The North Face of the Heart - Dolores Redondo Page 0,57
I appreciate that. I discussed it with Rosario, and now I see things the way they really are.”
“The way she says they are.”
He continued as if he hadn’t heard. “I thought this was what you wanted.”
Engrasi shook her head in disbelief. “The only thing I want is to keep the child safe.”
Juan got up and came around the table. He leaned over and placed a conciliatory hand on her shoulder. “Sister, I’ll never be able to thank you enough for taking care of Amaia while Rosario was in such delicate health, but now my wife is healthy again.” His emphasis was borne of conviction.
Engrasi pushed his hand away and got to her feet. They stood face to face, almost touching. “No, Juan! Rosario is not healthy. Rosario will not be healthy as long as she lives.”
What happened next shouldn’t have surprised her, but it did. Juan’s face twisted in bitter triumph, as if he’d just confirmed something. He stepped back, not bothering to hide his anger. “Just as I expected!”
“What do you mean, Juan?” she asked, offended. “What were you expecting?”
“That’s exactly what Rosario told me you’d say.”
Engrasi shook her head. Her brother was an ass. She stepped forward the same two paces and confronted him anew. “And what exactly did she predict?”
He stumbled backward, intimidated. “Nothing . . .”
“No, no. Tell me!” she demanded. “I want to know what she’s thinking.”
Juan looked up. “She believes you’ve gotten too attached to the child . . .”
“Too attached? You mean more than is normal?” She pressed him with grim determination. “Are you really trying to say you think it’s possible to love this child too much?”
“You’re acting like you’re her mother . . . because you never had children of your own.”
Engrasi’s jaw dropped in astonishment.
“But you’re not her mother, and it seems to me like you’ve forgotten that.”
Engrasi looked at her brother as if he were a complete stranger. “She certainly coached you well.” Her voice dripped with contempt. “And you parrot every word.”
“Engrasi, you’d better just get used to the idea. The girl’s mother wants the child to come back home, and so do I.”
She got right in his face to make sure he couldn’t miss her determination. “No!”
He nodded spitefully, as if he’d been expecting that answer. “Rosario told me you’d refuse. She’s already consulted a lawyer. There’s nothing you can do. If you keep making things difficult, you’ll only end up wasting your time and money. The girl is our daughter and should be living at home.”
“This is her home,” Engrasi replied, “and it looks like you’ve forgotten why she’s living with me and what happened to make you bring her here.”
Juan answered without hesitation, “Any judge will understand that an ill mother couldn’t care for her daughter. We are making this difficult decision for the child’s own good. You knew the terms; you agreed that Amaia would live with you until Rosario was well again.”
Engrasi’s face tensed in fury. “No! You didn’t bring her to me because Rosario was sick. She’d been abusing her, humiliating her, and terrorizing her for months.”
“Rosario was in poor health,” he repeated, as if citing a mantra.
“And you, brother, didn’t do a damn thing about it. Nothing when Rosario forced her to wear that dead child’s clothes, and nothing when you saw her get up at night to go to the girl’s bed and threaten her. You did absolutely nothing when she chopped off the child’s hair with blunt scissors.”
Juan exploded. “Rosario was ill!” he shouted.
Engrasi refused to be intimidated. “You did nothing, because you thought it was better not to see. You chose to wait, to wait until it was too late. Until she was just about to—”
“It was an accident!” he yelled.
“It was not!” she shouted with all the strength she could muster.
Juan closed his eyes and shut his mouth. When he finally spoke, his voice was stifled by desperation. “Yes, it was, Engrasi. I’ve thought about it a lot, and it had to have been an accident.”
Engrasi stalked to him and poked her finger in his chest. “That is not what you told me that night, when you carried Amaia here. No, Juan. An ‘accident’ is what you said it was when the people saw you come out of the bakery carrying an unconscious child. You said the girl slipped, fell in the mixing bin, and hit her head. That’s the stinking lie you had to make up, and you’ve finally convinced yourself it was the truth.” She