The Love of a Latino (17 page)

“That girl has been through
so much in the past couple of months, Rafe. She lost her mother, then her aunt.
She fell in love with a man she thought only saw her as a one night stand and
left her pregnant. She left everything she knows and loves to be with you and
now she’s lost her baby. To have you blame her for that instead of having your
support while she grieved is cruel, Rafe.
Wicked and cruel!
How could
you say you love her and put her through that? And if that wasn’t enough, you
flaunt an affair in her face.” Her words were having the effect he was sure she
desired. Guilt began to bubble inside him but being as stubborn as he was he
fought it.

“There is no affair,
Mamá!”
He defended himself. “I am not sleeping with Jasmine. I was drunk and I kissed
her. Yes, I was wrong, but that’s all it was.”

“You know when you’ll realize
what a mess you are making of your life? When that girl packs what little she
has and goes home. It’s going to be too late, Rafe because all the excuses in
the world wouldn’t help you then.” Slamming the paper against his chest
Lauralyn shook her head in disappointment at her son, before she calmly turned
around and left him to stew.

****

Dahlia wasn’t sure how long
she sat on the settee staring at the paper. She wasn’t even sure how much tears
she had cried. The only thing she was sure about is that her marriage was over.
There was no way she could possibly compete with the model that had herself
wrapped around Raphael. Almost as tall as him, the leggy blond was dressed as
one would expect Raphael’s lover to be. Short, body hugging red dress,
obviously expensive by the look of it was completed by matching red pumps. What
else would one expect in a model?

She didn’t think was possible
to hurt more than she had been hurting these past months since her baby died,
but this was too much. What was she going to do now? She couldn’t go back home.
Natasha already had her hands full with her baby due in a couple of months, she
had nothing across here, and her husband didn’t want her.

The headache that she had
been walking around with for the past few weeks was getting worse now.
Squeezing her eyes shut she tried to stop the tears from falling because it
only made her head hurt more, but she couldn’t help it. Sob after sob racked
her tiny frame driving her into a huge dark hole of depression. How could
things have gotten so bad so fast? Three months ago she was a happy bride and
expectant mother. She had a husband who adored her and showed it in every way,
but she had messed it all up. Her husband didn’t love her anymore, she had
killed their child, and now he was having an affair. She was only getting what
she deserved.

God, her head hurt so bad!
Getting up from the settee, Dahlia
made her way to the bedroom on shaky legs. Heading for the closet she retrieved
all the bags with the baby clothes she had stuck in there and emptied them
across the bed. Her body shook with the heart wrenching sounds of pain that
escaped her sore throat. Going into the bathroom she rummaged through the
medicine cabinet. When she found what she was looking for she went back into
the bedroom.

Picking up the newspaper from
the nightstand where she had rested it, she looked at it one more time before
tossing it on the bed. Uncapping the bottle of painkillers she emptied some and
tossed them down her throat. How many? She didn’t know she just wanted to stop
hurting. Placing the unopened bottle on the nightstand, she finally lowered her
small frame unto the bed amongst all her dead baby’s clothes and sighed when
her head hit the pillow.

Behind closed lids, images
flashed one after the other. She saw Raphael with Sarafina and her baby. She
saw Raphael angry shouting at her, telling her it was her fault their son was
dead. Another image of Raphael kissing Jasmine rose up. Dahlia groaned out loud
as her headache intensified. Reaching for the painkillers she tossed back a few
more but still the pain persisted and the images continued. Hoping just a few
more pills would help she reached for the bottle once again. She needed to get
rid of the damn headache.

She was right to drink all
the painkillers! Slowly the pain subsided and the images began to fade. Instead,
she could see Raphael holding their son, smiling at her. He looked so happy.
She walked towards him reaching for the hand he held out to her. This was
bliss. All she had to do was let go and she did. Dahlia let herself go and
allowed the peace to engulf her.

****

Lauralyn had succeeded in
what she set out to do. Raphael was still sitting at the table an hour after
his mother left, guilt gnawing away at him. How could he have treated Dahlia as
abominably as he did in the past three months? It wasn’t him alone that had
lost a baby. His wife would be hurting just as much as him or even more. She
was the one that carried that baby for more than six months. His mother was
right! If he had found Dahlia in such a position he would have lost it. He
would have killed any man that dared to touch his wife in that way, innocent or
not. Why didn’t he at least try to understand how she must have felt? To
compound the situation, he had been cruel enough to blame her for their son’s
death. What kind of monster was he?

To think what his wife must
be going through now.
¡Dios!
Had she seen the picture of him and Jasmine
in the papers? He hoped to God not because he didn’t know what she would do.
The idea of Dahlia packing up and leaving him was too much to think of.

Pushing himself up from where
he was, he hurried to his room. Showering in record time, he dressed hastily
determined to get home before Dahlia saw today’s news. There was a lot to be
made up for before he and Dahlia could find any measure of happiness again, but
he would do whatever it took. First, he would apologize—beg her if he had to.
Then, he would convince her that their son dying was an accident. And lastly,
he would spend the rest of his life loving her as she deserved to be loved.

The streets of New York were
busy as it always was in the early hours of the morning, making his drive
longer than usual. The first thing he noticed when he entered the apartment was
the silence. It triggered a fear deep down inside him. Had she seen the newspaper
already? Did she leave?

Sprinting across the carpeted
floor he went directly to the bedroom. He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw
her. She looked so tiny in the huge bed. His heart tightened a little when he
noticed that she was lying amongst the baby clothes. He was such a bastard. Too
busy being angry and hurt he hadn’t spared one moment to try and understand
what she must be going through. The pain she must have suffered these past
months. He hadn’t even been there to grieve with her. Instead, he had laid the
blame solely on her shoulders, when in reality no one was to blame. But he was
to blame for the pain she was suffering now.

