Chapter 14 - WHAT WE TOLD CAMILA
There is no good way to tell a child that her father attended his own funeral.
There is no gentle sentence that makes three years of absence logical.
There is no version of the truth that protects innocence once a television reporter has already turned your family into a headline.
I took Camila upstairs.
Elena came with us but stayed near the door.
I turned off every television in the room.
Camila sat on the edge of the bed clutching the stuffed fox.
Her face looked older than it had ten minutes earlier.
"Is Dad Santiago?"
I sat across from her.
"Yes."
Her eyes filled immediately.
"But Uncle Sebastian is Santiago's twin."
"Yes."
"And Dad is Uncle Sebastian."
"The man you know as Sebastian is actually your dad."
She stared at me.
"So where is Uncle Sebastian?"
The question nearly stopped my heart.
"He died in the crash."
Camila's mouth opened slightly.
"Then why did everyone say Dad died?"
I swallowed.
"Because after the crash, some dangerous people were looking for him."
"So he pretended?"
"Yes."
"For three years?"
"Yes."
Tears rolled down her cheeks.
"Did you know?"
"No."
She studied my face as if trying to determine whether I was lying too.
That hurt more than anything.
"When did you find out?"
"After the wedding."
"Because of the scar?"
I stared at her.
"How do you know about the scar?"
"I heard you and Aunt Elena talking."
Of course she had.
Adults always assumed children were asleep when children were listening from the other side of a door.
"Yes," I said.
"Because of the scar."
She wiped her face with her sleeve.
"Why didn't Dad tell me?"
I could have blamed Price.
I could have blamed Vale.
I could have blamed fear.
I refused.
"He made a bad choice."
"Did he not want me?"
My chest broke open.
"No."
I moved beside her.
"No, sweetheart."
"Then why would he let me think he was dead?"
"Because he believed pretending would keep you safe."
"But I wasn't safe."
I thought of the photographs taken outside her school.
"You're right."
She started crying harder.
"I used to talk to him at the cemetery."
I closed my eyes.
I had taken her there every Father's Day.
She would sit in the grass and tell the headstone about school, soccer, lost teeth, and birthday wishes.
The man whose name was carved there had been alive.
The man actually buried beneath it had been her uncle.
"I know."
"Did Dad know I did that?"
"Yes."
"Did he watch?"
I hesitated.
Camila saw it.
"He did."
"Sometimes."
She pulled away from me.
"That's mean."
The word was so simple.
So accurate.
"Yes."
I whispered it because she deserved honesty even when it hurt him.
"It was."
She cried until her body shook.
I held her only when she let me.
After a while, she asked, "Can I see him?"
I had expected anger.
The request surprised me.
"Are you sure?"
"I want to ask him."
"Ask him what?"
"Why he left me."
I closed my eyes.
"Okay."
Detective Monroe arranged the meeting at a secure location the next morning.
Santiago entered a small interview room wearing jeans and the same black T-shirt from our wedding morning.
He looked like he had not slept.
The cut on his head had been cleaned.
His right hand was still bandaged.
Camila sat beside me.
When he walked in, she did not run toward him.
His face changed.
He stopped three feet away.
"Hi, ladybug."
Camila stiffened.
"Don't call me that."
The words hit him visibly.
"Okay."
He sat across from us.
For several seconds, nobody spoke.
Then Camila asked, "Are you my dad?"
Santiago's eyes filled.
"Yes."
"Were you always my dad?"
"Yes."
"Even when you said you were Uncle Sebastian?"
"Yes."
She swallowed.
"Why did you lie?"
He looked at me.
I shook my head slightly.
Do not soften it.
He understood.
"Because I was afraid."
"Of bad people?"
"At first."
"And later?"
Santiago looked down.
"Later I was afraid you would hate me."
Camila frowned.
"So you kept lying so I wouldn't hate you for lying?"
I almost stopped breathing.
Santiago gave a broken laugh that became a sob.
"Yes."
"That's dumb."
"Very."
"Mom says grown-ups make things complicated when they should tell the truth."
He looked at me.
"Your mom is right."
Camila's lower lip trembled.
"I cried for you."
"I know."
He caught himself immediately.
"I'm sorry."
"Did you hear me?"
"Sometimes."
"At home?"
"Yes."
"At the cemetery?"
He closed his eyes.
"Once."
Camila started crying.
Santiago stood instinctively.
She moved backward.
He stopped.
That hurt him more than any slap I could have given.
"I thought you were gone," she said.
"I was wrong."
His voice broke.
"I was there, and I should have come back to you."
"Why didn't you?"
"Because I was a coward."
She looked at him through tears.
"Are you still?"
The room went silent.
Santiago knelt so he was at her eye level but stayed several feet away.
"I'm trying not to be."
Camila wiped her face.
"Can I be mad?"
"Yes."
"For a long time?"
"As long as you need."
"Can I still love you?"
Santiago covered his mouth.
He nodded because he could not speak.
Camila looked at me.
"Can I hug him?"
I swallowed.
"If you want to."
She walked slowly across the room.
Santiago did not move until she put her arms around him.
Then he held her like a man trying to apologize with every bone in his body.
I turned away.
Not because the moment was beautiful.
Because it was unbearable.
They had lost three years.
Nothing could return them.
After the meeting, Santiago asked to speak to me alone.
I almost refused.
Then I stayed.
"I need to tell you something about the policy," he said.
"The two million?"
His face tightened.
"You know."
"Yes."
"I didn't buy it."
"Then who did?"
"The signature on the application isn't mine."
"Someone forged it."
"Yes."
"Vale."
"Probably."
"Stop saying probably."
"Sorry."
He rubbed his bandaged hand.
"There's something else."
I waited.
"Before the crash, Sebastian told me he had copied evidence into an account he called the second witness."
"We found the drives."
"Not what I mean."
"Then what?"
"He said the evidence would survive even if every physical copy disappeared."
"Cloud storage?"
"Maybe."
I glared.
"Sorry."
He continued.
"He used an automatic release system."
"Release to who?"
"He never told me."
"When?"
"If he failed to reset a timer."
My skin prickled.
"A dead man's switch."
"Yes."
"Wouldn't it have released after he died?"
"It should have."
"But it didn't."
"Not publicly."
"Then maybe someone received it privately."
Santiago nodded.
"That's what scares me."
"Why?"
"Because Vale spent three years searching for evidence we thought was already destroyed."
"Meaning he didn't receive it."
"Right."
"So who did?"
He looked at me.
"There was only one person Sebastian trusted more than me."
I thought of Teresa.
Then rejected it immediately.
"Who?"
Santiago said, "You."
I stared at him.
"Sebastian and I were not close like that."
"Not personally."
"Then why me?"
"Because he knew you kept everything."
"What does that mean?"
"Cards."
"Letters."
"Receipts."
"Photographs."
"He used to tease you about keeping paper forever."
I thought of the old funeral documents.
The birthday cards.
The box labeled SANTIAGO.
Then I remembered the morning after Sebastian's funeral.
A package had arrived with no return address.
Inside was a children's book for Camila and a sympathy card for me.
I had assumed it came from someone at Sebastian's company.
The card contained a line I had never understood.
Keep the stories people try to erase.
My heart began pounding.
May you like
"I think I still have it."
