A/N: Please keep in mind; the conversations between Ricardo and Mateo, as well as Ricardo and Teresa, are entirely in Spanish. We may insert a recognizable phrase here and there, but we really want you to think of the heat, the speed, and yes, the passion of the language as you read this chapter. Enjoy!
CHAPTER 88
Papa/Ricardo's POV
¡Madre de Dios! That foolish pig of a police officer nearly ruined everything for me!
Now that Estefanía had discovered my true identity and connection to Carlos, she had every right to dismiss me without a backward glance. But she hadn't done that. No, instead, with tears in her beautiful blue eyes, she told me how very disappointed she was with the whole situation. That was, by far, the worst I had ever felt toward a woman. Usually, the hot-tempered females in my family yelled and screamed their displeasure outright or they gave me the ice-cold silent treatment until I figured out what was wrong with them. Tonight was something quite different.
I couldn't believe Estefanía might have thought I disapproved of her because she wasn't a Cuban girl. The idea never even crossed my mind until she mentioned it. Now, with my mother, that will be quite a different story, especially since she is so old-fashioned. When the truth comes out, I am sure my mother will chastise me for not raising my wayward son to honor his Latino heritage. ¡Dios! There will be such wailing and complaining! My imagination was quite vivid and I cringed at the probable scolding I would receive. Oh well, we would just have to cross that bridge when we got to it. Tonight had enough problems of its own.
Of course, losing Estefanía's wedding reception was a major blow to my ego and I knew my son, Alejandro, would be furious with me once he found out what had happened and why. But that, too, would have to wait. My first order of business would be figuring out how to smooth things over with my wife. I couldn't help being terrified at the thought of Teresa hiring a private investigator to track my Monday night activities. For all I knew, she might be planning to confront me with her suspicions as soon as I walked through the door.
Sighing heavily, I decided I'd made enough mistakes with Estefanía and Teresa, and it was time for me to take charge of the situation like a real man. My plan was simple: go into Rosa's to turn off the lights I had left on earlier to give the impression that I was here as usual, change the telephone settings again, and then change my clothes and go home to Teresa. Not surprisingly, my hands were shaking as I pulled out of the driveway and drove away from Estefanía's townhouse.
At first, I was lost in my thoughts about how to explain everything. Then I happened to notice the constant headlights in my rearview mirror. I had been followed before, back when I wouldn't agree to pay certain fees to a rising Mafia boss after my father passed away. I never forgot that eerie feeling – the prickling of the hairs on the back of my neck and the cold shivers of dread. My suspicions were confirmed when I finally pulled into the back parking lot of Rosa's and saw that my "tail" had parked a half-block away. My instincts told me it was the cop – that hideous Officer Joseph Morelli – behind the wheel.
Fear and fury battled within me. How dare he follow me? What was he trying to prove? No way was I going to allow this arrogant, piss-ant fool to intimidate and harass me. I couldn't believe this sad excuse of a cop was the man that silly Mrs. Plum wanted her daughter to marry instead of my brave and honorable Carlos. It was absolutely absurd!
Glancing over my shoulder, I entered the restaurant through the back door. The way my luck was running, it wouldn't have surprised me if Alejandro had been there, especially since he was becoming so unpredictable these days. I breathed a sigh of relief when I discovered that my oldest son wasn't sitting at his desk. After I quickly changed into one of the spare outfits I kept in my office, I picked up the telephone receiver and called my nephew, Mateo. More relief swept over me when he answered after only two rings.
"Mateo! Thank God I was able to reach you!" I breathed.
"Tío Ricardo?" Mateo answered. "What's the matter? You sound upset."
"That's because I am upset," I readily admitted, and then hesitated because I wasn't sure how to tell my nephew about my current predicament without revealing my recent dealings with Carlos' fiancée. "I'm afraid I had a … sort of … um, problem ... with an obnoxious police officer this evening. He was off-duty, but I'm certain that he followed me … ah, I mean, I think he's still in his vehicle, watching the back door of the restaurant to see where I might go when I leave. I don't know what to do."
"Was this problem related to the restaurant?" Mateo asked warily.
"No, no," I hastened to say, "Everything is fine at the restaurant. Although, this officer – his name is Joseph Morelli – did threaten to send over one of his friends from the Health Department."
