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“It'll be fine,” Grace says, for what has to be the twentieth time at this point. Maybe she should record it and set it on a loop so that every time Connie opens her mouth, she can hit the button and save her voice. She loves that girl like her own daughter, would do anything to protect her, but she's also a woman who's trying to get her lovely children out the door on a much deserved trip, and Connie is making it much harder than she needs to.
Not that Bill is helping much. He's already made half a dozen lists with bullet points about how to take care of her own grandson, which makes her want to remind him that she did just fine raising him and his brother all these years so she thinks she can handle Hughie for a three day weekend.
“But--” Connie says, biting her lip. “It's just that I've never been away for so long from him.” She looks down at the crib where Hughie's sleeping and then gives a look of anguish to her husband. Grace does not laugh at her. She knows the feeling and given how Hughie came into the world, Connie has extra reasons for not wanting to leave his side. Still, the way's she fretting, someone would think she was handing her child over to a crocodile rather than his loving grandmother.
“I know,” Grace says, low and soothing. She pats Connie on the shoulder, adjusts the strap of her purse and takes a stray hair off of her collar. “But it will only be a few days and before you know it, you'll be back.” Hughie snuffles in his sleep and Connie takes a step forward.
Bill pulls Connie close to him, kisses the top of his head. “Trust her,” he says. “She's always looked out for us.”
Connie nods, and Bill gives Grace a rueful smile before they walk out the door. They've insisted on taking a cab to the airport, despite Paco being more than willing to take them there, because “we don't want to burden him” and “he's been driving us around everywhere, he needs at least a little bit of a break.”
The poor girl still can't get used to having other people help her out, Grace thinks, but she'll pick her battles where she can and given that she won the major skirmish of actually giving her a proper vacation, she'll let her have this minor victory. She's no Mother Winterbourne, insisting on always getting her way, and she never intends to be.
“I would have taken her,” Paco says, coming up next to her, waving goodbye as the car peels out of the driveway.
“I know,” Grace says. “They know that too.” It's been lovely to have them in the house but she's thrilled that Bill and Connie will finally have a chance to get at least a small honeymoon. So much has gone on since they first met Connie that now that everyone's had a chance to breathe and relax, it seems almost unreal.
“You miss them already, don't you,” Paco says. He's smiling at her, and she's certain that the look in his eyes matches her own. It's a soft, wistful thing, a memory resurfacing, coming up for air and finally everyone can take a deep breath and know that there's time to rest and remember all that's happened.
“I do,” Grace says, as she turns to him. “But I still have you.”
“You always will,” Paco says, laying one hand on her shoulder. “You know that.”
She does.
Ever since the day she met him.
1970
She doesn't look like an angel, not at first. What she looks like is a pregnant redhead, about to pop, cursing up a wild storm in front of a really nice towncar. Paco's still hasn't gotten used to everything here, but he's seen enough to know what costs money and that's got to have set someone back a lot. He watches her, because he doesn't have anything better to do – it's that or do the job Victor wants him to do and he's done a lot to get by, but if he does that...
No, the longer he waits until he finally breaks down and does it, the more he'll be able to look at himself in the morning and not feel like he'll never get clean.
It's not long before she notices him. It's a hot day and she's wiping her forehead with a handkerchief when her eyes lock onto his. He braces himself, waits for her to turn her fury on him, but she doesn't. A lady like that should want to kick what's ever below her, but instead she comes over to him and plops down on the bench he's sitting on.
“Sorry about that,” she says. “It's been a rough day.”
Paco blinks. “Uh,” he says. He's not really expecting her to talk to him too, and his mouth makes a few movements before he finally gets something out. “Sounds like it.”
“I'm not normally like this,” the woman says, before her eyes go back to the car, glaring at it like she wants to set it on fire. “But that son of a bitch locked it before he left.”
“Who?” Her husband, maybe. If his father had done that to his mother, she would have done more than curse up a storm at him. He would been on his knees, begging for forgiveness so fast he'd have left holes in the ground from where he hit it.
“My chauffeur,” she says. “He thought that getting drunk at a bar right before he drove us home would be a good idea.” Her fingers clench, almost ripping her handkerchief. “So I fired him.”
Well, he's right on the rich count. “But then--”
“I know,” she snaps, but softens almost immediately when Paco flinches. “It was stupid. I should have just—I don't know, at least waited until he sobered up, then had him drive me home.” She looks at him. “It's okay. You can tell me I was an idiot.”
Paco knows a trap when he sees one and he's not about to spring this one. “I won't,” he says. “Just next time, maybe call a cab.”
“Believe me, I tried,” she says. “But there's some sort of strike going on and--”
She stops, turns pale. Paco looks around to see if maybe that driver's come back or she sees someone she knows, but there's no one here but them.
“Oh, shit,” she says,” and then Paco sees it as well. A growing wet spot on the front of her dress, getting larger. “I think my water just broke.”
So now Paco feels real terror too. “I could—I can run to a payphone and call 911.” There's one not too far away, he thinks, and he's fast, really fast, he can make it there and then--
“Don't leave me,” she says, clutching at his arm. “Please don't leave.” She's panicked now, her eyes wild, all anger gone, replaced by fear.
He's 19 years old, he's been in this country for a little over a year, and he has no idea what to do.
Paco looks at the car. “Miss--”
“Mrs. Winterbourne,” she says, trying to smile before it fades as her face crinkles up with pain. “But you can call me Grace.”
“Grace,” he repeats. “I'm Paco. If you want, I can drive you there.” He's not sure if she'll get what he's getting at, if she'll look at him differently the way so many other people do, but she needs help and he's not going to just walk away.
Their eyes meet and it must click for her, because she nods slowly. “Whatever you need to do,” she says. “I won't complain.”
Thankfully, by the time he gets there, they're too busy with the pregnant lady to wonder just how Paco got the car up and running without a proper set of keys.
Paco sighs and looks at the clock at the wall. He's been here almost two hours. It's been a day for sitting, he guesses, but at least the seats in the hospital are cushioned. He would have taken off now that she was being taken care of, been grateful that Grace was true to her word and said nothing about some skinny kid wearing jeans bringing her in a car he clearly had no business being in, but--
“Stay,” she says before she's wheeled out of his sight. “Please.”
