I am determined to banish Danny Santos from my thoughts, I promise myself as I close the front door behind me. When I pass the kitchen, I can hear Olga softly humming to herself. I push open the door and peeking my head inside, I ask, "Do you need any help with dinner?"
Startled slightly, she looks up at me and insists, "No dear. I appreciate the offer, but I've got things under control. Why don't you spend some time with Ms. Maria until I have everything ready?"
"You're sure?" I ask with genuine concern. I can't help but wonder how this one woman manages to clean this enormous house and prepare all the meals day after day. Growing up, I was always taught to pull my own weight, so the idea of someone serving me is a completely foreign concept.
"Yes sweetie, I'm sure," she says, ushering me out of the kitchen and flashing one of her smiles that I know I will never tire of seeing.
I retrieve my medical bag from the floor of my room before knocking softly on Mrs. Santos' door. "Come in Michelle," she insists, and I smile when I realize that she was anticipating my return.
I approach her and showing her the bag in my hand, I ask, "Would you mind if a did a quick exam, Mrs. Santos?"
She smiles and nods, setting her book down on the table beside her and says, "Call me Maria, dear... or abuela." I say nothing in response, merely return her smile.
I remove my stethoscope and blood pressure cuff from the bag and set them on the table. She watches my every move as I take her blood pressure, listen to her heart, and check her pulse. I make a mental note that her blood pressure is a little elevated, but certainly not enough to warrant concern. Her heart sounds strong and regular and her pulse is well within normal range. Moving to sit before her, I gently raise her left calf and remove her shoe. I ask her to push her foot against my hand as hard as she can. I then repeat this with the right leg. We do similar resistance exercises with both arms. There is a noticeable deficiency in strength on the right side of her body that I am able to appreciate after the examination. After reading her medical records following the car accident, I knew what to expect. She has a long road ahead, but the potential for recovery is great. Tomorrow I will be able to get some idea as to her endurance.
"Well Ms. Maria, everything looks very promising. I thought that we'd start out with five hours of therapy a day... three in the morning and two in the afternoon. How does eight to eleven and three to five sound to you?"
"That sounds fine, dear. I look forward to it," she says, and I turn to leave her to her book. "Oh please don't leave Michelle. Won't you stay and talk?" I turn on my heel and see two eyes imploring me to stay, and I know instantly that there is no other place that I'd rather be.
Noticing the exquisite antiques that decorate her room, I walk around slowly, letting my eyes feast on the beauty of and history behind each one. I can feel her eyes upon me even with my back to her, watching me admire her things. There are pictures of various sizes and shapes adorning every free space in the room. Picking one up from its place on the mantle, I turn and walk towards her, placing it in her outstretched hands. She looks at the image briefly before returning it to my hands and her eyes are moist when I ask, "Is that you in the photograph?"
"Yes dear. That is me and my beloved Juan Carlos about three months after our wedding day in 1935. I had just found out that I was pregnant with Carlos Ramon, Raymond's father," she finishes, watching me stare intently at the happy faces in the black and white photo. "He passed away sixteen years ago. But you know, if I close my eyes, I can still hear his voice in my head calling me 'his bride' the way he did until his dying day."
My eyes drift back and forth between man and wife and I am suddenly struck by the eerie resemblance. "Danny favors your husband a great deal." The words leave my lips before I even get a chance to rein them in, and my eyes fly to hers when I realize I've uttered that out loud.
"Yes, he does. When I look at him, it is as if Juan never left me all those years ago. So you have met my Daniel?" she asks, seemingly intrigued.
"Yes ma'am," I offer. "I'm afraid I made a very bad first impression with him." I desperately want to change the subject, but she presses on.
"I don't believe that a girl as lovely as you could ever be anything but pleasant. I'm sure you just misread him, dear." She must sense that I'm not at all convinced because she continues, trying to explain Danny's disposition. "This accident has made him extremely bitter and he has become rather difficult to deal with. He blames himself for everything that has happened even though it was no one's fault. He has been that way since he was a baby... internalizing everyone else's pain and grief and making it his own. It's like he's locked his heart to anything but the pain. He won't allow himself to feel any happiness." She is beseeching me to understand with her eyes, and I give in, feeling my heart begin to melt. When I open my mouth to speak, she interrupts, saying, "The Santos family has known so much tragedy. That is why I surround myself with these pictures... reminders of the happy times, which are few and far between for us." I want so badly to understand this pain inside of Danny. With Mrs. Santos' help, I think I just might be able to.