Mateo sighed and said, "I don't understand, Tío Ricardo. Rosa's isn't even open on Mondays. Did this guy get a stomach bug over the weekend and then try to blame it on your food?"
Now it was my turn to sigh. Mateo and his wife had been very right about the foolishness of my whole plan with Estefanía. Nevertheless, I wasn't in the mood to hear 'I told you so,' from my nephew so I just said, "No, thankfully, this isn't about our restaurant's food. In fact, I don't think he has ever eaten here. It's just that, well … it's more of a personal matter."
"A personal matter?" Mateo sounded as if his eyebrows had lifted toward his hairline. "Tío, does this happen to have anything to do with Stephanie Plum?"
"Ah … well, yes it does," I admitted. "The cop was waiting for her at her townhouse when I arrived to give her another cooking lesson. He thought I was there to be her … her lover. Can you imagine? Poor Estefanía! I cannot believe her silly mother actually wants her to marry such a swine! Of course, I had to defend my honor, but he didn't believe me, even after I showed him the restaurant menu with my name on it."
Mateo groaned. "Oh, no, Tío Ricardo! You gave the man your actual name?"
Speaking very quickly, I continued to explain my predicament, "Anyway, we …um, exchanged words after he accused me of being too old for Estefanía. I was so offended by his crude accusations, I finally identified myself as the father of Estefanía's fiancé, but the idiot still wouldn't believe me. He was very rude and he became quite belligerent. Then Estefanía came home and saw us arguing. She turned on her water hose to spray us down before we could exchange any punches. I might have pushed the man down the steps, but he wasn't hurt. Nevertheless, Estefanía told him to leave and he was very angry. That's why I believe he might start stalking me now. I need your advice, Mateo. Is it possible for someone like me to obtain a restraining order against someone like this Officer Morelli?"
Silence. I could tell that Mateo was trying to maintain his composure. Then he exploded, "¡Madre de Dios! Tío Ricardo, I can't believe what a mess you've made of this! I knew something bad was bound to happen. And no, you can't get a restraining order against Officer Morelli – especially since you say he hasn't really done anything to you yet. You'll be lucky if he doesn't decide to press charges against you for tonight's little altercation!"
"He wouldn't dare!" I exclaimed.
"Listen, Tío, the fact that we're dealing with a Trenton cop won't be helpful at all," Mateo said, sounding quite exasperated and worried. "Let me make some calls and then I'll get back to you. Since Alejandro isn't there with you, do you want me to come over so that you can walk out of the building with someone?"
I cautiously peeked out of one of the windows and was glad not to see the pesky officer's car parked along the street. Apparently, he grew tired of waiting for me to leave the building. At least, that was my hope. I had no doubts of Officer Morelli's ability to use police resources to discover my home address. I just didn't want to lead him there myself.
"Good news, Mateo," I said. "The cop is gone. I don't see his car anywhere, so there is no need for you to come over here."
Mateo made a scoffing sound and warned, "Tío, just because you can't see him doesn't mean he isn't still there. Are you sure you don't want me to drive around the block for you – just as a precaution?"
"No, no," I quickly protested as I turned off the lights. "I'm leaving now. Everything is fine. I'll drive around a little while to see if I see his car. If not, I'll call you when I get home."
Then I hung up the phone receiver, activated the security system and locked the back door. After hurrying into my car, I kept checking my rearview mirrors, but there was no sign of Officer Morelli. I experienced a great sense of relief when I finally parked behind my house. Only when I stepped inside and found Teresa in our bedroom – packing some of my clothes into a suitcase, no less – did I realize I had jumped out of the frying pan and into the fire.
"Teresa," I spoke cautiously, "What is going on here?"
Her eyes flashed angrily at me and she retorted, "I should ask you the same question, Ricardo!"
I crossed over to her and peered into the suitcase. Teresa had placed several stacks of neatly folded undershirts, boxer shorts, socks and pajamas in there already. Then I looked around the room and noticed several of my suits, as well as some of my casual clothes were no longer hanging in our bedroom closet. I couldn't remember any plans for us to go on a trip, so a cold chill ran down my spine as I braced myself to ask my wife what had happened to cause all this activity.
"Why are you packing my things, love?" I began hesitantly. "What has caused you to do such a thing?"
Teresa fastened the suitcase with a loud snap and turned to face me. The look in her eyes was full of anger as she said, "I'm packing your things, love, because you're moving into the boys' old room tonight. That will have to do for the time being, because I refuse to sleep with an adulterer!"
