DISCLAIMER: If you recognize it, I don't own it.
Dora Luz Posada was a woman who had done the unthinkable. In the middle of the night, three months after her daughter's birth, she had stormed into her husband's office and declared that she was going to leave him. "I want to make it official, too," she added. "As soon as possible."
First the general had pleaded, then he had threatened: where would she go? What would everyone think of her?
"I don't have any use for what they'll think," she answered. "And neither should you."
At last he relented, and the necessary steps were taken. She demanded none of his possessions, only what her father had promised him when the marriage had been arranged - she didn't even want the girl. When the deed was done, she merely packed her bags, commandeered a stagecoach and disappeared into the desert.
No one in San Angel saw her after that - she'd gone back to Spain, some said, to her family's estate. It was just as well: no need for a troublemaking shrew like her around. Manolo heard her called that, and things far worse. Slowly he had built in his head the image of some distant, aloof figure. One who was shrouded in shadow and sat watching the sorrow she had caused from miles away.
At first glance, however, it seemed that he couldn't have been more wrong.
"Just look at you!" the woman exclaimed, leaping out of the car and sweeping Maria into a tight hug. "At least those nuns saw to it that you grew up well." She looked to be about forty, with small wrinkles around her eyes and hints of gray in her hair. Still, it was clear which parent Maria had gotten her looks from.
"Yes," Maria answered, still looking uncomfortable.
Letting go of her, Dora Luz turned to Manolo. "And this is your husband, I suppose?" she asked, surveying him with an air of suspicion.
"Y-Yes, señora," he answered, finding his voice. "Manolo Sanchez."
Her eyebrows shot up. "Carmen's boy?"
"Si."
The woman clicked her tongue pensively. "Not the man I would have expected your father to choose for you, Maria."
"He didn't," Maria said, taking Manolo's hand. "I chose him."
Dora Luz emitted a sound that was somewhere between a laugh and a scoff. "Did you now? Sounds like quite the story already."
They sped along the roads, Maria sitting beside her mother and Manolo behind them. The car wove its way through the busy streets, and then into the hills outside the city. Manolo gripped the soft leather seats as they sped up, and he thought he saw his mother-in-law glance at him through one of the mirrors.
Hours seemed to pass as the car wheels pressed down the dirt beneath them and the dark green grass flew by. At last they rounded a bend and came upon a tall, wrought iron fence with RAMIREZ arching above the gates.
"You never changed it," Maria said.
"I don't see why I should," Dora Luz answered. "This was all your grandfather's, you know?"
Her daughter simply nodded.
It took ten more minutes of driving before the house appeared. A tall, wide villa of white stone with arched doorways, red tiles on the roof and a balcony on nearly every window. Colorful gardens surrounded it, and in its center was a courtyard with a fountain. The car pulled up the drive and into the yard, circling around and stopping at the front door. Several old men in neatly pressed suits emerged from inside and opened the car doors.
"Take the luggage to the east wing bedroom," Dora Luz told them, then turned to her guests. "Dinner's nearly ready. I'll take you on a tour first."
The outside of the house was bright, but the inside was a different matter altogether. It was a maze of corridors, each one tall and dark and moody as the footsteps of their occupants echoed off the walls and ceiling.
Manolo walked behind the women, his pace slower as he looked at the myriad of objects adorning the path. There were pictures, yes - but also swords, statues, masks of all shapes and sizes, ores cracked open to expose their sparkling interiors. It was like walking through a museum.
"See that?" Dora Luz said, pointing to a photograph of a castle on a hill. "Neuschwanstein. Lovely place. And that one of Macchu Picchu is from two years ago. I got that sword from Kyoto, and that's a genuine Fabergé egg!"
"You went to Russia?" Maria asked.
"Years ago, of course. One of the first places I visited!"
Maria looked down, and Manolo thought he heard her mutter something along the lines of "You never told me that."
The dining room was just as large and lonely as the halls. The only light came from an old chandelier fitted with lightbulbs which cast garish, artificial light into the shadowy corners. They had paella and gazpacho that evening: "You always liked that, Maria," Dora Luz said, "didn't you?"
She talked incessantly of the places and people she had encountered, as though trying to fend off an encroaching silence. Only when Manolo was able to get a word in did she seem to remember he and Maria were there. He did his best to answer all her questions, telling her how happy they were. Maria was much more blunt - yes, the wedding was lovely. No, they hadn't thought about children yet. Yes, Manolo was treating her well.
"I don't remember you being this quiet," Dora Luz remarked as they finished dinner.
"It was a long trip," Maria muttered.
"I'll show you your room, then."
It was small, with a high ceiling and a bit of a draft. There was a closet door, a mahogany dresser, a picture of a beach where a window might have been and a large bed with a frame that creaked loudly.
"I'm in the other wing," Dora Luz said, "so you don't need to worry about making too much noise if you're inclined to - "
"Thank you, Mama," Maria snapped as she and Manolo's faces turned red. "It's very nice. We'll be fine."
The older woman smiled and closed the door. As soon as her footsteps faded away, Maria sighed and collapsed onto the bed, rubbing her temples.
"Are you okay?" Manolo asked, lying next to her.
"I can tell you aren't."
He let out a small, tired laugh. "It's just…I'm new to all this. Did you ever feel like that? When you first came here?"
"It never really stopped."
Manolo wrapped his arms around her, and she snuggled into his embrace. "So what do you think of her?" she asked.
"I'm not sure yet."
That was all they said. Within a few minutes, Manolo was drifting off. Maria stayed next to him, listening to his breathing even out. Only when she was sure he was asleep did she stir. Slipping out of his arms, she got out of bed, opened the bedroom door and crept off down the hall.