So he stays. He sits there, watching doctors and nurses go by, who give him looks like he's about to ask them for drugs or something. Maybe they think he's going to be one of those people outside yelling about the war, but he doesn't. There's other people in the waiting room, who try to sit down as far away as they can and he's by himself for some time until one girl plops herself down in the empty chair next to him and gives everyone else a look.
“You waiting for you or you got someone in there?” she asks. She's got gum in her mouth and as he looks at her, she blows a big bubble and winks.
“Waiting,” he says.
“Gotcha.” She shakes her head. “Well, good luck. Some of the people here can be real assholes.” She says the last part much louder than the first, and more than a few of the others there glare at her.
“Thank you,” he says hesitantly. “I don't—it's okay.”
“It's not,” she says, “but I promise you, one day it will be.”
She then rummages in her bag and pulls out a mass of bright red yarn.
And for the next hour, he watches her knit something that looks like it might be a scarf, while she hums a song he doesn't know. No one else tries to sit near them, but they don't get kicked out either so he takes that as a win.
The sky grows dark outside. He's hungry, but he ignores it. He's gotten good at that, telling his body that it doesn't need anything right now. Maybe this really is a trick, he thinks. Maybe she's just some rich lady having a joke at his expense, seeing if he's willing to do anything she asks because--
He should leave. But he doesn't. Instead, his eyes grow tired, his head starts to droop, and at some point, he falls asleep, resting against the wall.
“Sir?”
Paco blinks his eyes open. His stomach is growling more now, telling him that he's pushed it too far this time and it's not going to be ignored, but he's tired so it's easy to just tell it that there's nothing he can do about anything right now so it's just going to have to be unhappy.
“Sir?” he hears again and it's not until the nurse is standing directly in front of him that he realizes it's directed at him. She sounds doubtful about it, so he wonders. But the waiting room is almost empty now, just an old couple with their heads bowed together and another man reading a newspaper. There's no sight of the girl that was sitting next to him.
“You must be--” and she trails off. “Paco?”
“Yes,” he says, looking down at his lap when something scratches against him. There's a bright red scarf lying on his lap. “Is Mrs. Winterbourne all right?”
Her face twists a little bit like she's unhappy that she got the right person, but it clears. “She's fine,” she says quietly. “She's asking for you.”
He stands up, wipes his palms on his jeans as hangs the scarf from his neck. At least it's a hospital. Here they're used to people that are sweaty, tired, looking like they haven't showed in a while. He knows as he's taken through the hospital, past places he's never seen before, that normally he wouldn't be allowed to do it. But money buys a lot of things and one of them is a room by yourself with a man in a suit coming out that looks at him like he wants to say something.
“You drove my wife here,” the man says. He looks tired, but his gaze is sharp behind his glasses.
“Yes sir,” Paco replies. “She asked me to.” He keeps his voice steady, low, tries to stay as non-threatening as possible. A man like this could have him thrown in jail just by calling someone on the phone and telling them to do it.
He's known a lot of men like that.
The man looks at him for a while, his eyes sizing him up. And then, to Paco's surprise, his face softens a little bit. “Thank you,” he says quietly. “I hope she's right about you.”
“You're welcome,” Paco says, a little confused, but the man's not yelling or threatening to call the cops so he thinks he's probably fine.
“Well, don't just let him stand there,” he hears Mrs. Winterbourne call out. “Have him come in.”
Mr. Winterbourne smiles briefly. “You can tell her no,” he says. “I can't promise she'll listen, but you can try.”
The man turns to walk down the hallway as Paco is ushered into the room. The door shuts and Mrs. Winterbourne's there in bed, clearly exhausted but happy. She eyes the scarf around his neck but doesn't say anything because she's probably got other stuff on her mind.
“He's not going to stay?” Paco asks, looking back.
“Business,” she says, waving her hand dismissively. “He's got to take care of some things.” Her gaze turns back towards Paco. “And anyhow, it gives a chance to talk.”
He shuffles uneasily. “About?”
“Sit,” she says, motioning to a hard plastic chair. “No use standing around looking uncomfortable.”
Paco sits. The room's nicer than the waiting room, soft blue curtains, flowers on a table, no one else there but the two of them. People like her don't have to be forced with people if they don't want to, which is why Paco still being there confuses him.
“Paco,” she says, like a question. “You know, I don't think I got your full name.”
“Just Paco is fine,” he says. Somewhere out there, there once lived a boy named Francisco Roque, but he only exists in his family's heart. Only their tongues will speak his name. No one else needs to know it.
“Hmm,” Mrs. Winterbourne says, but she doesn't press him on it like he thought she would. Instead, she nods. “Well, it will make your paperwork a little more complicated, but you can't be the only one out there that's ever gone by just one name.”
“What?”
“I'd like to offer you a job,” she says. Her lips turn up like she wants to smile, but she's not quite sure if it's the right time to do it. “It appears I'm in a need of a chauffeur and you seem to know how to drive.”
“Yes,” Paco says, “but--”
“But nothing.” Mrs. Winterbourne shakes her head. “My husband would have just written you a check and been done with it, but that's not my style. I like to take care of people who take care of me and keep them around.”
Paco shifts in the seat. “You don't know me,” he says quietly. “And I don't know you, Mrs. Winterbourne.”
“Grace,” she says. Her eyes bore into him and Paco finds he can't look away. “You're right. But that doesn't mean that can't change.”
He opens his mouth, then closes it. There's something in her eyes he hasn't seen before. Yes, she's being kind to him, but usually, when someone gives him that kind of look, he can see the pity on their face too.
Mrs.--Grace has none of that. She looks right at him, like she knows him, knows what he's done, what he had to do to get here, and none of it matters.
She looks at him like they're not strangers at all, but friends.
“All right,” he says. “But if this doesn't work out--”
“It will.” Grace's smile blooms on her face, turning from something small to a bright grin that rivals the sun coming up outside. “Well, now that that's settled, how would you like to meet them?”
Even with money, it's not an instant thing and it's another full day before Paco returns to the hospital, rested, fed and wearing clothes that practically still have the tags on them, but he comes back, goes to the window, and sees two little scrunched up figures, one smiling at nothing while the other wrinkles his nose like the world's already too much for him.
And Paco knows he's in this for life.
1980
“It was Kristen all along,” Grace yells. “I knew it!” She high fives Paco before turning off the television.
