‘So – this is a few years later I’m talking about, now. Luz’s husband was gone, the boyfriend was in the house, and – she is my sister but I have to say it – she was drinking too much with that man.’
‘Ah, well,’ Oscar had his hands folded like an undertaker, ‘nobody’s perfect.’
‘And some of us are more imperfect than others. So one day when Luz was out of the house, probably making an emergency tequila run because God forbid they might find themselves short on margaritas, the boyfriend decided Eddie was a pest and started beating on him. He got a little carried away and broke the child’s nose. Eddie ran crying to his Uncle Frank, blood running down his face – in a panic, he thought he was dying.
‘Luckily it was a Saturday and Frank was home from work. He rushed Eddie to the hospital. And the next day when the boy was ready to come home, Frank asked my sister, “Why don’t you let him stay with me a while till your life settles down a little?” Something like that, making it seem OK. Just an extended visit.
‘But as time passed, he kept making up little stories so it was easy for her to leave him there – she was so busy, he said, her husband was gone and she had to look for a job. Like she ever would. My parents were a little alarmed at first. They kept saying, “Why is Eddie never home?” But when they saw how happy he was at Frank’s house, and how well taken care of … I know it’s crazy but it just became the way things were. Eddie stayed at Frank’s house and Luz came to visit, do the big kissy-kissy and leave.’
‘So Frank Martin raised Ed Lacey?’
‘Yes. And did all the things fathers do, or used to do when the world was more decent. Attended all the school plays, helped with the homework. You know, Frank was very frugal about his own things, always bought two-year-old cars, kept them till they were eight or nine – he was careful that way. But the best was none too good for Eddie – whatever clothes and gear he needed for games at school, and he went to all the games when Eddie made the football team. That’s how they got the scholarship so Eddie could go to college. Got his degree and went straight to the police academy from there, made us all proud.’
‘So you were pretty surprised, I suppose,’ Sarah said, ‘when Frank was accused of stealing money from the credit union ?’
‘Surprised does not begin to describe it.’ Cecelia, ablaze with indignation, was a sight worth watching, Sarah thought – fake fingernails tracing crimson parabolas in the air, her remarkable bosom testing the seams of the emerald jersey. ‘We all begged him to fight it. Plainly, they had no proof. His whole character and life up till then made the claims ridiculous, and where was the money? Frank didn’t have it in his bank account. They searched all the drawers in his house – in both houses, his and Eddie’s. They even went through Eddie’s accounts, though he was married by then and had joint accounts with his wife. But Eddie said to go ahead, they wouldn’t find anything, and of course they never did.’
‘Where do you think it went?’
‘I have no idea. Well, I have one idea, but I have no proof either so …’ Cecelia paused and looked down, and for a moment Sarah thought she might be about to divulge further, but suddenly her head shot back up, her eyes blazing. ‘All I know is, Frank didn’t do it. I don’t care whose handwriting is on the’ – she waved the handwriting away – ‘deposits, or whatever they said. Somehow, a giant injustice has been done.’
‘But he left a sort of mea culpa when he killed himself, didn’t he?’
‘A what? Oh, the note. Some silly thing, I forget what it said …’
‘I can tell you exactly,’ Oscar Cifuentes said.
Sarah looked at him, her face saying, What?
Pulling another piece of paper out of that same handy shirt pocket, he began to read. ‘“I didn’t take the money, but I won’t put my family through this investigation any longer.” And then a postscript: “Eddie, I’m sorry for everything. I’ve loved you all your life, please try to forgive me.”’
When he stopped, both women stared at him, waiting for him to add something more. But there wasn’t any more. Cifuentes put the paper back in his pocket and asked Cecelia, ‘Why do you think he wrote that?’
‘Oscar, querido mio – how would I know? It doesn’t make any sense. What was he apologizing for? Eddie owed his life to Uncle Frank.’ She made a fist of her soft, manicured left hand and beat on the sofa’s upholstered arm three times. ‘I. (Thump.) Don’t. (Thump.) Know. (Thump.)’