She clutched the phone cord, astonished, her eyes snapping open. “Where are you? We’ve been looking all over for you!”
“I was reading the early edition,” the girl said, and then something else Maite didn’t catch; the girl was talking in whispers.
Rubén, who was sitting on the couch, raised his head and stared at her. “Who’s that?”
“It’s Leonora! It’s so good to hear you. What about the early edition?”
“You have the cat? And the box?”
“Yes, and yes. When can we see you?”
“Tell her to hang up.”
“Huh?”
Rubén stood up, whip quick, and rushed toward Maite. He pulled the phone from her grasp, shoving her away. Maite lost her balance and stumbled down. “Hide! It’s not safe!” he yelled into the receiver and hung up.
Maite stood up, holding on to the kitchen counter. “Are you crazy? We’ve been trying to find her for days!”
She rubbed her knee, but he glared at her, as if she’d pushed him and it hadn’t been the other way around.
“That was before Sócrates wound up dead. She can’t come back. She’s in real danger now.”
“She can’t hide forever,” Maite said. She took a few steps out of the narrow kitchen and into the living room, then turned to look at him and stepped back into the kitchen. “What about Jackie? Can’t she do something?”
“What’s Jackie going to do?” Rubén muttered tiredly, rubbing his jaw.
“I don’t know! You said she’d help. What about Emilio?” Maite snapped her fingers. “That’s right, we’ll phone Emilio.”
She grabbed the phone, but Rubén immediately took it from her hands and hung up. She stared at him, mouth open.
“You can’t tell anyone she called.”
“Why not?”
“Don’t you get it? It’s not safe. You can’t trust anyone.”
“Why should I trust you then? I don’t even know you. Step away from the door. I’m going to see Emilio.”
“Calm down.”
“You step away! It’s my house!”
“I’m telling you to calm down. Someone is going to start banging on the door asking what the hell is going on if you keep this up.”
“I don’t care!”
She stomped toward her atelier, and when she walked in she cranked the volume up and let the needle fall upon a record, the music like a clap of thunder, so loud, making the whole room tremble. “Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow” began playing.
“For God’s sake, Maite, don’t be doing this,” he said and turned the volume down with a swift flick of the wrist. “You want to make it worse? Don’t you see we’re in a mess?”
But all she could see right then and there was the dead man again. Slumped over, with the horrible burn marks on his legs, and his neck bent and his eyes—for a quick second she had seen those eyes, glassy and open, staring back at her.
She felt so lost, so utterly alone, and wanted to clutch something. She turned to him and grabbed onto his jacket with both hands. But she was also furious, the anger boiling up because none of this was her fault, it was all that girl’s fault, that girl she didn’t even know, and it was Rubén’s fault too. He had allowed her to get involved in this reckless quest.
Maite lunged up and bit him hard, on the mouth. He stepped back, startled, pressed a hand against his lips and stared at her, drawing back. His fingers were stained with blood.
He grabbed her face between his hands and bit her back. For a moment they both froze, stunned by what was happening, and there was this pause, like the crackling of a record.