I felt the blood draining from my face and I stammered, "A …a what?" This couldn't be happening! My worst fears were coming true and I had visions of a private investigator showing my wife photographs of me at Estefanía's house. If that had happened as I imagined it, then I'd have to do some fast talking.
"You heard me, Ricardo," Teresa snarled. "You are a lying, cheating man – I would call you a son-of-a-bitch, but I respect your mother too much for that. Nevertheless, I know you've been sneaking around with another woman and then trying to appease me with all kinds of gifts to assuage your considerable guilt. I've had my suspicions for several weeks now, but after tonight – I'm done! We will sleep in separate beds until I figure out what to do next."
"Teresa, no!" I gasped. "There has been a terrible misunderstanding. You … you must let me explain – it … it … it is not what you think!"
Clearly, my wife wasn't in any mood to hear me out. She lifted the suitcase off the bed and pushed it into my arms, coldly saying, "How could you, Ricardo? I've given you everything – six children, more than a dozen grandchildren, with another one on the way, all my love, all my support, all my life! I went by the restaurant tonight and although the lights were on, you weren't there. Nobody was there. What kind of fool do you take me for? Tell me, how could you do this to me – to us?" The pain in her voice broke my heart.
The weight of the suitcase wasn't nearly as heavy as the weight on my conscience. My brain struggled to come up with the right explanation – one that would make sense to Teresa without giving away all of the secrets. I couldn't think of anything, so I began with a simple request.
"All right, Teresa," I conceded for the moment, "I can see you are very angry right now. I will go to the other room if you desire it, but first, I want you to listen to me. It is not what you think."
"No, I'm too tired right now," she shook her head in protest. "Besides, it doesn't matter – I know what I know. There's nothing more for you to say tonight. We'll talk in the morning."
"Teresa ... please!" I pleaded before she could push me out of our bedroom.
My use of the word 'please' had been a 'secret weapon' between us since the earliest days of our marriage. In fact, I used it so infrequently, my wife and children always knew I was serious whenever I said the magic word. This time, it seemed Teresa had difficulty struggling against herself in order to yield to me.
"Fine," she nodded curtly. Then she turned away from me and sat on the edge of our bed, as far away from me as she could manage. Her tight lips and angry glare told me I had very little time to get my point across to her.
Swallowing my pride, I told Teresa about everything – our son's quick engagement, the terms under which Carlos agreed to allow only a few of us to meet her, his fiancée's mother's meddlesome ways, the 'secret' cooking lessons, even the recent altercation with Officer Morelli. Her eyes had flashed and then glanced away for a moment when I told her Stephanie's real name and I figured she was shocked to realize the girl was not a Latina. I also warned Teresa to leave Estefanía alone; I was in full agreement about Carlos keeping his fiancée's personal life hidden from the nosy and overbearing females of my family. Of course, even though I played only a small part in the grand scheme of things, I did explain my reasons for all of my actions thus far, thinking my wife would be relieved to hear that I hadn't been having a love affair.
"So... now you know what I have been doing. I hope you realize I only have desire for you, my love," I purred at her. "Let us set aside this silly suitcase and I will show you how much I want you – right now." I released the suitcase, sat down on the bed next to Teresa and reached out my hand to stroke her face.
Unbelievably, she swatted my hand away and stood up. Then she began to pace back and forth in front of me and ranted, "How could you do this, Ricardo? How could you go behind my back and make me think our marriage was failing? How could you betray Carlos' trust and stay in contact with his fiancée? How could you get into a fight with a police officer?"
"What else was I supposed to do, Teresa?" I asked tiredly. "As the head of this family, I am responsible for what happens. I just could not bear the thought of our soon-to-be daughter-in-law trying to handle everything by herself until Carlos returns. Perhaps I should not have been so sneaky about the cooking lessons, but at least you should be happy that I am not seeing another woman, es verdad?" [true?]
To my surprise, after I finished my explanation, Teresa looked even angrier than she had before. "Happy?" she scoffed. "You think I should be happy about this mess you've made?"
I shook my head and said, "I am sorry, but 'this mess' as you say is obviously Carlos' fault, especially since he refused to introduce his fiancée to our family before he deployed. But that is all behind us now, and I suppose we had better honor his wishes from this point onward."