Paco shakes his head. “Good thing I didn't have money on Jock. I still don't know how you figured that one out.”
“Honestly,” she says, knocking back her drink. “It just made sense. Sue Ellen was too obvious, Vaughn wouldn't have been any fun, and Bobby?” She snorts. “Please.”
Paco nods. “True,” he says. “Well, that solves that mystery.” He looks around. “The house is quiet tonight.”
“Well, Ted's off on another trip and you wore out the boys today.” She smiles at him. “They can't stop talking about how much fun they had.”
Paco might have apologized for it years ago, but he's been working for Grace now for a full decade and things can't help but change when you're with someone that long. Maybe he still will never call her Grace in public, but it's easy when it's just them and the boys, nobody around to judge what they do or say or glare at Paco like they think he's going to put some forks up his sleeve.
“It was a lot of fun,” he says. “Even if they did scare me.” He'd had nightmares of calling Grace, telling her that an accident had happened and that she needed to rush over right now because he'd taken it too far, gotten carried away and someone else had paid the price for his lack of care.
“Join the club,” she says. “They terrify me constantly. I'm going to go gray early just from Hugh alone.”
“Not Bill?” Paco says wryly.
“I worry about him.” Grace reaches for the decanter, pours herself another drink. She plucks Paco's glass out of his hands and tops it off as well.
“Really?” Paco takes a sip of the whiskey. “He's never in trouble.” Even today, with the two boys racing each other, Bill was the first one to stop, to apologize, to tell his brother that they should be more careful.
“Exactly.,” Grace says. “At least with Hugh, I know he's not going to take anything too seriously. He's a kid. Bill, on the other hand--” She sighs. “Sometimes he feels like my son and other times I wonder if he thinks he has to be the man of the house with his father gone all the time.”
It's not the first time she's voiced these kind of things and there's not enough whiskey in the cabinet to make it any less awkward. “He'll be back soon,” Paco says. “Didn't you tell me that?”
“He always says that,” Grace says. “And then I'll see him for a night, maybe two, before he's off again. I'd think he was cheating on me, but he's more interested in his spreadsheets than--” She stops, knocks back her drink in one solid gulp.
“Spreading sheets?”
Grace splutters and Paco's relieved to see the look leave her face. They're both older now, the lines beginning to show in their faces, but here, she looks like the woman that hired him all these years ago, someone who couldn't even dream of how long he'd spend with her.
For his part, every time Paco looks in the mirror, he doesn't see the skinny kid he used to be, but something else, an alley cat turned domestic that's getting a slight paunch because he doesn't have to skip meals anymore.
“Paco,” she says, laughing and it distracts him enough that he misses the gleam in her eyes until it's too late.
“Sorry,” he says.
“Don't be.” She leans forward. “So tell me, how's Sergei?”
This is why it never pays to play any kind of game with Mrs. Winterbourne. She plays for keeps.
“So it's grilled cheese with ham?” Hugh says dubiously, poking at it. “And pork and salami too?” Paco pulls his hand away just before he gets burned by the pan, still way too hot to the touch.
“It's a Cubano,” Bill retorts, pronouncing it perfectly, which means he probably holed himself up in the library for hours, making sure he could show off to his brother. “Isn't that right?”
“It is,” Paco says and Bill preens, before he adds, “but your brother's not wrong either. We just add a few more things to it.” Bill gives him a look that says “I know what you're trying to do” and Paco answers him with one that replies “good, so quit trying to one-up Hugh by thinking that there can't be more than one right answer to a question.”
Bill's an excellent reader so Paco's sure he gets the point.
The bread's already sliced, buttered, and he stacks the meat on top of it, adding in the mustard, cheese, and pickles. Hugh and Bill watch him in fascination, Bill not even attempting to be cool in the face of a sandwich. They are growing boys after all, and any kind of food is going to vanish as quickly as he makes it. There's plenty of things he could have shown them to make, but he's starting out small with something simple to make. Like jazz, a lot of cooking comes down to improvisation and variations and it's important to learn the basics before you go hog wild.
Though if they leave the salami out of this, there will be no saving them.
There's no plancha, so he makes do with a skillet on the stovetop. “It's good to learn how to cook,” Paco says, switching between keeping an eye on the bread so it doesn't get burnt and the boys. “Even if you don't make this, you can make other things.”
“Why do we have to cook?” Hugh asks. “There's people who do that for you.”
Yes, Paco thinks. There are people who can do many things for you if you pay them enough. It doesn't mean you should rely on that kind of thing for the rest of your life. But they're still kids, still learning, and he's teaching, not lecturing, so he says, “Just in case there's someone you want to impress. Some people really like people who know how to do this kind of thing.”
“Girls,” Bill says, frowning.
Hugh, on the other hand, looks far too eager about that sort of thing. “Really? Like what kind of things do they like?”
Luckily, the sandwich is done cooking at the same time that the fight breaks out and sandwiches are stuffed into two boys' mouths before permanent scuffmarks can be made upon the floor.
“It's not funny,” Paco says. He's just about recovered from the shock as he sits in the chair. Time and two fingers of whiskey helped speed it up, though Grace's laughter on hearing his stammering confession did not.
“It really is.” Grace wipes a tear from her eye. “What did you say?”
“They're too young for that kind of talk.” This time, it's Paco who pours the drink first before handing it over to Grace. “I just said that they'd find out one day.”
“I always knew it would be Hugh that would ask first,” Grace says. “I didn't imagine that Bill would back him up on it though.”
“Maybe he lost a bet,” Paco says. “It would explain why he looked like he wanted to be anywhere else.”
“Still, I am surprised you didn't at least give them some idea.” Grace leans back on the couch, props her feet up on the chair. “You've taught them about so much else.”
“About cooking and cars,” Paco says. “Their father should tell them about their kind of thing.”
Grace snorts and mutters something under her breath that Paco doesn't quite catch before she close her eyes and fully slumps into the cushions.
“You don't think so?” Sometimes Paco feels like he's walking a very fine line in dealing with the Winterbournes. To Mr. Winterbourne, he's nothing more than a valued employee, someone who's managed to prove that he's reliable, trustworthy, and above all, able to entertain his wife without Mr. Winterbourne having to worry that she'll commit some form of scandal by sleeping with the help. It turns out that Mr. Winterbourne can be very tolerant and understanding when it benefits him personally.
