FORTY-THREE |

I left Florence, Amber and Sofia playing a game of blackjack with Madre around the dining room table. My father still hadn't made an appearance – surprise, surprise – and I was almost certain he was saving the joy of his presence for madre's birthday tomorrow. At least for now the skies over our family were storm-free.

I had swapped my usual dress shoes for a pair of sturdy boots which carried me over the earth without thought. The ground was scorched, dust kicking up behind my heels, and even in the semi-darkness of twilight I knew the way. I hadn't planned where I was going; a part of me deep down must have known.

It was a twenty minute walk from the house to the old horse barn, twenty five if you stopped to admire the scenery. I didn't. I was focused on the leaning structure of the tin roof and the shadow of fencing around it. The old metal gate we used to sit on, gone faintly orange with rust. I could pick it out from a mile off, even with the sky turning lilac behind.

When I drew close to the paddock, a strange feeling flitted in my chest – the echo of a once-felt emotion. I gripped the rough wood of the fence with my hands, hoping splinters would split the skin so I could think of anything else.

A horse in the distance whinnied, a lonely, desperate sound. It carried in the wind like a ghost song.

From inside the barn, I heard the rustle of straw and the gentle thud of hooves, a heavy breath in hot, stale air. My grip on the wooden fence did nothing to distract me.

I glanced down to my pocket, feeling the bulge of folded paper resting next to my skin. I'd carried it with me for most of my adult life, and in the sunset, next to the barn, I wanted to let it go.

Somehow I knew that I would find her in the barn. Cecelia, my dearest, oldest friend, the woman I had hurt so badly. We'd spent so many hours in this place when we were kids. Returning felt like breaking something, some ancient, secret pact. Maybe the last good memories we had.

"I knew you'd know where to find me."

Even as my hands touched the barn doors, she knew I was there. I didn't have to open them or speak – though walking in without doing so felt like an invasion of privacy, an act of disrespect in a holy place.

I took a heavy breath, leaning into the doors, the familiar wood panels still soaked with warmth from the sun. "I've always known where to look."

"Even when I didn't want you to find me."

I felt my face pinch with pain at the reminder. It took me a minute of steady breathing to formulate a reply. Or maybe to get the courage to say it. "Did you want me to find you tonight?"

"Does it matter?" she asked. "You're here."

It was enough to make me push open the doors.

The barn was half-dark, the faint glow of moonlight spilling in from a jagged hole in the roof. We still had horses out in the paddocks, but nobody had used the stables in years. The building was hardly recognisable, a far-cry from what I'd once known as a child.

"It's sad, isn't it?" I heard her voice again, turning my head at the sound of it. She was in the final stable on the right - I could hear the long, slow breaths of a horse mixing with her own. "That this place isn't the same anymore. That things have to get old and change."

My footsteps were quiet as I came closer, the soft scuff of hay beneath my boots the only sound. I kept my hands in my pockets, fist enclosed around the folded paper, as I stepped into the stable.

The first thing I spotted was the animal - a grey-white horse, skinnier than I remembered but still familiar. It was laying on a bed of straw, head high and alert to my presence. Cecelia rubbed its strong neck when its eyes flashed in the moonlight, whispering something in its ear. It calmed and settled back beside her.

"I didn't think he'd still be here," she said, rubbing a hand over the horse's forelock. A streak of emotion crossed her bruised face and I heard her voice splinter. "He's so old now, I can tell he's in pain."

"He was waiting for you." I tried to say this calmly but I had to look away.

"You shouldn't have let him suffer."

"I couldn't..."

Cecelia leaned into the side of the horse, pressed her face into his mane. I could only just hear her voice when she said, "you couldn't let go of the past."

"No," I said, my voice gruff, "I couldn't."

She let out a long, slow breath. At first I thought she was crying, but then her body stiffened and her voice turned to acid. "You should have."

"Cecelia–"

She set her jaw. "Give me your gun–"

"–you can't just–"

"–I know you have it on you! Give it here! Give it to me!" Cecelia's voice was filled with a fury I barely recognised. Her arm was shaking as she held her hand out, palm open, waiting for my gun. "I'm being fucking serious, Arturo."

