“Don’t be ridiculous.”
She scoffed.
“Where are you going? To meet that bitch, Sonia? Do you think she’s going to tell you anything?”
“She’d better.”
“I love you, but you’re fucking naive if you think it’s going to be that easy. After everything she’s done to keep you from Eli, you think she’s just going to give him back to you? She has no intention of giving you anything. There’s something wrong with that woman, Noah, something that scares me, and I don’t want you going anywhere near her. Especially when I’m laid up in here with no idea what’s going on. I need you, Noah. Your child needs you.”
“Eli is my child, Rachel. He needs me too.”
“I hate to tell you this, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t need you at all. He’s got Sonia.”
“You just told me you don’t trust her. But you trust her enough to care for my child?”
Rachel was starting to cry again. Noah wanted to back off, but suddenly understood she had never wanted anything to do with Eli, didn’t even want him in her life, and she was using any weapon she could to turn Noah against his own son. The realisation made him angrier than he thought possible.
“Eli is a part of me, Rachel, and nothing you say can make that different. He’s my son, and he means more than the world to me. He means more to me than my own life.”
“Does he mean more to you than me? Does he mean more to you than your other child? The one I’m carrying?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Answer me!”
“You want me to choose?”
“Yes, exactly. I want you to choose between your fucking crazy ex-wife and a child who has no idea who the fuck you are; and me, the woman who loves you, the woman who came down here on this crazy mission with you even though she is carrying your future child, one who you’ll know and grow close to and will love you forever. Choose, Noah. If you’re half the man you believe you are, it should be easy. Choose.”
Noah took a breath, but had no idea what words were going to come out of his mouth. The anger and resentment had built up to such intolerable levels they confounded him. The pressure in his head was building, struggling for release.
Who was she? Who was she to tell Noah that Eli was nothing? That he should be forgotten? Who was this woman? Not the demure girl he’d met what seemed like only months before, the girl who once didn’t know the meaning of the word “relationship”. He had only been with her because her commitment to being noncommittal was so different from his that she seemed exciting, good for him. When had she become the yoke around his neck, telling him that he should no longer care about the only thing he’d ever cared about? Who was she? And who was the unborn child she said was his? Did it smile like Eli? Did it laugh like him? Was it as smart, as friendly, and perfect as his little son? It was nothing to him, nothing but a lump of flesh buried deep in a woman he didn’t know, didn’t recognise. She wanted him to choose between that and his perfect little boy? There was no choice. There had never been a choice.
Rachel’s eyes narrowed as she glared at Noah. His skull filled with opaque fuses and felt as though it was burning. He touched his forehead; it was strangely cold.
“I have to go, Rachel. We’ll talk about this later.”
“Get the fuck out of here,” she said, and threw the brightly-coloured toy at him. It bounced off his temple, catalysing his anger before it smashed to the ground.
“With pleasure,” he bellowed, then stormed out.
Muñoz was sitting in the waiting room, speaking quietly with the strange staring couple. It was clear by the look of guilt on his face that he’d heard part of the argument. Noah didn’t stop. Full of burning embers, he stormed outside. Muñoz followed close behind.
“Is she okay?” Muñoz dared.
“You don’t need to worry about it. Just get me to the church and to Sonia. Nothing else is going to come between me and Eli.”
The sharp shadow of the steeple lay across the front of the church, cutting the path to its door like a giant razor. Noah had been anxious on the journey there from the doctor’s office, still carrying his burning anger over what Rachel had said, and his nervous anticipation at seeing Eli again. He and Muñoz passed the rundown houses and saw few people outside. Most moved as if they were still asleep, staring off into space. On the stoop of a house, a woman sat surrounded by broken toys and the half-formed piñata she was building. Her hands were caked in pink plaster, and they covered her face as she wept uncontrollably.
Muñoz led Noah on without comment, along the dirt road to the towering church. Heat warped its height until the spire climbed forever into the sky. Out front, a shirtless man was working the arid ground, planting grass and flowers where it was clear nothing could grow. His back was tanned and broad, his muscles tight along his barrel chest, and it wasn’t until the two men were almost upon him that Noah realised it was Father Manillo.
“You came back!” he said, his grin wide, lenses reflecting the sun into Noah’s eyes. “Did you find everything you needed?”
Noah hesitated. “Almost.”
“Good, good!” he said. Not once did he look at Muñoz.
“And your wife? How is she?”
“My girlfriend is fine,” Noah said curtly. “But you know why I’m here, don’t you?”
“¿De verdad?“
“My wife. My ex-wife. She’s here, isn’t she?”
Noah watched the priest’s eyes, hoping the revelation would shake the man, but instead the older man dug his shovel into the ground and leaned on the handle. Then he laughed.
“What do you think is going on here? This is a place of God.”
“I don’t know about that, but I know you’ve been sheltering the Tletliztlii here. It’s probably why we didn’t find them up on the heath. Were they ever there?”
The priest laughed again, the sound as paternal as it was cold.
“Oh, they come and go. They come and go.” Then his face grew still, the laugh lines fading back into tanned leather skin, and he grabbed Noah’s arm and pulled. Noah tried to resist, but the sudden snatch had unbalanced him.
“You want to go inside, yes? I will not stop you—everyone is free to worship at Ometéotlitztl’s altar—but no matter what you find you must respect the sanctity of the church. There is no anger among the Tletliztlii, only shared purpose. Do you accept?”
He held out his hand for Noah to take. Noah shook it, but his own hand felt inadequate inside Manillo’s giant paw. When the priest let go, Noah wiped his fingers across his chest, trying to erase the feel of Manillo’s sweat and calluses. Noah turned to Muñoz, but the teacher remained cautiously and infuriatingly mute.
Though its windows were pointed away from the sun and let only indirect light inside, the interior of the church was an oven. There were more people in the pews, more people praying than ever before, many with plaster-covered hands, working on piñatas of various sizes and shapes; each was a colourful reminder of all the children Noah had not seen, had not held in so long. Each was a painful memory of what he had lost. He wondered about Rachel, about how she was, about whether what she’d said was true, but the thought was interrupted by the sight of the woman kneeling before the church’s towering black altar.
Her auburn hair was pinned back, but wisps of it fell over her apple face. Lines had been carved where he had never seen them, and dressed in meagre clothes she bore little resemblance to the woman he’d known. But the way she hung her head, the awkward turn of her nose, made it all too clear who she was. He would never forget her. Not the woman who had stolen his son from him.