As for Grace, it's more complicated. He's gone from being a chauffeur to a butler of sorts, taking on tasks that go way beyond driving. The Winterbournes could afford to hire more help and they take people on temporarily, but no one's lasted as long as him, not even the ones Mother Winterbourne hired as a subtle suggestion to Grace that maybe she should pick someone a little... more presentable.
Grace prides herself that she was able to get rid of all of them within three months.
He's also a tutor of sorts to the boys. They had their nanny when they were younger, though she didn't last long either. Not through any fault of her own, but because Grace didn't want her boys to be raised by strangers, as she said, and soon enough, she'd taken on all of the tasks the nanny was supposed to do.
Well, her and Paco.
He's more than a servant, not quite a stranger, and this is more of a home than anywhere else he's lived in since Cuba. Still--
“Unless you'd prefer to,” Paco begins to say.
“No, you're right that their father should tell them,” Grace says. “That's why I'm asking you.”
Paco's hand freezes, clutching the glass. “You--”
Grace's eyes open. “You're more of a father to them than Ted's ever been.” It's not said with anger or bitterness, just as matter of fact as if she was commenting on the weather.
Paco doesn't say anything else, but the next day, he takes a deep breath and calls the boys over to talk to them.
“It's a good opportunity,” Mr. Winterbourne says, passing over the paper. Paco takes it, glances at it briefly and then slides it back across the table to him.
“That's all right,” he says. “I'm not interested.”
“Don't dismiss it so quickly.” Mr. Winterbourne doesn't sound angry or surprised at Paco's immediate refusal but there's no warmth in his voice easier. Like everything in his life, it all comes down to numbers. He can't say that he knows him, even after over a decade there now, but Paco does recognize that Mr. Winterbourne is in his own way, trying to do the right thing. “You'd make a hell of a lot more working for him than us.”
“I--”
“I know you're attached to my wife and the kids,” Mr. Winterbourne says. “And I appreciate all that you've done for them. But sometimes you have to do what's best for you.”
Paco takes the paper reluctantly when Mr. Winterbourne pushes it back to him. “Do I have to decide now?” he asks.
“No,” Mr. Winterbourne says. “They're willing to give you some time to think about it. Just get back to me by Friday. I have to go to Hong Kong then.”
He smiles, briefly at Paco, something Paco rarely sees and always takes him aback. Mr. Winterbourne is not a man who's clearly comfortable with such things, and yet the stories Grace tells him...
“He asked you,” Grace says later after Mr. Winterbourne has left to go to his office for a late night meeting. “I knew he would.”
“You knew about it?”
“Of course I did,” she says. “He lets me know about these kinds of things.” Her voice is flat and her eyes keep looking away from Paco towards the fireplace, where the logs crackle merrily. A week before Christmas and already it's looking to be another one with just her and the kids. Mr. Winterbourne will send presents, call them on the phone, but he won't be there for them.
“Do you think I should take it?” Paco asks. He knows the answer to this – it's more money than he's ever dreamed of making in his life, and if he was smart, he'd jump at the chance to do it.
“Don't ask me that,” Grace says. “Or I'm going to have to be honest.”
“Be honest then,” Paco says. “Tell me what you'd do.”
“I'd take it.” Grace doesn't even hesitate. “My husband's not wrong. You've done so much for us, more than you get paid for.” She brings the glass up to her face, rests it against her forehead. “It's too much to ask you to give something like this up.”
Paco nods. He's tired, resting against the couch. It's been a long day, his eyes are burning, and there's a piece of paper in his pocket that feels like the heaviest stone weighing him down.
The door opens and Paco sits up straight. Is it--
It's funny. It's always been a known thing that people have issues telling the twins apart, especially when they're deliberately trying to confuse people. Ever since they were little, it's been a favorite joke of theirs to switch clothes, to respond to each other's names,to laugh uncontrollably when someone falls for it. And they almost always do, with only two exceptions.
Both of which are sitting in the room as a small figure comes into it.
“Mom?” Hugh asks, rubbing his eyes before they go to Paco. “Paco. I had a bad dream.”
“Oh, honey,” Grace says, opening her arms wide for him to go into them. “I'm sorry. Did you want some warm milk or something before you go back to bed?”
“I could make cocoa,” Paco offers. “With cinnamon.”
Hugh looks away, not saying anything, but Paco sees the almost imperceptible nod. He smiles and gets up. “I'll get it started,” he adds.
Hugh takes Grace's hand as she also rises to her feet. “Let's go see if your brother's awake as well.” It's almost a foregone conclusion that if Hugh's awake, Bill will be opening his eyes shortly after.
He waits until they leave the room before he pulls the paper out of his pocket. Without a second thought, he casts it into the fire.
1994
“I can't believe he's actually going to retire,” Hugh says, shaking his head. “I still think it's all a trick and that Dad's going to just pull the rug from under us and say he doesn't trust enough yet and he'll just put in another five years or so to make sure.”
“Perish the thought,” Grace says dryly. “If he does that, I'll have to drag him out of the office by his feet and drag him back home.”
“Don't do that,” Bill says, pushing the glasses up on his nose. He doesn't really have to wear them, but Paco knows that he does it to make sure people don't confuse him with Hugh. Gone are the days when he'd be thrilled for anyone to mistake him for his brother. Now he makes it perfectly clear that anyone who does so already has a strike against them. “The last thing we need is to show up in the headlines.”
Hugh slings an arm around his brother's neck and Bill stiffens, but doesn't push him away. “Relax,” he says. “If anyone's going to make the front page and scandalize someone, it'll be me.”
Bill snorts. “Then I'll be the one dragging you out of whatever hole you crawled into,” he says. “Just like always.”
Hugh ruffles his hair in retaliation and there's a minor scuffle because it doesn't matter how old the boys are, they're still brothers who know how to push each other's buttons. Paco and Grace wait it out.
Bill looks down at his watch. “I've got to go,” he says. “I've got an appointment I can't be late to.”
“Do you need a ride?” Paco asks and Bill shakes his head.
“I'll drive myself.” He fixes his hair, adjusts his tie, and starts walking towards the front door. A few minutes later, they hear it slam shut and Hugh very gently rests his head on the counter. He's also ruffled, but he doesn't bother to straighten his collar.