Bewildered, unable to believe she meant it, I reached for the small handgun I had tucked into my waistband. She snatched it off me and crawled to her knees, clicking off the safety. Her hands were shaking so badly she could hardly aim but the horse barely startled at her outburst. It looked up at me with its wide, sad eyes, silently pleading. I swallowed back the lump in my throat.

"Move your head, stupid animal! Look at me!" Cecelia was sobbing so hard now it was hard to hear what she said. She shifted the gun closer but the horse just kept on staring, that same, mournful gaze.

"Fucking look at me!" Her shriek sent birds flapping on the roof.

Then she dropped the gun and fell back onto her haunches. Shoulders sagging, she put her head into her hands and she began to cry.

"Cece–" I felt helpless at the sound of her pain and dropped to my knees beside her. "I'm so sorry."

"It's...it's my fault. When I ran away, I thought..." she trailed off, shaking her head.

"You were trying to save me," I filled in. "I know. I know what you were trying to do."

"I loved you," she cried and her voice broke. "You were my best friend and we were so young. I'd never have forced you into that life. Dina never approved, and she was your Madre..."

"Cece."

She must have detected the change in my voice because she stopped crying and wiped her eyes. I hooked my finger under her chin and looked into them – looked properly for the first time in years.

"We were best friends," I repeated her words. "Just like our fathers were before. We always will be. We did what we had to to save each other."

"You shouldn't take the blame, Arturo." She looked down. "You don't deserve it."

"But I do."

Cecelia watched me cautiously, waiting for me to continue. I could taste the razor blades in my throat.

"When our fathers demanded our engagement, I knew I had to do something to protect you. This is no life to be forced into, you deserved so much better than having to settle for anything less than true love."

"I did love you."

"Like a friend," I reminded her. "But you know that would never have been enough for either of us. So I...did something. I asked Madre not to give us her blessing. I went to her that night and begged her. I knew without that you'd never agree, I figured you'd run and start your life over, find someone who could give you more than I ever could."

Cecelia was staring at me with an open mouth, her expression even paler than usual. "You...lied to me?" she asked.

"I didn't lie. But I couldn't bare to see you unhappy. I never thought when you ran you'd spend your whole life punishing yourself like that. I thought I was doing what's right."

"And do you still think that?" she questioned suddenly, her expression intense. "Haven't you ever wondered if we made a mistake, haven't you thought about what we might have had?"

"I..." I trailed off, because I couldn't honestly answer. Doing so felt like a betrayal.

Cecelia leaned closer, her lips a mere centimetre from mine, the scent of straw and horses and dust making me dizzy she moved so quickly. I couldn't close my eyes for long enough to stop staring at the outline of her face, pale and barely-there in the milky moonlight.

"Do you feel that?" she asked.

It took me a beat to reply. "Feel what?"

"Exactly."

As quickly as she had appeared before me, Cecelia was gone, leaning back against the toned flank of her horse. Her silvery bob melted into its mottled coat of hair until they looked like a part of each other. Her expression was suddenly vacant.

"You didn't feel anything, right? Me neither. You must have made the right decision." Her tone was acidic. "But I gave you that letter. I poured my heart and soul onto paper, didn't you even read it? Did you not care?" She rose to her feet quickly.

"Cecelia–" I shouted after her.

She paused a few feet away as I slipped my hand into my pocket, pulling out that same folded sheet of paper I'd carried with me for years. I held it out to her. "Of course I kept it. You think I'd ever get rid of it? Fuck, Cece, I know it by heart."

She snatched it from my grip. "And it still wasn't enough. Have you told her about what happened?"

She didn't need to say Florence's name.

"She knows we were best friends," I replied.

"Not good enough."

"I'm going to propose to her, Cece. But I'm going to tell her everything first. Once this week is over, I'm going to tell her it all. We won't have any secrets. I love her."

"Still not good enough. You need to tell her, Arturo. She should already know."

"I can't ruin madre's birthday. I won't, not after what happened with Padre last time. She deserves something good in life."

Cecelia scoffed. "Is this about her, or is it about you? Your life has been so fucking easy Arturo, you have everything. Everything you've ever wanted. You tell her by midnight tomorrow or I will."