The North Face of the Heart - Dolores Redondo Page 0,56

really good that’ll please you.” He sat down at last but was still as stiff as a board.

She went around the table and took the seat opposite him. The concentration in his face and the way he was rubbing the fingers of one hand with those of the other made it obvious he was mentally rehearsing a prepared presentation. It took him a few seconds to find his opening point. “Engrasi, I was very worried after our conversation about our little girl.”

Engrasi just nodded and waited.

“I was very hurt by what you told me, sis. I don’t want you to think I dislike Amaia, because I love her more than life itself . . .”

Engrasi studied his expression.

“I talked with Rosario. It was very difficult for me, but I told her what you said about the horrible things people say about Amaia. Engrasi, Rosario broke down in tears.” Juan seemed about to do the same. He resisted the quiver in his lips by clamping them shut, closing his eyes, and reaching out for Engrasi. She took his hands in hers. “Engrasi, the drugs make her feel strange. Nauseated, you know? Sick and angry. Dr. Martínez said those side effects are common, and they will last until he gets the dosage right . . . and sometimes that takes years. Rosario admitted that there were times she didn’t take her pills at all, and that’s when she said those things. But now it’s all better.” He shrugged, an involuntary sign that even he didn’t believe what he was saying. “It looks like the doctor found exactly the right mix of drugs. She’s been a lot better for quite a while now. She’s her true self again, the way she was when I met her. You can’t imagine how much she regrets what happened. She asked me to apologize to you.”

Engrasi sat up warily, abruptly removing her hands from her brother’s. He seemed not to realize that she’d withdrawn her confidence in him at the same time.

He kept talking. “People can be really nasty, and this is a tiny little town. Rosario realizes how something like this can hurt the family.”

Engrasi heard him clearly. He’d said “hurt the family,” not “hurt the child.” She responded with great caution. “I’m glad she sees that. That both of you see it.”

“That’s why she thought, why we both thought, that it would be best for Amaia to come home.”

There it was. Engrasi couldn’t believe her ears. And she hadn’t seen it coming. “What?”

“Rosario has been terribly unhappy being separated from her daughter. Those comments, the horrible things she said, they were just her way of defending herself. She felt people were criticizing her for not having her daughter living at home. Normally people would expect a girl as young as Amaia to be living with her family.”

Engrasi looked at her brother, but she was no longer listening to what he said. She realized how carefully this had been staged. His best suit, his unexpected appearance at her door, the elaborate prologue Engrasi knew was impossible for him to have prepared alone.

She looked again at her brother and saw him for what he was: An emissary. A puppet. Engrasi hadn’t spoken to Rosario for years, but Engrasi didn’t need any contact with Rosario to see the truth. Her studies in the psychology department seemed a thousand years ago now, but she recognized the characteristics of a psychopath. She was astonished at herself; she couldn’t believe she’d been so obtuse as to miss what was happening. Engrasi had underestimated that neurotic, malevolent woman, her power, her influence, and her ability to project her psychoses upon those around her.

Engrasi pressed her hand to her breast, trying to calm the acid roiling her gut. Her growing unease was so great she could hardly breathe. Not a single word about Amaia, no mention of the suffering the child had endured, or the banishment of a child now almost twelve years old, who’d been excluded from her home for nearly three years. Engrasi’s hands were trembling, so she hid them in her lap and admonished herself to regain her calm and analyze this. She sat mute and grave as she regarded her brother.

He eventually broke the silence. “Aren’t you going to say anything?”

“I’m still processing this,” she replied as mildly as she could.

He seemed disappointed. “I thought you’d be glad, and I honestly can’t understand why you aren’t. The other day when we spoke, you were really hard on me, and