“I wish he'd loosen up,” Hugh mumbles into the wood. “He's going to give himself a heart attack one of these days.”
“You know your brother,” Grace says. “I don't think he's ever going to be that way. The best we can hope for is that he finds someone who--”
“Takes the stick out of his ass?”
Grace coughs. “I was going to say, makes him open up more, but as always, I can rely on you to find the blunter way to say it.”
“I love him,” Hugh says, raising his head. “I really do. But sometimes I wonder if he just woke up one day and decided that he'd like to skip all the fun stuff and just start being a boring old businessman right away like Dad.”
Grace and Paco exchange looks. “I take it that you're not looking forward to joining the company,” she says.
Hugh sighs. “Not really,” he says. “It's just—there's got to be more out there than what Bill and Dad do. I mean, Dad travels all over the world and I think he spends 95 percent of his time in a building, never seeing what's really out there.” He looks at Paco. “I know it sounds really privileged of me, but I almost wish we didn't have money, just so we could really see what things are like.”
Grace's eyes flicker to Paco and there's unspoken permission in there that Paco takes. “Speaking as someone who didn't grow up with it,” Paco says carefully, “I'd rather have it than not. You can't really see the world when you're too busy surviving in it.”
To his credit, Hugh doesn't stiffen or flinch away, just nods. “I know. That's why I know I shouldn't complain. But--” He lays his head back down. “I just want something else.”
At least the rest of the cabinets are locked up, so Paco doesn't have to worry about Bill drinking all of the good scotch and brandy. Nonetheless, there's already an empty bottle of whiskey on the floor and Bill's managed to make a sizable dent into the second one before Paco takes it out of his hands.
“I think you've had enough,” he says and Bill looks for a second like he's thinking of taking it back before he slumps into his chair.
“Not nearly enough,” he mutters. “I can still think.”
“You're not going to feel that way in the morning,” Paco says. He's already mentally setting his alarm to get up at dawn and start the coffee brewing as strong as he can make it. He doesn't think Bill will appreciate the other method he used to use back in the day, but he does have to admit that ice to the groin does wake you up very quickly. “Trust me.”
“I do,” Bill says and it comes out far more sincere than he probably intended. “I just wish Hugh trusted me.” He looks bleary eyed over at Paco. “Why didn't he tell me he was going to do that?”
“I don't think even he knew he was going to do it until he'd already done it,” Paco says. “You know your brother.”
“I thought I knew him.” It's enough to break someone's heart, the way Bill's voice cracks as he says that. “I thought we'd always be together, making our dreams come true. I didn't realize that his dream was to get as far away from me as possible.”
There's nothing Paco can say to that, no band-aid he can throw on for a wound that large, so he just waits until Bill has passed out on the table. He'll wake up with a massive headache and a queasy stomach, both of which Paco can fix.
But there's no fixing what caused it in the first place.
He shuts the door behind him and Grace is already waiting, wrapped in a robe. “How is he?” she whispers. When he left her, she'd been in a very heated argument with her husband over the phone, and he can already guess how it turned out. Even in retirement, he's still avoiding talking to his sons.
“Not good,” Paco says. “He's a mess.”
Grace's eyes are tired, pink around the edges and Paco wouldn't be surprised if she'd cried a little as well. “I don't blame him,” she says. “But I can't blame Hugh either. I just wish--”
“I know,” Paco says. “He'll come back. You know it's not for good.”
“But it won't be the same,” Grace says, choking back sobs and Paco has to blink back tears of his own. He wants to fix this, like he's fixed the Mercedes or the light in the kitchen, but there's no way he can fix something this big. “Bill's never going to forgive him for this.”
“He might,” Paco says. “Give him time. Sometimes all you need is a little distance.”
After all, he can't really fault Hugh for leaving his family, not when he did the exact same thing. He hasn't been back home since he first left it, and he's not sure he'll ever go back. Francisco Roque seems so distant to him, as distant as a memory or a postcard from Taiwan.
At least Hugh will return at some point. Unlike Paco, he won't be gone for good.
“At least you could make Dad's funeral,” Bill says and Paco already braces himself. Bill wouldn't cause a scene, not in a cemetery, but here back at the house, where it's just family, no other one around, all bets are off. “I was wondering if you'd make it back in time.”
“That's not fair,” Hugh says softly. “Neither one of us had any idea that he was going to--” He can't get the last word out, his face falling.
But Bill can. “Die?” he says. “Yeah, well, maybe if you'd been here, he might not have.”
“That's not fair,” Grace says quietly in the silence that drops like a stone. “Don't blame your brother for something he had no control over.”
“He had control over leaving,” Bill says. He's been bleeding all these months and their father's death has just ripped the bandage clean off. “He could have just stayed.”
Grace opens her mouth again, possibly to admonish him, but Hugh beats her to the punch. “You're right,” he says. “I could have. And you could have left and Dad could have stopped taking all those trips and taken a break sooner. But we did what we did and we can't change it.”
Bill's mouth works and Paco can see him biting back a dozen different responses before he finally speaks. “Maybe not,” he says. “Just like I can't change that you weren't here for any of us when it really mattered.”
He stomps off, leaving the three of them in the hallway. In the distance, a door slams.
“He's never going to forgive me,” Hugh murmurs. “Not for this or for leaving.” He turns, looks at Grace and Paco. “I'm staying at a motel nearby. I'll be back in the morning.”
“You don't have to do that,” Grace protests. “You can just--”
“I can't,” Hugh says. “The least I can do for my brother is not make him have to look at me anymore than he already does.”
Paco bites back what he was going to say, because he knows it's definitely not the right time for it, but he does wonder if Hugh realizes just how much harder that is when you're a twin. There might be a lot of shattered mirrors in the future here.
Hugh leaves, much more quietly than his brother, and Grace lets out a deep breath. “Those boys,” she says. “I'm sorry.”
“It's not your fault,” Paco says. “They'll work it out. They just need some space.”
“I know the feeling,” Grace says. “I'll be so glad when I stop having to deal with all these people and they all just go away. It's too much, they're too many.”
Paco nods, lets her squeeze his hand before she takes a step away. He blinks at her in confusion. “Grace?”
“When all of this is done and everything's settled, I want you to take your vacation.”