I walk back to the fireplace, gently placing the picture in the spot where it belongs and pick up another that catches my eye... another happy memory. This one is of a smiling baby girl and I can tell by the quality of the photo, that it is recent. A smile spreads across Mrs. Santos' face as I turn it toward her, and she wheels herself next to me. "That is my first great-grandchild, Isabella Maria Ramirez. She is Raymond's niece. She was born on the very night of the accident, so her mother thought it fitting to name the child after me. I haven't had a chance to meet her yet, but she is being christened in two weeks and I hope to be able to make it to St. Michael's to attend." She looks at me with questioning eyes and I nod reassuringly, letting her know that I believe she will be well enough to be there.
"She's beautiful, Ms. Maria," I say, and she beams.
"She looks exactly like my Pilar did as a baby," she says, choking back tears as she strains to reach a photo of a beautiful young woman from another spot on the mantle. I set Isabella's picture down and help Mrs. Santos retrieve the one that's eluding her grasp. She doesn't say anything and I give her a moment to compose herself. The woman staring back is posed in her graduation cap and gown. She has the fingers of her right hand wrapped around a diploma, the other hand resting on the back of a chair. I look down and realize that those same delicate hands belong to Mrs. Santos.
I am on the verge of tears myself and I say sincerely, "You don't have to talk about this Ms. Maria, really. I understand how painful this must be."
She shakes her head from side to side and replies, "No, no, no. Talking about it helps me deal with the pain. That is why I worry about Daniel so. He is not able to discuss such things. Olga told me that the very night of the accident, he returned home, demanding that she cover all of the furniture and belongings in Pilar's bedroom and study with old sheets. The doors have remained locked ever since and no one even sets foot on the third floor anymore." I close my eyes briefly and the words from Danny's note flash on the backs of my lids. Everything finally makes sense. Pilar had lived on the third floor and Danny is trying desperately to keep all of her things in their proper places... just as she had left them that night six weeks ago. I understand his worry as I recall sleeping with one of my mother's old nightgowns after her death, seeking comfort in her unique scent. Mrs. Santos continues, breaking my reverie, "His way of coping is to pretend it all away. I can't do that. It's not healthy... not for me."
"Not for anyone," I correct. "Danny should really open up to someone... Ray or maybe a counselor. Someone. Why is it that he blames himself so?" I ask, again wanting so desperately to know everything there is to know about this man.
Looking at me with a somewhat confused expression, she clears her throat and grabs my hand before turning back to look at the beautiful face of Pilar and says, "I thought Raymond would have told you that earlier. Daniel blames himself because he was the one driving the car that night. Pilar died instantly and I was in a coma for two and a half weeks. Daniel walked away with only a cut to the head." My mind recalls the face of Danny and I remember the scar I noticed earlier. I didn't put two and two together then. I feel the bile rise up in my throat as I wonder what it must do to him to look at his reflection every day, and have a constant reminder of that night. Mrs. Santos hasn't noticed my wandering mind as she continues, "No matter how many times we tell him that we are all glad that he wasn't seriously hurt, he tunes us out. It's like he wishes he was hurt so that he could feel punished in some way. A part of him died that night. I hope that one day, it comes back... I miss the man he was."
Olga interrupts us then with her knocking before walking in, carrying a tray of food. Mrs. Santos smiles at me and hands me the picture so that I can return it to it's spot. I rub her shoulder and suddenly feel compelled to give her a gentle kiss on the cheek. Her smile grows and we both turn and watch as Olga sets the tray of food on the table. Mrs. Santos asks me to join her for dinner and I agree. I suggest that we take advantage of the warm temperature and eat at the picnic table on the deck outside. She likes the idea and I help Olga set up the small feast. I walk back into the room and push Mrs. Santos outside. She dismisses Olga after telling her, "This looks and smells wonderful."
Olga relishes the compliment and leaves us alone once again. "She's amazing," I say. "How long has she been with you?"
"She has been working for us for thirty years now. She came to us when Carmen was pregnant with my Daniel," she explains while buttering her roll. I smile at the possessive way she calls Danny 'my Daniel', and I ask her about it.
