“I think I just made the biggest mistake of my life.”
There’s a brief silence on the other end.
“Funny,” Bruno replies. “I could swear that two days ago you told me moving to Santander was the best decision.”
Rebeca slumps down on the edge of the sofa. For a moment she looks around the living room, as if the apartment that just a few minutes ago seemed like a quiet promise had changed shape without her noticing.
“I just ran into Martina.”
This time the silence on the other end of the line is longer.
“Martina?” Bruno repeats, taking a few seconds to react. “Wait… which Martina?”
Rebeca closes her eyes.
“That Martina.”
She hears him exhale slowly, almost whistling.
“It can’t be.”
“Well, as you can see, it turns out she lives here.”
“In Santander?”
“In the apartment next door, to be exact.”
For a few seconds, neither of them says a word.
“Okay,” Bruno adds. Rebeca knows he’s just panicking. “Let’s sort this out. Have you talked to her?”
Even worse. The memory of her gaze on the landing comes flooding back with such clarity that she has to take a deep breath.
“Yes.”
“And?”
Rebeca looks down at her feet.
“She asked me what I was doing here. And then… she said I’m ‘our new neighbor.’ Ours, Bruno. She lives with someone.”
A small sigh is heard on the other end.
“That sounds pretty reasonable too; it’s been a long time.”
Rebeca slumps onto the couch, trying to steady her breathing.
“This was a really bad idea…”
“Rebeca, you just got here. You’re tired, you’ve been moving boxes all day, and your brain is trying to process something you didn’t expect. Tomorrow you’ll see things differently. Or the day after. Or when you stop shaking,” Bruno assures her. “One of those three has to work.”
She stares at the apartment door, as if she could see through the wood. She imagines Martina on the other side, perhaps leaning against her own door as well, her heart beating as hard as hers. She imagines her lips parted, her breath ragged, that old desire between them awakening against her will.
“No,” she murmurs. “What my brain is trying to process is that the reason for my constant new beginnings lives on the other side of that wall. And that everything I thought I’d left behind has just moved in with me.”
Chapter 2
When Martina Valcárcel closes the door to her home, the sound of the latch clicking into the lock seems to echo loudly off the walls. For a few seconds she stands motionless, her back pressed against the wood, as if she needs that contact to convince herself that she is inside, safe, far from the gaze she has just left on the other side of the landing. Her heart is still pounding, an irregular drumbeat that seems to mark the rhythm of a past that refuses to stay still.