“What? No!” Paco says. Whatever he thought she might say, that wasn't it. “I don't have to--”
“Paco,” she says, putting her hand on his arm. “I think I need some time by myself too.” She smiles at him to reduce the sting, but there's something dark and lost in her eyes. “It's not you, it's everything. I need to be alone.”
He wants to argue but he can't. Not when she's asking him for the one thing he can actually do. “Only if you really want me to.”
“You've been putting off your trip with Antonio long enough,” Grace says. “If I've learned anything, it's that you seize the moment when you can.”
He hangs up the phone. Behind him, the curtains flap as a warm wind breezes through the room, but all Paco can feel is a chill that goes straight to his bones and one thought that can't leave his mind.
I should have been there.
He's always loved the boys, never favored one over the other, but he knows at this moment that of the two of them, he resembles Hugh far more. A son that leaves his family for a life he thinks will be better than the one that he had, only to realize that in doing so, he's lost a part of himself.
“What's wrong?” Antonio asks, coming into the room. In any other circumstance, Paco might have done something about his lack of shirt, but he may has well have thrown the entire bucket of ice over himself for all that he feels now. “You sounded pretty upset on that call.”
“Mrs. Winterbourne's had a heart attack,” he says quietly. “She's in the hospital.”
“Oh, honey,” Antonio says, wrapping his arms around Paco's back. “I'm so sorry.” He's never really gotten Paco's connection with the Winterbournes, but he's always been good about it, seemed to understand that it was more than a job to him and that gives Paco hope that he'll understand this too.
Paco leans into Antonio, taking some comfort in his warmth before he turns to face him. “I'm sorry too,” he says. “I'm going to need to head back.”
Antonio's jaw drops. “What?” He stares at Paco. “Are you serious?”
“Yes?” Paco meets his eyes, gives him a firm stare. “I'm getting on the first available plane back.”
“She's in the hospital,” Antonio says. “I'm guessing she's got the best doctors seeing to her. There's nothing you can do for her that they or her sons can't.”
“I can be there for her,” Paco says. There's a growing pit in his stomach, because he can see in Antonio's eyes, the disbelief, the confusion, and even a little bit of hurt. “She needs me.”
“She's your boss,” Antonio says, shaking his head. “She's not your--”
He stops, looks at Paco. “You know,” he says, “Kevin told me to be careful with you. I always thought it was because you'd been through a lot and he wanted to make sure I didn't step on any minefields in dating you. But that's not it.”
“Antonio, please, we don't need to--”
“It's Mrs. Winterbourne,” Antonio says. His voice is low, quiet, but each word he says hits hard. “She's always going to come first to you.” He laughs. “She's always going to be the wife and anyone date will have to be the mistress.”
“We're not--” Paco shakes his head. “I've never thought that way about her.”
“That's what makes this so hilarious,” Antonio's laughing now, dark and bitter. “If you guys were sleeping together, I'd at least understand why I'd come second, but it's not even like that.”
“I don't have time for this,” Paco says. “I've got to book the next flight out. We'll talk about this as soon as I've checked in with her.”
“No,” Antonio says. “We won't. I'm done.”
Paco reaches for him, but his hand freezes, falls to his side. “I see,” he says.
“I hope you do,” Antonio closes his eyes. “Because if you don't, then this is the funniest joke of all.”
“Paco?” Grace says, opening her eyes. She blinks a few times as if she can't really believe what she sees.
“I'm here,” Paco says. He arranges her pillows as she tries to sit up, turns on the lamp by the bed rather than the harsh one overhead. In the golden light, he tries not to react.
Evidently, he fails. “I know,” she murmurs. “I look like shit.”
“No,” he says. “You don't.” He's not entirely lying. She doesn't look terrible, just like five years were added overnight. She's always been a force of nature, but here, she looks fragile.
“We have to stop meeting like this,” she says. “Otherwise, you're going to think that I should just have a hospital wing built for me.”
“Then stop going to the hospital,” he says, pulling the chair closer to her bed. “You need to stop scaring me like that.”
“I'll try,” she says and then she frowns. “Shouldn't you still be on vacation?”
“I cut it short.” He can see her start to open her mouth to argue with him and he holds up his hand. If she was her normal self, she'd probably yell at him about it, but it's telling that all she does is frown at him.
“Paco--” She shakes her head. “I told you to take it. They should have told you I was fine and not to rush back.”
“They did. I didn't listen.” Paco smiles at her, takes her hand, careful of the tube in it and holds it. “It's fine.”
“But--” She bites her lip. “I hope it didn't mess things up for you and Antonio.”
He doesn't say anything, but she must see something on his face because she starts to look upset. “No, Paco,” she says. “You didn't—”
“It wouldn't have worked out,” he says. “Not in the long run. He was already getting sick of me.”
“No, he wasn't,” Grace says firmly. “No one could ever get sick of you.”
He answers her smile, looks around the room. There's flowers there, a basket of fruit, a few cards. “The boys been by?”
“You just missed Bill,” she says. “And Hugh's called. He was going to fly back from Kenya but I told him not to bother.” Her smile turns rueful. “So that went well when Bill heard.”
“I can imagine,” Paco says and he can. Bill, probably yelling at his brother that this was their mother, their only remaining parent and how dare he not drop everything and rush back? After all, Paco did and he's not even--
But he is, he thinks, looking at Grace. Antonio stopped before he could say it, but they both know the truth. Paco wouldn't have stayed as long as he did if it was just about a paycheck or a debt or sheer gratitude. No, somewhere down the line it became something more and that's why he's in a hospital room, holding Grace's hand while tears blink at the corner of her eyes.
“I'm sorry, “Grace says.
“I'm not,” Paco answers. “You're family.”
1996
She doesn't send him away this time and Paco wouldn't let her even if she tried. Instead, he takes care of everything that he can while the doctors fuss over her, make sure she's comfortable, advise her to rest, recover, not move anymore than she has to.
As for Bill.... it's like a ghost haunts the halls. He stays out of his mother's room, only visiting her when she's sleeping. The rest of time he makes phone calls, talks to their attorney, yells at people when he thinks they're moving too slowly or too fast and then he stands in the corner by Grace's bed and breaks down for longer than he wants to, but less time than he should.
“You could stay,” Paco murmurs. Grace is snoring softly and Bill's standing there, watching her sleep. “I'm sure she'd like the company.”
