Page 24 of An Immaculate Deception

He shakes his head.

I grit my teeth. “The comendador made you proprietor here, yet never told you anything about its previous owners?”

He scratches his head and a shadow crosses his face. Hostility? Irritation? Disappointment? I don’t know. I seem to displease him a lot lately no matter what I do.

“I don’t know anything about the prior owners.”

Liar.

“I am thinking about leaving early,” I announce.

“What?”

He looks like I just told him I’m planning to murder somebody.

“This medical retreat. It’s been lovely being here and I’m so grateful for your hospitality, but I am feeling a bit better. And I miss Mother. Well, that’s not true, but I am sure Mother misses me.” That is also not true, but I deem it necessary to imbue my reasoning with an air of cordiality.

I truly don’t know which option I loathe more: facing Mother without a proposal, or facing the foul woman again tonight. On second thought, I may prefer the latter.

How will this version of Leandro react if I tell him about the baby? Mute staring followed by confounded gawking? Blank non-comprehension infused with vague disdain?

I simply don’t think Leandro will propose while he’s in such a state of mind.

My stomach cramps at the thought that this could become his permanent state. I can’t even entertain that possibility, it’s too awful. What will become of me and my baby then?

But I do enjoy the utterly shocked look on his face right now. It gives me no small pleasure to see him so distraught at the idea of my leaving early.

“Perhaps I will take an early dinner, then leave just before dark,” I say with a shrug.

“You can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Doctor Lobo said you must stay here to recover.”

“I don’t see why I can’t recover at home. And you hardly speak to me and I don’t want to be any sort of bother.”

His lips part slowly before words come out. “You’re no bother.” He pauses, meets my eyes. “I’d like you to stay.”

“You would?”

He takes a seat in the chair beside me and takes my hand in his. His hand is warm. “Yes, truly.”

A frisson runs through me and I realize this is the first time he’s shown me any affection since the accident. I didn’t think this version of Leandro was capable of such intensity. Of caring about anything, even me. It’s not an I love you, but it makes me feel loved just the same.

“Of course I’ll stay.”

13

I feel light after breakfast. Not happy exactly—it’s not possible to be happy in this fazenda—but less weighed down. It’s astonishing how much of an effect Leandro had on me, simply by taking my hand, looking me in the eye, and asking me to stay. Just like that, I feel hopeful all over again. Maybe the foul woman won’t appear at all tonight. If Leandro has managed to live here for six months, surely I can sleep here one more night.

I decide to go for a walk in the yard, to get some fresh air and hear the birds sing. Maria das Dores hangs laundry out to dry on the clothesline. By midafternoon, a restlessness comes over me. I pass the weathered gray-blue door of the senzala, heavy and imposing, with bolts on the outside. Maria das Dores never showed me the inside of it. She looked baffled when I asked her about the absence of men at work. Leandro asked me to stay, but none of my questions have been answered.

Morbid curiosity compels me to try the senzala door. The handle turns but there is no movement. I try again, this time putting my weight against it. The door budges reluctantly, opening slowly as darkness spills from within.

The same wave of fright I felt in the lavender-rose room climbs over me now, as though this place carries a dark presence. The gray-faced foul woman in the mirror flashes in my mind. The wall vibrating with the thudding beats and the rushing wind. There’s nothing in there, I tell myself. There’s nothing to be afraid of.

I peer in. It’s a musty, dungeon-like space with a low ceiling, pillars in the middle, and no windows. I must open the door wide for sunlight to pour in, then I go down a short set of steps that leads inside. The air is damp and dusty. There is no one here.