Cautiously he moved across
the room. Standing above her he winced when he saw the dark circles under her
eyes. She had lost a lot of weight since he had last seen her a week ago. She
looked so beautiful laying there, a smile adorning her face. Whatever she was
dreaming was making her happy. Settling himself next to her he raised his hand
to caress her cheek, but froze when he felt how cold her skin was. The heat was
running! There was no reason for her skin to be this cold.

It was then he noticed the
half emptied pill bottle in her hand. Snatching it up he tried to decipher what
she had taken and how much. Terrified at what began to run through his mind
when he realized how much of the painkillers were missing, he felt for the
small pulse on her neck. There wasn’t any. Despair shot through him like
lightning bolts.  Gathering her up he shook her; however, there was no
response.

“Dahlia, Dahlia!” Raphael’s
lungs constricted when her head rolled back.

“¡Dios, no! Amor, Amor,
open your eyes
por favor.
Open your eyes.”
When there was no response he released her limp body back on the bed. Grabbing
up the bed side phone he dialed 911. It was only when the person on the other
line answered did Raphael realized that he was crying.

****

The dreary hospital waiting
room felt small and claustrophobic even though it stretched a good distance
along. He was sitting here for the second time in three months and much like
the last time his heart was throbbing at an irregular rhythm. Rafe sat on the
hard chair; legs spread elbows on his knees. His head rested in the palm of his
hand cutting out the light around him.

He wasn’t prepared. If that
doctor came through those double doors and told him his wife was dead, he
honestly believed that he would have a nervous breakdown. Despite the fact that
he had been behaving like a complete and utter fool for the past couple of
months, living life without Dahlia was not an option. She was the other half of
him.

Rafe watched as his father
paced the room, occasionally stopping to run his hand through his thick black
hair. He would then shake his head and continue on. Lauralyn sat next to her
son, her arms around his hung shoulders, offering him silent comfort. Although
Rafe knew that he was to be fully blamed for the current situation he was in,
his parents had not once made him feel that way. Here they were—supporting him
even though he didn’t deserve it.

The things he had put his
wife through were unforgivable. Dahlia was a fragile person, yet he had still
pushed her: yelling at her, blaming her for their baby’s death, and then
kissing Jasmine Jordan. That had been her obvious breaking point. Seeing him
like that with Jasmine.

When the paramedics had
loaded her unto the waiting stretcher it was only then that he had seen the
news print on the bed. She had been looking at that before she took those
pills.The knowledge that he could be so cruel to the woman he loved, that she
would have to resort to suicide was pure anguish. How could he let things reach
this point?

Rafe looked up when the
waiting room door opened. Flying up from his seat he looked the doctor in his
eyes, praying that whatever she was going to say would be good. Lauralyn
clasped her small palm around her son’s triceps squeezing firmly. Alejandro
Cavos took his place at his son’s other side—ready to deliver whatever support
he would need.

When the doctor’s serious
face broke into a comforting smile Rafe released a quick breath. “Your wife is
a very lucky woman, Mr. Cavos. If you had brought her in ten minutes later it
would have be too late. I do not see why she should not be able to make a quick
recovery.” Alejandro caught the weight of his son as he sagged against him.

Doctor Brewster continued, “I
would, however, advise that she get as much rest as possible. Mentally, she is
still fragile from the ordeal she suffered a few months ago. I honestly don’t
believe she is suicidal, but I would like to keep her for a couple of days just
for safety measure.”

“Yes, we understand.”
Lauralyn assured the other woman. “And Doctor Brewster?” She stopped the woman
as she was getting ready to exit the room.
“Thank you…”
Palm resting
against her throat, Lauralyn expressed her gratitude to this woman who had just
saved her daughter-in-law’s life. The doctor didn’t answer. Instead she gently
squeezed Lauralyn’s hand and offered a sympathetic nod.

Rafe didn’t like how he was feeling.
His head felt heavy, yet he felt light headed. He felt anger, pain, grief but
he didn’t know what do to with it. Spinning away from his parents he pressed
his forehead against the wall. When the first sob racked his large frame it was
a sound of intense suffering that erupted from down low in his soul. Another
one followed as Rafe release a deep breath, his entire body shaking with
immense emotional pain. Then they came one after the other, each one more
excruciating than the other. Lauralyn Cavos’ heart crushed when it dawned on
her what was going on. Her son was finally grieving.

Finding her way to him she
wrapped herself around her son, offering him the love only a mother could give
to her child in pain. Rafe swung around, engulfing his mother with his large
arms grateful for the warmth of her body.
“¡Dios, Mamá ! ¿Cómo le pude hacer
eso a ella? ¿Cómo pude tratarla de esa manera? Ahora Dios me esta
castigando.¿Verdad?”

This was a habit of Rafe’s
ever since he was a little boy. When he got over emotional he would revert to
Spanish. How many times had his friends complained about it? They often did
because they could understand what he was saying.

“No, my son! This is not your
fault! God is not punishing you.”

“Sí, Mamá.
Yes he is, and I deserve it. Look what I have to done
to Dahlia. I hurt her until she tried to kill herself. What kind of man does
that to the woman he loves?” Rafe pushed away from his mother’s embrace finding
a seat once again. Tears still flowed down his cheek, but the sobs had
subsided.

It was Alejandro that took
the seat at his side. “My son, do not look at this as a punishment. Your wife
is alive. Be thankful for that. You now have an opportunity to make this
right.” Strong, firm hands gripped his shoulder.

Looking at the face that
looked so much like his but older, Rafe asked the one question that he was fearful
to ask, “What if she cannot forgive me?”