“Would you want to be reminded of what you'd lost?” Bill asks, already determined what the answer will be.. “All she has to do is look at me and know that he's not coming back.”
Paco nods. “I think she still might want to see you, though,” he says. “She loves you.”
“And she loved Hugh,” Bill says, running a hand through his hair. “Christ, what are we going to do?” He turns to look at him. “She told you, right? About the girl?”
She did. “Hugh got married before he--” Paco cuts himself off. “And she had a baby.” It's the only blessing that's come out of this.
“She wants to invite her back here to live with us,” Bill says. “She doesn't even know who this girl is. Just some banker's daughter supposedly that we've never even seen. She could be some gold-digger for all we know, wanting to get her claws into our money.”
Paco keeps his mouth shut. Bill's lashing out and pointing out that from what Grace has told him, he sounds exactly like his grandmother won't lead to anything good. It's also a little funny that he's saying that in front of him, given that Paco's background is probably even murkier than the new Mrs. Winterbourne's, though Paco's sure that if he mentioned that, Bill would probably turn beet red and then stumble off, muttering, well, that doesn't count, because--
He's a good kid at heart, but Hugh was right that someone needs to loosen him up a bit.
“It might be good for her to have someone new around,” Paco says. “She likes to take care of people.”
“Well, she needs to be taken care of. The last thing Mom needs is some stranger and her baby complicating her life. Why not just write her a check and--” He breaks off, frustrated. “But Mother's going to do what she wants to do, I guess, and to hell with the rest of us.”
He doesn't stomp off this time, but the door is shut with a certain amount of force that suggests unhappiness.
“He sounds just like his father,” Grace says, opening her eyes. She's stronger than she was the last time when she lost her husband, but the promise of a new life to replace the one that was lost has given her energy he didn't think she had. “Always trying to get rid of problems by paying them off.”
“It usually works,” Paco says.
“It didn't with me or you and I'm willing to bet it wouldn't if he tried it on her too. I've talked to her, you know. Actually spoke to her on the phone.”
“And?”
Grace laughs. “She's not what I expected. I was thinking I'd be talking to some polished young lady, sobbing her eyes out, and instead--” She trails off, looking thoughtful. “Well, it should be interesting.”
“You're sure you want to do this?” Paco asks.
“You know me,” Grace says, settling back down in the bed. “I like to take chances.”
Grace isn't wrong – the new Mrs. Winterbourne is nothing that either one of them could have expected. Hugh was always fond of throwing them curveballs, be it a sudden trip overseas or a strange souvenir popping up in the mail, but this last gift of his is not anything that anyone could have seen coming.
She's awkward, gawks at everything around her, and acts so painfully young and unsure of herself that Paco has some very uncomfortable flashbacks to his own youth.
“Was I ever that young?” Grace asks after both Patricia and the baby are settled in. “It feels like ages ago.”
“From what you've told me,” Paco says, “the Winterbournes were as equally shocked to see Mr. Winterbourne come back with you.”
“True,” she says. “I think they thought he only married me because I got pregnant.” Grace laughs. “Imagine their disappointment when they realized that he chose me because he could, not because he had to.”
Paco lets her fill up his glass. “I'd bet the same is true of Hugh,” Paco says. “I can't see him marrying someone because he had to.”
“No,” Grace says slowly, “but--”
“You wonder why her?” Paco asks.
“I guess it runs in the blood,” Grace says. “Winterbourne men picking someone that the rest of society has to be forced to accept and then pretends it never had a problem with them in the first place.”
“So we just have to wait for Bill to find someone and then you'll have your answer,” Paco says. He shakes his head. “You might have to wait a while for that one to find someone up to his standards.”
Grace's eyes go distant and a smile creeps around the corner of her lips. “I wonder,” she murmurs. “If he really has to go that far.”
If life before Patricia was an unpredictable ride, then after her is a roller coaster. She becomes more comfortable once Grace makes her over, polishes her the same way she did Paco, so that they're able to slip into her world more easily. But there's something in both of them that resists being completely submerged and her personality shines through like light breaking through a cloud.
And he can see the way Bill is drawn in too, the way he pretends not to care or to notice her and then does nothing but spend time with her.
“I'm only doing it because I don't trust her,” Bill snaps to Paco one night. “She's clearly lying about something.”
“It wouldn't be the first time in this family,” Paco says.
“Just keep an eye on Mother, please.” Bill's shoulders slump. “If this girl turns out to be up to no good, I can't imagine how she'll take it.”
“Oh, she's definitely not telling the whole truth,” Grace says cheerfully in the kitchen as Paco stirs the beef in the pot. “She's not a very good liar.”
“Bill thinks you're blinded by your desire to have a grandson,” he says. “That you're ignoring everything wrong about her.”
“There's nothing wrong with her,” Grace says, giving Paco an amused look. “He's just mad because he's falling for her and he can't make sense of why he'd be doing that.”
“Well, he's not going to stop being suspicious of her,” Paco says. “Not as long as she keeps jumping at shadows and acting like she doesn't belong here.”
“Then we're just going to have to work extra hard to make sure she feels that she does,” Grace says firmly. “It's why I'm going to put her in my will.”
Paco almost drops the spoon. “Are you—are you sure?”
“Why?” Grace looks at him, her gaze turning serious. “Worried it'll leave nothing for you?”
“I would never--” he starts to say, before he notices her trying not to laugh. “I'm not expecting for you to leave me anything.”
“Too bad,” she says, opening her mouth as he lets her taste the stew. “You've been in it for over two decades now.”
“Mrs.--”
“Grace,” she says. “I don't have much family left. Let me take care of the ones that I still have.” She reaches for his hand and squeezes it. “Like you've always taken care of me.”
He sighs, resumes stirring the stew. “Just know,” he mutters, “that he's probably going to throw a fit about it.”
“Oh, I'm counting on it,” Grace says. “Just wait. This is going to work out for the best.”
“I'm surprised I haven't had a heart attack yet,” Paco says. He's loosened his tie and is on his third whiskey of the night. Bill and Connie have settled in for the night with Hughie, having foregone their honeymoon for a quiet night at home. He supposes after all that's happened, the thought of just being able to breathe and take their time is the most appealing option to them. “Confessing to murder like that.”
