Who would do something like this? Tomas? I don’t think so. There would be other ways to kill me. Maybe it wasn’t meant to kill anyone. Maybe it was intended to intimidate me—or Antonio.
The questions pop into my mind, one after another. Nothing is engaging enough to get my mind off the horror.
I should call Isabel. She’s alone tonight, and I’m not sure if the explosion will make the Portuguese news in the US. She’ll be beside herself with worry that something happened to me.
I place the call, then pace the room as I wait for her to answer.
“Hello?” Isabel says, as though she’s not sure it’s me calling.
“Hello.”
“Daniela. Are you married?” she whispers.
“I am.” I don’t allow the emotion I’m feeling to control my voice, but it doesn’t matter. Isabel begins to cry.
“It’s okay,” I assure her. “He’s not so bad. Not like his father.” I wait for her to blow her nose. “Is Valentina at her event?”
“Yes. But I don’t like it. When we got to the school, there were so many boys.”
Valentina was so excited about the dance-a-thon tonight. The kids are locked in the school gym for the entire night to raise money for homeless teens. Isabel hates the idea of girls and boys mixing for the night, but Valentina and I managed to wear her down. It’s a good thing too. She doesn’t need to sit around all night watching Isabel grieve.
“I can’t wait to see you,” she says. “Even for a few days.”
I have a feeling that Antonio won’t leave Porto until we know who was responsible for the explosion. I need to prepare Isabel without alarming her. “There’s a possibility that our trip might be delayed by a day or two. But I promise I’m still coming. I’ll know more in a few hours.”I hope.
“Is everything all right?” she asks, her tone suspicious. She doesn’t trust Antonio.
Isabel hasn’t heard about the explosion, and I’m not going to tell her. If she sees it on the news now, she’ll have already spoken to me, and she’ll know I’m not hurt—or dead.
“Everything’s fine. Antonio has some pressing matters to attend to before we can leave. But we’re coming.”
After we hang up, I lie on the couch with a book. Before I even finish reading a page, the elevator dings.
I toss my book aside and rush the elevator, praying that it’s Antonio and not someone bringing bad news.
75
Daniela
The doors open, and Antonio steps into the apartment. I draw a long, ragged breath.
He looks haggard, and worn, and I can almost see the weight of the world on his shoulders.It’s bad. It has to be.
“Is there any news?”
“We’re making progress. But it’s slow.”
He’s wearing sweatpants and a T-shirt. Somewhere along the way, he lost the dark bespoke suit—his wedding suit.
I’m relieved that he doesn’t seem injured.
We stand in the hall, perfectly still, gauging each other.
“How are you?” he murmurs.
“I’m doing better. But I wish there was news on the missing women.”
He steps closer to me and cradles my cheek.