“I think you should just cut your losses and agree to that dinner.”
Martina raises her eyebrows.
“Are you serious?”
“Yes,” Cora says. “If Julia’s already got the idea in her head, she’ll probably keep pushing until it happens. And with Rebeca so close… avoiding her forever doesn’t seem like a very realistic strategy.”
Martina falls silent. What Cora says makes a lot of sense, though it isn’t necessarily reassuring.
For a few seconds, she stares at the photographs spread out on the table, the anonymous faces captured in their images, the stories of other lives she has learned to observe from a certain distance.
Her own story, on the other hand, has never been so easy to frame. And that makes her heart skip a beat.
Then she looks up at Cora and shrugs again.
“I’ll see what I can do.”
Chapter 5
“In a couple of days I’ll send you what I have so far, and we’ll talk a bit about how we’re going to continue conveying the author’s style.”
Rebeca holds the phone between her ear and shoulder as she rummages through her bag for the building key. The afternoon in Santander has turned colder than usual; a damp breeze carries the scent of the sea through the streets near El Sardinero, and the sky begins to take on the colors of dusk. The chill creeps up her jacket collar, but she barely notices it: her mind remains caught up in the sentences she’s been polishing for hours, in the care she must take with the text so it captures the original’s meaning perfectly.
“Perfect,” Ariadna’s voice replies on the other end of the line. “I’m really interested to see how you handle the more introspective passages. The author is very careful with the rhythm of the sentences. I don’t want that pause between the lines to be lost.”
Rebeca smiles slightly as she manages to find the key.
“I know. That’s exactly why I’m going over it carefully. I want the tone to retain the weight of the original. I want it to feel as if the narrator is inside the narrative the whole time.”
“That’s why I knew I’d enjoy working with you,” Ariadna says, laughing a little. “You don’t just translate words; youtranslate atmospheres. And in this book, that’s almost more important than the plot itself.”
Rebeca turns the key in the lock. But just then, another hand appears on the door from the other side and pushes it slightly inward before she can open it.
The movement forces her to look up. And for a split second, her mind goes completely blank.
“But what…?”
Ariadna keeps talking on the other end of the phone.
“And let me know if Saturday’s movie plans are still on. There’s a screening of the adaptation of…”
Rebeca barely registers the words.
Time seems to have stopped in that small space between the front door and Julia’s direct gaze, in those brown eyes that have always had a certain glow of their own.
“Ariadna, I’m hanging up,” Rebeca blurts out suddenly.
She ends the call and tucks the phone into her coat pocket while trying to catch her breath. Julia watches her with a cheerful smile, almost as if she’s actually happy to see her.
“I bet the last thing you expected was to find me here, right?” she says, and her voice sounds exactly as Rebeca remembered it.
Before Rebeca has time to react, Julia steps closer and wraps her in a tight embrace. The gesture catches her completely off guard. Julia’s body presses against hers for a few seconds, and Rebeca stands stiff, her arms motionless at her sides, trying to figure out exactly what’s going on with her. Finally, shemanages to react and pulls away somewhat awkwardly, feeling the heat rise to her neck.
“Actually, yes,” Rebeca says once she regains a little control of the situation.
Her eyes continue to study Julia’s face with bewilderment. Years have passed. But Julia has barely changed. Perhaps her gaze is more mature, with a few fine lines here and there, but the open energy that always characterized her seems intact. Her hair is pulled back into a ponytail, with a few loose strands framing her face, and she’s wearing a denim jacket that fits her perfectly.
“What are you doing here?” Rebeca asks.
