Page 80 of Kissing Kin
Her mother-in-law scowled. “Who could that be?”
Marianna exchanged a look with Ramon.
He nodded and, shoulders sagging, answered the door. “Mateo, welcome back.” He spoke as if by rote.
“Hello.” Mateo’s voice was monotone.
“Come in. We’re just having dessert.” Ramon opened the door.
Separated only by the doorsill, the two husbands regarded each other.
Gazing at Mateo for the first time since he enlisted in May, she swallowed hard, bracing herself.
He shook his head. “No thanks. I’ve come to see my…” His voice faltered. “Is Marianna here?”
“Yes, come inside.” Though the color drained from his face, Ramon swung the door wider.
“I’d rather not.” Hat in hand, Mateo fingered the rim.
Her heart skipping a beat, Marianna ignored her in-laws’ stares, grabbed a wrap, and stepped out on the porch.
Mateo came to attention as his gaze connected with hers. “Can we speak privately?”
Her pulse racing, she glanced at Ramon.
He gave a brief nod, then winced before averting his eyes.
She turned toward Mateo. Am I doing the right thing? Butterflies in her belly as she faced the love of her life, she recalled the nights in his arms.
“Can we talk”—using his hat, he pointed to a motte of live oaks—“over there?”
Welcoming the privacy, she silently led the way, but Ramon’s wounded gaze as he closed the door troubled her. What do I do? What do I say? She swallowed the lump in her throat as she turned toward Mateo. “Have you recovered from typhoid?”
He nodded. “Just too late…” Then as he studied her, his flat tone insinuated. “Why’d you leave?”
“I didn’t leave.” Anger replacing sorrow, she tossed her chin. “Your brothers forced me out.”
“That’s not how they tell it.” His steady gaze accused. Then breaking the stare, he hung his head. “I never knew about the baby”—he fingered his hat’s rim—“until too late.”
The memories rushed in like a squall line. A sob escaped, and she pressed her fingers to her lips.
Mateo reached out to her.
Trusting neither him, nor herself, she shrank away, binding herself in her shawl, and stared at the ground as she recounted the details of their son’s short life.
“If I’d only known.” His hands clenching into fists, he mangled his hat’s rim. “If I could’ve been there…”
The anguish in his voice intensified her loss, and the tears streamed down her cheeks unchecked. She ached to slip her arms around him—ease his pain and hers—but instead, she dug her fingernails into her arms as she wrapped her shawl about her like a shield.
“Marianna, we can try again. It’s not too late.” He stepped forward, as if to take her in his arms.
She backed away. “It is too late. I’m married to Ramon.”
“But you’re my wife.” Palms up, he appealed.
Recalling Ramon’s moist, red eyes, she shook her head. “Not anymore.”
“Come back with me. We can start again.” He caught the tips of her fingers. “I’ve missed you.”