Furia(27)

Today had been perfect, and I didn’t know how I’d ever go back to my normal life when he left.

“Diego,” I said, placing my hand on his arm.

“I love how you say my name.”

He never let my hand go as he drove along the scenic route, doubling back the way we’d come, passing Parque Espa?a, the multicolored silos, and the stadium. A giant sign announced its World Cup-class status: Estadio Mundialista Gigante de Arroyito.

We both softly sang, “Un amor como el guerrero . . .”

“I promised the guys from the team I’d go out with them tonight. And tomorrow morning I have a meeting at the Central headquarters with the AFA bosses, but in the afternoon, I’ll come get you.”

“Tomorrow I’m teaching the kids,” I said, “And then I have—”

His phone rang, and when he looked down at the console, his eyes widened. He pressed the red ignore button.

The phone rang again. This time, I saw the name flashing on the screen. Giusti. His manager.

“Answer it,” I said.

He shook his head. “He’s in Buenos Aires. I’ll call him later.”

If I had a manager, I would never ignore a call from them. I pushed the button on the console, and Giusti’s voice blared through the speakers. “Diego, come stai?”

Diego winked at me. He and Giusti spoke more Italian than Spanish, but the sound of Italian on Diego’s lips was like music. Soon we were at the barrio’s boundaries.

For as long as I could remember, there had been a gaggle of boys smoking and talking on the corner of Colombres and Schweitzer. It’s like they signed a contract when they reached a certain age.

Diego honked at them. Cries of recognition and teasing and the smell of their cigarettes followed us like streamers.

When we arrived in the parking lot in front of my building, I waited for him to hang up. I didn’t want this day to end, but the seconds swished away.

“Guarda con la comida, Diego,” Giusti said.

Diego flinched when his manager reminded him to eat well, hunching his shoulders like a scolded little boy.

Do?a Rosa from apartment 2D stopped on the sidewalk, shopping bag in hand, and stared at the car. Alberto from across the street joined her and actually pointed at us.

“Giusti, I’ll call you back in two minutes,” Diego said when he noticed we had attracted an audience. I had to get out of the car before the neighbors started rumors about us.

“I have to—”

He stopped my words with a kiss that extinguished the world around us.

Like when we’d danced, my lips knew how to follow the beat of the music made of our galloping hearts and the sighs escaping our mouths.

I wrapped my arms around his neck, pulling him against me, my fingers raking through his tangled hair. His eyelashes fluttered against mine, butterfly kisses that made me gasp with longing for more.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he whispered, his hand cupping my face.

“Tomorrow,” I said, breathless.

The tug of real life pulled at me, but I still floated in a daze as I made my way upstairs and watched him drive away.





11





No one but Nico was home when I arrived, and I thanked whichever guardian angel was on duty for this small grace. My dog did his happy dance while I filled a vase and put my flowers in it, hoping they would live forever, but a shower of petals dropped when I took the cellophane off.

Eventually I’d have to tell my family about Diego, but for now, I wanted to hold on to the golden glow of the afternoon and keep it sacred in my heart. I wished I could stash the memories of us dancing and the warmth of his lips on mine under my mattress with the yellow lollipop.

Being with Diego was like stepping into a parallel world where I was beautiful. Important. When he’d shivered at my touch, I’d felt powerful and unstoppable. As the minutes passed, the afternoon began to feel like it had happened to another person in another lifetime. Now, back in reality, I was crashing.

A little note in my mom’s handwriting sat by the phone as if we lived in 1999. Call Roxana. Once again, guilt squirmed inside me. After I tried calling her on Diego’s cell, I’d forgotten about her. But I couldn’t talk to anyone yet. I’d see her at school tomorrow.

I gazed at the estampita on my nightstand. La Difunta Correa had died trying to save her husband, and although her sacrifice had cost her own life, she’d become immortal. But her journey didn’t speak to me. If I followed Diego, where would I end up? What doors were closing with each decision that I made?

The emotions from the last few days caught up with me, and I climbed into bed, intending to close my eyes for only a few minutes. Hours later, I woke to the sound of my doorknob turning.

“Camila, open.” My father’s voice sent me into high alert. “I want to speak with you.”

Nico stretched in the bed beside me and looked at me as if asking what was going on.

“Open the door,” my father’s voice boomed.

Outside my window, even the crickets went quiet with terror. The door handle jiggled until it finally broke with a crack. My dog growled and jumped from the bed before I could stop him.

I froze. I couldn’t even call Nico back.

Once when I was in kindergarten and I was still perfect and beloved because my body hadn’t changed yet, my dad and I had walked to school hand in hand. He’d pointed at a baby sparrow dying on the sidewalk. It had fallen from the nest before it even had the chance to open its eyes and see the world. It was exposed to the biting wind; ants crawled out of its mouth.