Love Her Madly (29 page)

She looked up at me, her face damp with tears. If we were your standard set of old friends, this was when I would have risen and moved close to give comfort. But as it was, McMurphy's warning not to trust her repeated in my head like a particularly ominous broken record. Instead of following my instinct, I folded my hands in my lap and gazed at the floor, reminding myself uncomfortably of my Big U shrink.

“Why don't you tell me how you think I can help?”

She looked toward me, but not at me, her mouth loose. “Glo, babe, I want to come home.”

I stiffened.

“Home? As in, the United States?”

“Yes.”

“What's stopping you?”

“We're trapped. We can't get out. But we have information. My hope is that the United States would be very grateful for this information. Grateful enough to offer a way out, and . . . protection.”

“Protection from whom? El Santo?”

She lowered her eyes. “El Santo is dead.” Her tone made me think she might suddenly genuflect, Catholic-style. “His son, Ernesto, is in charge now. He's the exact opposite of his father; reckless, coldhearted, cruel. He's a true, clinical psychopath, only goal in life is to make more money and get more power than Daddy. He always resented Lucas's relationship with El Santo. Thought Lucas was some little guttersnipe, looking for handouts. Now that he has all the power, Ernesto has made a point of making Lucas suffer. Making us suffer.

“I really thought that when El Santo died, we'd maybe have our chance. But two days after the funeral, Ernesto summoned Lucas to his home around midnight. When Lucas got there, he was herded onto a helicopter. In the copter with Lucas was the pilot; Ernesto; Ernesto's bodyguard; and a bound, blindfolded man. When they were in the air, Ernesto removed the blindfold, and Lucas recognized Gabriel Arroyo, an older friend who also worked for the cartel. He was crying and begging for his life. Lucas pleaded with Ernesto to reconsider whatever it was they were doing, but it didn't help. The helicopter flew to the center of town, where there was a church with a plaza, and at its center, an old fountain. Ernesto ordered the pilot to ascend. When he decided they were high enough, he opened the door and without a word, kicked Gabriel out into space. Lucas couldn't hear him scream over the roar of the blades, but the entire town
heard the impact of his body. It completely shattered one side of the fountain.

“Ernesto turned to Lucas, and just stared at him. Didn't say a word. Once he decided that Lucas got the message, he signaled the pilot to return home. You see, Lucas knew Gabriel wanted out, too. Gabriel had told Lucas of his plan to rent a boat and take his family to Lima. Lucas didn't tell another soul, but somehow, Ernesto found out anyway.”

Her hands were trembling as she stubbed out her cigarette. “Funny South America thing—El Santo used to pay for the maintenance of that plaza, out of pocket, because he thought every respectable town needed a nice place for people to gather and socialize. Now Ernesto refuses to allow the fountain to be fixed, so it just sits there in ruin. No one goes there anymore except for the old men, because they've seen it all, and the homeless. I feel like it's a message just for us.”

“Jesus.” I watched as she started to crumble into herself like a sand sculpture.

“I can't live like this anymore, terrified that any day Lucas is going to leave and not come home or that someone will come for us.”

“How did you get away? How are you here?”

“Vacation.” She smiled wanly, through her tears. “Actually, the official story is that my mother is dying. If they sent anyone to track me, my cover is already blown. But I can't think about that.”

“And Lucas remains there, wherever there is.”

A cracked smile bent her lips and she nodded.

There was one thing about Cyn's story that didn't quite make sense to me. Cyn may have changed, but I couldn't imagine her sitting idly while her husband went off to do mysterious things at the cartel every day.

“What exactly have you been doing the past seven years?”

She chewed her lip and muttered, “Housewifing.”

“Bullshit.”

She grinned. Her eyes exhibited a reckless twinkle that I knew well. “You don't believe that ol' Cyn would be content to sit around doing laundry and watching telenovelas all day?”

“No, I don't.”

