Chapter 2 - THE BLUE SUITCASE
Camila knew exactly where Carmen had hidden the suitcase.
“In Grandma's room,” she said.
“What suitcase?”
“The blue one.”
Elena and I drove back to the apartment with a court officer and a locksmith.
Daniel opened the door before the locksmith touched it.
He was still wearing yesterday's shirt.
Behind him, the dining room looked like a battlefield.
Lobster shells.
Empty wine bottles.
A serving platter on the floor.
The feast had aged badly.
So had everyone who stayed for it.
Carmen stood near the kitchen in a silk robe.
Valeria was asleep on the sofa.
Her boyfriend was gone.
Daniel looked at the officer.
“This is ridiculous.”
The officer handed him the temporary notice.
Daniel read it.
His face changed.
“You filed already?”
“Yes.”
“You planned this.”
“Since last night.”
“You didn't even talk to me.”
“I talked to you on the balcony.”
“You walked out.”
“With our freezing child.”
Carmen stepped forward.
“Don't use Camila as an excuse to steal my son's home.”
“My home,” I said.
That landed.
Daniel looked at me as if I had slapped him.
The officer cleared his throat.
“Mrs. Salgado, you said you needed to retrieve belongings for yourself and the child.”
Camila tugged my hand.
“Blue suitcase.”
We went to Carmen's room.
She followed.
“Don't touch my things.”
Camila pointed under the bed.
“There.”
I pulled out a hard-shell suitcase.
Locked.
Carmen moved fast.
Too fast.
She tried to grab it.
The officer stepped between us.
“Ma'am.”
“It belongs to me.”
Camila said, “No. Grandma said it's my trip bag.”
Silence.
Daniel appeared in the doorway.
I looked at him.
“Open it.”
“I don't have the key.”
Carmen said, “Neither do I.”
Camila walked to the dresser, opened a jewelry box, and lifted a tiny brass key.
“Grandma puts it here.”
Carmen's face went white.
Children notice everything.
I unlocked the suitcase.
Inside were Camila's clothes.
Her birth certificate.
Vaccination records.
Two envelopes of cash.
A stuffed rabbit.
And three airline tickets to Madrid.
Passengers:
Carmen Salgado.
Daniel Salgado.
Camila Salgado.
Departure: Saturday, 11:55 p.m.
My knees weakened.
“That is tomorrow.”
Daniel rubbed both hands over his face.
“Mariana, listen.”
“No.”
“It wasn't what you think.”
“You withdrew her from school.”
“Temporarily.”
“You bought a ticket out of the country.”
“My mother wanted to visit family.”
“With my daughter?”
“You were working.”
That sentence broke something.
Not because it was clever.
Because he actually believed it explained enough.
I looked at Carmen.
“When were you planning to tell me?”
She crossed her arms.
“When you had time to be a mother.”
The officer said, “Ma'am, that's enough.”
But I wasn't listening anymore.
I was staring at the tickets.
My salary had paid for those too.
I checked the purchase confirmation on Daniel's email later.
My card.
Of course.
Then Camila reached into the suitcase.
“There was another thing.”
She dug beneath the lining.
Carmen shouted, “Camila, stop!”
My daughter pulled out a white envelope.
My name was written across the front.
Not in Daniel's handwriting.
Not Carmen's.
I opened it.
Inside was a photograph of Daniel kissing a woman outside a hotel.
On the back, someone had written:
May you like
ASK HIM WHY SHE HAS A KEY TO YOUR APARTMENT.
