Through My Window(Hidalgos #1)(81)

When they hear our footsteps, they all look at us. I swallow as I see a question about my presence in their gazes, but when they notice our intertwined hands, something changes, and they seem to relax. Ares rushes to his father, and I let go of his hand.

“How is he?” Ares asks.

“Awake, the neurologist is evaluating him, talking to him, you know, the checkup before doing other tests.”

“Will we be able to see him tonight?”

Ares doesn’t bother to hide the concern and uncertainty in his voice. I know that he’s desperate to know how much the stroke has affected his grandfather.

“I think so,” his father replies, relaxing his shoulders. I stand back, not knowing what to say or do. Ares turns toward me, and his father’s eyes follow his movement.

“Dad, this is Raquel, my girlfriend.”

Girlfriend.

The word leaves his lips naturally, and I notice how he remembers about us starting out as friends, but before he can take it back, I smile at his father.

“Nice to meet you, sir. I hope Grandfather Hidalgo recovers soon,” I say. He just smiles back at me.

“Nice to meet you. You’re Rosa’s daughter, aren’t you?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Sir? You make me feel old.” Although he smiles, the joy doesn’t reach his eyes. “Call me Juan.”

“Sure.” He seems to be a genuinely nice man and that confuses me; I was expecting a bitter, arrogant old man. Although I guess I should have guessed as much when Ares told me about him last night.

My father was the only one who decided not to live off my grandfather’s money. He accepted money to start his business and when he became successful, he paid my grandfather back. I think that’s why my grandfather was always closer to us. In a way, he respected my father.

Juan has fought and worked hard to get to where he is now, and I think that speaks very well of him. I wonder what happened behind closed doors that caused Ares’s mom to be unfaithful to him and careless enough to let her son witness it. I always thought that men were the ones who screwed up homes. I know, it’s a terrible generalization, and now I realize that it’s not like that; mistakes that ruin lives can be made by both genders.

I nod at Artemis and Apolo, who smiles back. Artemis doesn’t look like the type to pick a fight with someone. He always looks so regal, mature, and cool. Or maybe I’m jumping to conclusions.

A tall, older, white-haired doctor comes out of the room, adjusting his glasses. I step back, letting Apolo and Artemis stand next to Ares to hear what the doctor has to say.

“It’s good news,” he begins, and their sighs of relief echo in the hallway.

The doctor proceeds to explain Grandpa Hidalgo’s condition using medical jargon that I don’t quite understand. The little I can decipher is that, although there are still some tests to be done, the damage from the stroke is minimal, and Grandpa Hidalgo is going to be fine. The doctor tells them that they can see him now and leaves.

I stand watching as the four men in front of me hesitate; they want to give each other a hug, but their codes of behavior won’t allow it, and I find that so sad. Why is it so hard to understand that it’s okay to hug each other when you want to cry for joy because your grandfather will be okay? Their emotions cross their faces so clearly: joy, relief, guilt.

I take Ares’s arm and turn him toward me, and, before he can say anything, I give him a tight hug. Over his shoulder, I watch as Apolo hugs his father, and a doubtful Artemis joins them. They get ready to go inside, and I give Ares a few last words of encouragement before watching him disappear through the door.

I sit in the metal chair where Artemis had been. I don’t think his grandpa would want to see a stranger after waking up from something like that. I’m waiting, absorbed in my thoughts, when I hear footsteps echo across the floor. When I look up, I see a girl walking toward me, and it takes me a few seconds to recognize her without her uniform: Claudia.

She greets me, and we start to talk. I ask her a question, and she’s about to answer when we hear the clear sound of heels heading toward us. Claudia turns, and I follow her gaze.

Sofia Hidalgo walks perfectly in her five-inch red heels, wearing a white skirt that covers her knees and a shirt of the same color with a red print. In her hands she carries a small, discreet purse, also crimson in color. Her face looks flawless with makeup that looks professionally done, and her hair is in a tight ponytail. This lady is in her forties, almost fifty, and she looks thirty. The elegance she conveys is so genuine that anyone would say she was born with it.

She’s very beautiful, I think to myself. Then those blue eyes that my Greek god inherited from her fall on me and she raises a perfect eyebrow.

“And who are you?”





FORTY-ONE


   The Boyfriend




Silence reigns as Claudia and I stare at Sofia Hidalgo. Out of all the possible reactions I could imagine, Claudia’s was not one of them. It reminded me of the sayings: “People are not what they seem” and “Never judge a book by its cover.”

When I first saw Claudia, she struck me as submissive: a service girl who was used to lowering her head in front of her bosses, who had witnessed the best and worst moments of the family she worked for but said nothing about it.

Boy, was I abysmally wrong.