elated to learn of their visit.

Daniel releases a breath, trying to loosen the tightness that’s lived in his chest for eighteen years. He looks out the oval window of the plane.

Behind the tall glass terminal window waits his father. He stands, staring at the jet, Stetson clutched in his hands. Daniel squints to sharpen his view.

Despite their many differences, he and his father do have one thing in common.

They love their family.

Daniel buckles his seat belt. He’s really doing it. He’s returning to Madrid.





134



“There he is! Over here, cowboy.”

Nick Van Dorn stands in the arrivals hall of the airport with a young woman. He’s older and journey-weathered, but has the same darting eyes and mischievous exuberance. He slaps Daniel into a hug.

“Not fair. You haven’t even aged!” says Nick. “I expected you to look mealy and road-torn like the people you photograph. Or maybe my ego hoped the Marlboro Man would pickle a bit.” He laughs. “This is my secretary, Ruth.”

“Nice to meet you, ma’am,” nods Daniel.

“Texas. Nothing but ‘yes ma’am’ and ‘no sir’ from this guy,” says Nick to Ruth. “So, where’s the baby sister? Did she get fed up with you already?”

Daniel waves to Cristina who approaches. “There she is.”

Nick’s face loses animation. “That’s not your little sister,” whispers Nick.

“Yes, that’s Cristina. And hey, eyes off. She’s eighteen, but barely.”

“No, I didn’t mean—”

“I know exactly what you meant.” Daniel laughs. “You haven’t changed at all, Nick.”

“Buenas tardes, Se?or Van Dorn! I’m so happy to finally meet you!” says Cristina. Her extended hand hovers, ungrasped, while Nick just stares. “Oh, forgive me, we’re in Spain!” she says. “We’ll kiss on the cheek, of course.”

She turns to greet Ruth. “Buenas tardes, I’m Cristina Matheson. Daniel’s sister.”

“Such a pleasure to meet you, Se?orita Matheson,” says Ruth. “I work for Mr. Van Dorn. On behalf of the embassy, welcome to Madrid.” Ruth retrieves a massive bouquet of flowers from the chair.

“?Qué bonito! Gracias!” says Cristina.

While the women chat about the flowers, Nick’s brow twists in confusion.

“What is it?” asks Daniel.

“Nothing.” Nick looks from Cristina to Daniel. “I guess I’m . . . just surprised that so much time has passed and we’re all adults.”



* * *





Daniel takes in the scenery as Nick drives them to the hotel. Things have changed. Women wear pants and sleeveless tops on the street. There are cars of every color. Foreign magazines appear on corner newsstands.

“You still fighting?” asks Nick.

“Fighting?” calls Cristina from the back seat.

“He means boxing,” replies Daniel.

“You didn’t know, Cristina? Your brother’s a brawler. He hits harder than any drink,” laughs Nick. “Don’t tell me you never threw a punch while on assignment, Dan. You had to protect your camera gear, right?”

“Well, maybe once or twice. What about you, Nick? Are you still fighting?” Daniel laughs.

“Of course I am. Life’s a fight. Speaking of, I’m sure you read about Shep and the New York campaign scandal. What a doozy. But somehow the guy always lands on his feet.”

Daniel thinks of the letters he wrote to the embassy and the State Department about Shep Van Dorn. Nothing came of them. Nick is right. Guys like Shep always seem to land on their feet. He should have decked him when he had the chance.