"¡Madre de Dios!" she exclaimed. "I cannot believe you're trying to lay the blame at Carlos' feet! What is wrong with you, Ricardo?"
Now I was confused, "What do you mean? It is his fault – as I have just explained. Of course, I plan to have a nice long talk with Carlos when he returns. His conditions were unreasonable to begin with and his behavior in this matter really has been quite unacceptable."
"His behavior?" Teresa yelled. "Ricardo, I'm much more concerned about your behavior in this … this fiasco!"
"My behavior?" I asked incredulously. Honestly! Sometimes, women just baffle me. They're so illogical!
Teresa was fuming more than ever. "Yes, your behavior, you asinine fool! First of all, I cannot believe the way you treated our son – my Carlito – on the eve of his departure to such a dangerous mission. What if he never returns to us? Did you ever stop to think about that?"
"Carlos will be fine," I assured her. "Remember, he wasn't in that terrible plane crash and he has several good men on his team. If you want to worry about someone, Teresa, worry about me. I am the one who has been under so much stress lately."
Teresa sputtered angrily for a moment and then she burst out, "Why does everything always have to revolve around you, Ricardo? Why must you always try to get the upper hand?"
"What do you mean?" I asked, not getting her point.
She tightly replied, "I mean, what kind of a man, knowing his son is going off to war – with a NINETY PERCENT chance of not returning, no less – chooses to blackmail him? I can't believe you tried to shame and provoke our son in front of the woman he loves! Actually, I suppose I can believe it. Thank God this Stephanie did not fall into your trap! And thank God she had the sense to know that you were wrong – as always – in your thinking. As for Carlos' wishes that we not meddle in his personal life, I will gladly adhere to them. It's the least I can do for him. When my son is ready for me to know about his fiancée, I'll be ready to listen. I want to stay on good terms with my children."
Exasperated over her arrogant tone of voice, I threw up my hands toward the ceiling and asked, "What are you talking about now? You imply that I am not on good terms with our children?"
Teresa crossed her arms over her chest and gave me a withering glare as she said, "Think about your relationship with Alejandro. I know something bad has been going on between you two. I've spoken to him already and I know that he is confused and hurting – and it's your fault! I don't know what you think you're doing, but whatever it is, it's not working, so you'd better do everything in your power to fix this problem before you lose your other son, too."
"Lose my … I have only ever tried to do what is best for all of my children," I replied indignantly, feeling deeply hurt by my wife's angry words. "I am their Papa and I always will be!"
Teresa rolled her eyes disrespectfully and snarled, "Yes, they are your children, Ricardo, and yes, you helped create them, but no, you don't own them. They are all grown-ups now – with thoughts and feelings and plans of their own. I thought you might have learned your lessons from the way your own Papa treated you, but no, you are actually worse than your father was to you. You're becoming an even bigger bully than he ever was."
My anger flared and I growled, "I am not a bully! I am a well-respected and productive member of society. Everyone in our community loves me!"
She sighed tiredly and said, "You might have money and position in the community, but you truly don't know your own family. Just ask your mother and you'll find out that you are more like your father than you think you are. And you know how much you respected him."
That really hurt. Teresa knew that I'd given up my own dreams to ensure the continued success of Rosa's before my father died. Of course, I understood the sacrifices that were necessary, but I had chafed under my father's critical glare until I learned to accept my fate. Only with my wife did I share my most bitter disappointments and here she was, throwing it all back in my face. Nevertheless, I knew I was right – well, most of the time, anyway.
"Our children – except Carlos, of course – all love and respect me," I asserted. "How can you make such ludicrous accusations?"
"Look at the facts, Ricardo," Teresa said bitterly, "A bully wants his own way no matter who gets hurt. You always have to have the upper hand, even with me. Every argument, every decision, every detail – it's always about what you want. Our children might respect you, Ricardo, but they also are afraid of you and they do whatever you 'command' of them to keep the peace. And as for love, please don't deceive yourself. Our children do not love you the way children should love their father. Oh no, it's an obligatory love, not a love from the heart. Only Carlos is different; he accepts the awful truth that his father does not love him as he is, so he just stays away. And I suppose I must accept the awful truth that, while I will always love you, I don't think I like you very much right now. Now, please, go to the other room so I may get some sleep."
And with that, she shoved me out of our bedroom and slammed the door in my face.
