DISCLAIMER: If you recognize it, I don't own it.
Dear Maria,
My first request is that you give your father a good smack for not inviting me to your wedding. Then give him another for refusing to tell me a thing about it. Not even who your husband is! You two must find the time to come see me. Just send a telegram telling me when you're free, and I'll make all the arrangements. Everyone here misses you, my dear girl. Our time apart seems much longer than it has truly been. There is much I want to tell you, more than I can put in a letter. With luck, I can see you again before long.
Love, Mama
That was all the note said. The letters were slanted and ran together, as though its author had been in a hurry. Maria's expression was hard and sullen as she carefully folded it, and Manolo thought he heard a low growl from someplace deep within her throat.
"When did you last see her?" he asked.
"When I was fourteen."
"Has she written you before?"
"No." She stood and looked at the fireplace, as though she was about to toss the note into the flames, but she kept it clasped firmly in her hands.
"Well…would you like to go?"
"Would you?"
"She's your mother." The thought of meeting the elusive woman was an intriguing one, he had to admit. He had only heard of her through the overheard grumblings from General Posada and the rest of the townsfolk.
Maria unfolded the paper and read the words one more time. She looked at the fireplace, then out the window. Sitting beside her husband once again, she let out a deep sigh. "We should."
Manolo's jaw dropped the moment the Barcelona coastline came into view, and it had hardly closed since. Many times during Maria's years away, he had stared at drawings and photographs imagining where she might be. They had done nothing to prepare him for the real thing.
The cobblestone streets were not narrow and winding like in San Angel, but straight and stately and often wide enough to build a house in. The broad stone buildings towered over him - not bright and inviting like in the Land of the Remembered, but stern and foreboding. The people took no notice of the sights, keeping their faces turned downwards as they rushed along without a word to one another.
"Where does she live?" he asked Maria, tightly holding her hand as he looked around.
"The hills outside town. She said she'd come pick us up." She wore a look of resignation as she observed their surroundings, as though she fancied herself a recaptured prisoner. A moment later, she let go of Manolo's hand and slipped off in apparent pursuit of something she had noticed.
He began to follow her. "Where are you - "
The loud, grating blare of a horn made him jump back, along with several other people. His eyes nearly bugged out of their sockets as a large, long car came rolling into view. Its body was bright silver and yellow, the tires white, the whole thing glittering obnoxiously in the sun.
In the drivers' seat, an older woman was looking around. Small, graceful wrinkles curved up around her mouth, and hints of gray were just entering her bobbed, curly brown hair. She wore a plum jacket, brown leather gloves and a tan, plaid cap that was tipped back. A pair of goggles obstructed her eyes, and she pulled them down to reveal a piercing, animated gaze that darted from face to face. When she saw Manolo and Maria, her face broke into a broad grin as she waved vigorously.
Maria waved back, putting on a cautious smile. "Hola, Mama."