“You're one to talk,” Grace says, elbowing him. “Why did you confess as well?”
“I wasn't going to let either one of them go down for it,” Paco protests. “They have their whole lives ahead of them.” He nudges her back. “And you need to be able to see your grandchild grow up.”
“So do you.” Grace has already kicked off her shoes, one of the heels underneath a chair while the other one is dangerously close to the fireplace. “Who else is going to teach them how to tango?”
Paco hides his face with his hand. “They told you about that.” He knows he's turning bright red as Grace laughs merrily.
“Not very subtle,” she says,” but with these kids, you can't be. I swear, I was thinking I was going to have to lock them in a room together and turn on some Nat King Cole just to get the job done.” She clinks her glass against his. “I am sorry about Carlos, though.”
“I'm over it,” Paco shrugs. “There will be another one down the road. They always come and go.”
Grace raises one perfectly manicured eyebrow at him. “It's better than the opposite,” she says.
Now it's Paco's turn to choke on his drink. “That's—I didn't mean it that way.”
“I know,” Grace says serenely. “That's what makes it work.”
Paco wipes his mouth, listens to the sound of the fire and the peace in the house. “You know,” he says. “There's probably going to be more than one Winterbourne junior running around soon enough.”
“I should hope so,” Grace says. “It would do this house some good to have some life in it again.” She looks considering. “I'm not going to make them live here if they'd rather strike out on their own, though.”
“They're not going to go anywhere,” Paco says reassuringly. “They both adore you way too much for that to happen.”
“You think?” Grace takes a sip. “They love you too. I think Bill believes you're the only reason I haven't accidentally set this house on fire.”
“Give it time,” Paco says. “Maybe we'll do that next year when we get bored.”
“Sorry,” Connie says as Paco nearly jumps upon seeing her in the kitchen. “I know I'm up early, but I woke up and couldn't get back to sleep.”
“I could make you something for that,” Paco says. “Some milk or cocoa.”
Connie smiles. “Bill told me all about your famous cocoa,” she says. “He swears by it and your sandwiches as a hangover cure.”
“Hot coffee, a good sandwich, and plenty of hot sauce,” Paco says. “And if that fails, dump some ice on him and it'll get him up.”
“Does that work?” Connie leans in. “I mean, for getting rid of hangovers?”
“Well, you still have the headache,” Paco says. “But you're not going to stay in bed when it's cold and wet.”
They exchange looks and Connie laughs. “I guess not,” she says. “All things considered, I think I'd take the sandwich.”
“All right,” Paco says, already pulling out the bread. “Can you get me the ham out?”
“I didn't mean—okay,” Connie says, as he points with the knife towards the fridge. “I guess I could eat.”
As he works, he watches her. She's calmer these days, more sure of herself now that she doesn't have to pretend to be something she's not. The new Mrs. Winterbourne glows every time she steps into a room and people notice it, say that she's really stepped into the role nicely.
It's not that, Paco thinks. It's that she's happy.
“I used to get something like this,” Connie says, getting out the pickles. “Prosciutto, mortadella, and mozzarella down at the deli.” She looks wistful. “One of the few things I miss about then.”
“There's always something,” Paco says. “No matter how bad things get, there's always something good that you can take away from it.”
Connie's eyes drift upwards and he knows who she's thinking of. There's a little boy sleeping who will grow up, never knowing what it is to grow hungry, to worry about where they're going to live, to be scared that there is no future for them, just living day to day.
“I get why she did it,” Connie says softly. “If things had been different, I might have done the same.”
“You wouldn't have,” Paco says, without hesitation.
“But--”
Paco flips the sandwich, then looks at her. “There's a difference between knowing why someone did something and doing it yourself. Even if it had just been you in that room with him, he would have lived.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Because we know you,” Paco says.
Connie's eyes get wet, but she wipes them. “Thank you,” she says.
“And you know Mrs. Winterbourne would have beaten you to it,” Paco says. “So would I.” He waves his knife in emphasis and Connie puts her hands up in mock surrender.
“Noted,” she says. “The next time I need someone to swim with the fishes, I'll make sure to ask you.”
“You'd better,” Paco says. “That's what family's for.”
They both hear the sounds of footsteps softly approaching and then the door opens. Bill enters, rubbing his eyes the same way he did when he was little. “Cubanos?” he says. “This early?”
“It's never too early for one,” Grace says, coming up behind him, in her slippers and robe. She cocks her head, listens. “I think someone else is awake.”
Connie rushes out of the room, Grace stepping aside as she bolts upstairs. “Once she's taken care of Hughie, we'll have a nice family breakfast.”
“That sounds good,” Bill adds, opening up the fridge to get out the orange juice. “I was thinking of going to the park later once we're all actually awake.”
“It's a good day for it,” Paco says.
“It's a good day for a lot of things,” Grace says and for once they're all in perfect agreement.
As much as she loves the kids, adores her grandson to pieces, she can also appreciate the peace and quiet. It won't last – Hughie will wake up soon enough, but for now, he's making soft snuffling noises on the baby monitor so they have time.
“You know you should stop drinking,” Paco says, even as he passes her the glass. “The doctors said--”
“Moderation,” Grace cuts him off. “They didn't say I had to stop entirely.”
“Only because they're terrified of you,” Paco says.
“Please.” Grace waves her hand. “If they were so scared of me, they wouldn't keep yelling every time I get out of bed.” It really is quite a pain to have people constantly treat you like you're made of fine porcelain, about to break any time you do anything more than put your feet on the carpet. At least Paco has never changed the way he treats her, with that same comforting mix of respect and familiarity that comes with knowing someone for so long.
She's known Paco now for half her life and her only regret is that it hasn't been longer. She's never been entirely sure why he never left, even after the kids grew up, but she's not foolish enough to push him away. She did that once and in that moment, in the darkness alone, she missed him more than she eve r could have possibly thought.
Her husband once asked her if she was in love with him and her laughter convinced him of how stupid a question that was, but the answer is that she loves him. She loves him the same way she loves her children, a fierce devotion to her family that goes beyond blood and background to something more important.
Family isn't about who you're related to, it's about who you choose to hold onto, to keep in your life and Grace has been lucky enough to pick the very best.
“What are you thinking about?” Paco asks as she takes a swig and smiles.
“Nothing much,” Grace says. “Just the future.”