"Well I feel like he is mine... I've raised him since he was ten years old."
My smile fades and I stop mid-chew to look up at her, begging her with my eyes to continue. I manage to get the piece of chicken down my throat and take a long sip of my wine. She sees my shock and tries to explain. "My son, Juan Miguel, and his wife, Carmen planned a vacation to Spain to visit our people one summer nineteen years ago. Their oldest son, Miguel, was thirteen at the time, Daniel was ten, and Pilar was fourteen months. Knowing that the trip would be too long for the baby, they decided to leave her at home with me and asked Daniel to stay as well to help me and Olga with her. He was a stubborn boy and was very mad that his brother was allowed to go, and that he was not. But he was also an obedient child, so he quit putting up a fuss when his father told him that his word was final. The airplane crashed on the return trip and there were no survivors. I buried a son, a daughter-in-law, and a grandchild that week. I cried for three months straight, and my husband fell ill and never truly recovered. Three years later, I buried him too."
I am rendered speechless. I now know about the tragedy she was speaking of earlier that plagues this family. My heart aches for this man I barely know as a mental image finds it's way into my mind. I see a little boy of ten, holding the hand of his grandmother in the cemetery as he says good bye forever to both parents and a brother. Then I see a slightly older boy of thirteen, watching the casket of his grandfather being lowered into the ground. Finally I see the grown man that I have met only briefly and under the poorest of circumstances, mourning a beloved sister while not knowing whether or not his grandmother was going to live or die. I am aware that Mrs. Santos is speaking, but I cannot comprehend what she is saying. I force myself to push Danny out of my mind, but the more that I learn, the more difficult that task is becoming.
"I'm sorry," I apologize. "What were you saying, Ms. Maria?" I finally manage.
"I said, tell me all about yourself dear," she says, and I will my voice to be strong and unwavering as I speak. I listen to myself telling her all about my mom and dad, Rick and Abby, and even Jesse, and I am shocked at how easy it is to open up to this woman. She listens to my rambling intently and before I know it, the sun is beginning to set.
When dinner is over, we return to her bedroom and I find myself wanting to stay a bit longer. She doesn't seem to be in any hurry for me to leave either, so I sit down at the table where I found her when I first knocked on her door. She wheels herself across from me and watches as I pick up the book she had been reading and run my fingers over the smooth leather cover. It is a book of poetry and I leaf through the pages. I can tell from the yellowed pages and slightly smudged words that it is very old. Some of the poems are marked off, some pages are dog-eared.
I feel like I have invaded her privacy and I open my mouth to apologize when she asks, "May I read you one of my favorites, Michelle?"
"Of course, abuela," I answer. The name rolled off of my tongue without my permission, but I find that the foreign word feels quite natural upon my lips the minute I utter it. A smile curves her mouth as she begins to search for a specific poem. I watch her licking her thumb and index finger as she tries to separate the old pages, a smile spreading on my face as well as I continue to repeat the word 'abuela' over and over in my head. Having never known any of my own grandparents, it feels good to have someone like this in my life.
She finally finds the one she was looking for and begins to recite it to me. I close my eyes and listen intently, savoring the melodic gentleness of her voice as she reads,
***"Sometimes life can throw you a curve
You slip and stumble and lose your nerve.
You feel defeated in your heart...
Like the game has ended before you can start.
But God never intended in his master plan
To heap sorrow and failure on any man.
The Lord makes opportunities so you can learn
With faith and love, your strength will return.
As you journey along life's long winding road...
You are never alone as you carry your load.
Loving family and friends will be at your side
With prayer, love and faith, and God to guide.
So the next time you think
A door's slammed in your face...
Remember you're never alone in life's race...
For each time Our Father closes a door...
He'll open a window for you to explore."***
My eyes flutter open and meet hers. She is wiping at a falling tear as she whispers, "Give my Daniel a chance. He needs a friend. He has a good heart... he's simply lost his way."
I rise and walk towards her and reach for her left hand, giving the palm a kiss before turning to leave. When I get to the door, I whisper, "Goodnight abuela." I know what I am going to do. I am going to offer my help to Danny. I am going to help him find a window to open.
***"Doors and Windows" by Molly Nicosia
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