“Well, you're right. You've put your finger on the button. I got involved. I am so fucking involved. If I would have kept my head down and just been a normal wife, and watched the damn TV, things might have been okay, or maybe less terrible. But I had to get interested. Had to offer suggestions. Ideas. It seemed like a harmless way to help my husband, at the time.”

“Fuck, Cyn. This complicates things, you realize.”

She closed her eyes and leaned her head back, exposing her throat. “I know, Glo. But after what happened with Gabriel, I thought to myself,
His wife wasn't involved
, but that doesn't make him any less dead.”

My head was beginning to throb. I uncapped my flat soda and took a sip. When I looked back up, Cyn was studying me, her fingers knotted together in a tight bunch.

“Can you forgive me, Glo, for vanishing? Or worse, for coming back like this, asking for favors?”

“Yeah, sure.” My thoughts were spiraling around the logistics of who I could call to help with something like this. It was absolutely out of my field of knowledge, more like something for the FBI or the State Department. And how exactly did McMurphy, bona fide employee of the State Department, play into this, and why was she no longer relying on his help? I glanced up, and she was fixing me with big questioning doll eyes.

“You do? Really?”

It took me a moment to remember what she'd just asked.

“Jesus, Cyn. With your problems, does it even matter what I think?”

“Yes!”

“Why?”

She dropped from her chair onto her knees before me and put a hot hand on mine, her face softening in a way I'd never seen.

“My daughter, Glorianna, is three. She is my most treasured thing. I named her after you. And I know it may seem strange because we've not known each other much longer than we were friends, but it was a very happy thing for me, knowing you. A bright spot. It really was. That's why it matters. My life has been such a bizarre mix of things, good and bad, that I've stopped trying to make sense of it. I'm just doing all I can right now to not fall apart, so if you don't like me or don't trust me, I'll just drop the pretense of dignity and start begging—”

“Cyn . . .”

She pulled her hands away and wrapped them around herself, a hysterical smile distorting her face. “Who knows? Maybe I can get used to it. I mean, seven years and I rarely see any of the murders. I mostly just hear about them from Lucas and if I'm very lucky, see the photos in the newspaper—”

“Cyn.” I took her wrist and shook her. When her eyes snapped to my face, I heard myself say, “I will help you. I'll do whatever I can.”

She stared at me, wide-eyed, and emitted a single moan of relief. She opened her arms to me, and sensing eminent breakdown, I caught her as she collapsed into tears, sobbing like it was rinsing something out of her. I was crying a little, too, as a rough picture of the horrors she faced formed in my mind.

“Where is she? Your daughter?”

She sniffled violently, her breath coming in uneven heaves. “With Lucas. Back there. That's why they didn't even have to follow me here. They knew I'd come back. They have everything that's important to me. They have all the cards.”

I smoothed the hair from her face as her tears crested and then slowed to a painful shiver. We sat huddled together on the mattress, neither of us speaking for a long moment. A dark look had settled across her brow, and beneath it, a scowl that looked well-worn-in. I imagined her wearing that face, pacing a balcony at night, cigarette in hand, waiting for headlights to appear on the road. Waiting for her husband to come home, only to let the worry begin anew the next day. I tried to put myself in her position, and my mind recoiled in horror. If that was her life, she was right to call it a nightmare.

“Tell me about her. Glorianna.”

The hard lines strafing Cyn's brow softened. “She's a wonder. She's very cheerful and she loves birds and animals and is a complete daddy's girl. Wants to follow him everywhere. We're teaching her to swim.”

“Just like her namesake,” I remarked.

Cyn smiled and, after a moment's hesitation, opened her purse. She fished out a cheap clamshell cell phone and pulled up a photo. “She was born with this curly, reddish hair. No idea where it came from. That's when I knew for sure what to name her.” She stared at the image on the screen as if reluctant to look away, and then handed it to me. “I only brought this one, and even carrying it makes me nervous. I've kept our lives off the Internet as much as possible. The less identifiable we are, the better our chances of getting away. Lucas wanted me to bring her with me, but it wasn't allowed. I think they smelled a rat.”

I looked at the grainy image on the phone. A small girl with dark copper hair squatted on a lawn, one pudgy arm extended toward a kitten. Glorianna's face was in profile, and her mouth was open, frozen in a squeal of delight. I felt the corners of my mouth rise in response, and handed the phone back, feeling my cheeks burn under Cyn's gaze.

“Are you and Raj planning—”

I cut her off. “We need to approach this delicately.”

“I know.”

“The fact that you were personally working for the cartel makes it difficult.”

“We know everything about their organization. That has to be worth something.”

“I would think so, but I don't know. This really isn't what I do.”

“I know you'll do your best.”

I felt a shiver of recognition. She had said the same words, in the exact same way, to McMurphy in one of the videos.

“They'll probably put you into hiding. You'll go dark.”

“Yes, I know.”

She put her phone away and sighed. Stretching her legs out toward the empty seats, she reached for the pack of smokes, offering me one.

As she lit up, she sighed. “So Raj hates me, doesn't he?”

There was no reason to lie. Whatever veil she had drawn between us was lifting, and the look on her face said she already knew exactly how Raj felt. It reminded me at once of how eerie their connection had been. Long-suppressed memories of watching them argue some metaphysical abstraction, the heat rising as they parried like fencers, making points that I struggled to follow, crawled out from the past to wound me. The intimacy of that connection was why I'd so feared their becoming lovers. She was already sharing with him so many things I couldn't, even if I tried my best. I hated to even remember it because it so stirred my jealousies, but Raj and Cyn had had something special.

“He doesn't exactly trust you.”

“In light of everything that happened, I was glad that you and I had that talk at the hostel, about everything. I hope it made it easier for you guys.” She paused. “I would have liked
the chance to apologize to him. But there on the street, I just couldn't. Tell him I'm sorry.”

“Tell him you're sorry for what?”

“For how it ended. He didn't deserve it. I warned him I was sick.”

“What are you talking about?”

Her eyes searched me, and she allowed the slightest flicker of surprise to wash across her features. She flicked her wrist in the air as if shooing a fly or, perhaps, dismissing a servant.

“It's nothing, really. I was cruel to him before we left on our little adventure. I've felt guilty about it all this time. How did he take it when you told him I planned to break up with him?”

I tapped my cigarette on the tin can, though there was nothing yet to ash. “I never told him.”

“You what?” she leaned forward, her blue eyes aghast.

“You were dead. Why would I tell? It would only hurt him.”

“But what about you? Telling him might have helped you.”

“How? I don't hurt people I love for no reason.”

“It wouldn't have been for no reason for Raj. I thought I'd done all I could to kill our relationship before we left, but even that didn't work. The poor bastard's probably been carrying a torch for me all this time.”

I looked at the floor, feeling the heat rise into my face.

“Sometimes you have to hurt people to help them see the truth. It's not the same as being cruel for no reason.” Her tone grated on me, as if she were this wise woman and I, a naive child.

“Was that your technique with Ryan McMurphy? Is he drinking himself to death due to one of your acts of kindness?” I felt her eyes on me but couldn't look at her. “Since we're being all brave and honest and kind, I should tell you: I know about the videos.”

She stiffened. “What videos?”

“He recorded all your video . . .” I struggled to find the appropriate word, “sessions. He showed me one.”

She looked away. “I told you, I was desperate.”

“Yeah, well. You're always desperate, aren't you?”

She flinched like I had slapped her.

“I don't expect you to understand the choices I've made, and I'm not asking you to. You haven't lived my life. You have no idea what it's cost me just to stay alive. And you're right, I may be desperate, but I'm not ashamed. Everything I've done, I've done for my family.”

“Does your husband—”

She cut me off. “My husband is a fiercely proud man, but I have no doubt that he would have slept with McMurphy himself if it meant Glorianna could be free. She is innocent, and she deserves better. Maybe someday you'll understand that when your back is against the wall, there is little you won't do to save the ones you love.”

“I already know that.”