CHAPTER FOUR
“Gracias, señor.”
Atlas tipped the old, greying cab driver extra for the prompt delivery from the Aguascalientes International to his hotel for a quick change and off to the address in his phone.
Alone on the street, he checked that the apartment number matched and opened the squeaking gate, puzzling over why it existed when the lock was broken. Inside was no better than the outside glimpse of the wide, two-story rectangular building.
The broker in him valued the property as having potential. Set in a large, old neighborhood, with the amenities of many stores and entertainment in walking distance, it could have been a hot spot for buyers and sellers alike in Mexico and across the border.
Many of his agency’s clientele, old and young, were looking for permanent vacationing property. Aguascalientes was turning out to be a great locale. And this place would surely interest them; maybe not in this current state, but with some serious TLC –
Who knows?
Atlas was intrigued by the project already setting up a home in his mind.
Apparently it wasn’t enough that he now was elbows deep in the middle of a reno for the Montero resort for its grand re-opening. In the end Mr. Montero, his daughter and son-in-law came around to Atlas’ traditional proposal over the Wonderland circus-theme the competing buyer suggested.
He smirked at the memory of the call he’d received only the day after he left Valle de Santos: Montero had been swamped with so much details and the extravagant cost of the other buyer’s plans, he even sped up the contracts signing half the property and management to Atlas and his real estate agency, Neville & Co.
Back to the property in front of him, as he trekked up the path. Pieces of it missing, replaced by gaping holes of dark soil, the stone path was a hazard to all walking over it, and presently for his Hermès sandals.
“Crap,” Atlas cussed, looking back when he cleared the dangerous path. He climbed the stone veranda, glancing at the two closest house numbers to judge whether he would be going left or right, odd or even.
Room one-oh-six was his destination, and the even numbers were lined up on the right. Right it was.
He was passing one-four when his phone buzzed. Checking the I.D., Atlas answered.
“Señor Montero.”
“I thought I told you to call me Eduard, Atlas,” his old benefactor laughed, jolly as always. More so now that he was relieved of the dilapidated resort falling apart on his land. “How are you, my boy?”
“In Mexico actually,” Atlas leaned against the side, answering his new business partner’s questions, his gaze moving to apartment number one-oh-six when Mr. Montero asked after Atlas’ one and only fiancée.
Ofélia.
“Then I’ll let you go. I just called to ask if you’d gotten the first drawing for the renovations from Gustavo. He’d had a duplicate made from the contractor’s original.
“Oh, and please do give my best to señorita Espinosa. Agata won’t stop asking after her, and I can relieve my poor girl of her worry.”
“I will.” And Atlas hoped it wasn’t an empty promise. He said his farewell and hung up.
The first couple knocks went unanswered. Atlas pressed the doorbell and got a muffled response, signalling whoever was outside to wait. He stepped back, leaning on the veranda stone boundary again, while he waited and waited.
He counted to forty-three when she opened the door.
“Atlas,” Ofélia said, closing the door after her, keys and coat in hand as she closed the door. “There’s a coffee shop not too far from here.”
Atlas understood what she meant: He wasn’t welcome in her home. Yet.
He clung to that ‘yet’ and allowed her to lead for now. The café Ofélia mentioned was a hole-in-the-wall kind of spot. Still, as grungy as it was, Atlas admitted the coffee smelled and tasted great.
Ofélia didn’t share his sentiment. She hadn’t touched her vanilla roast once, her gaze settled on the dusted window pane and on the houses across the street.
“Here,” wiping his hands, he pulled out his phone. He didn’t want to prolong her anxiety. Ofélia accepted it with shaking hands, mumbling her gratitude. She stared at the glowing screen, bringing her hand up to her mouth once and sniffling, and brushing her eyes.
A wobbly smile overtook her expression, signalling her tears were of the sadly rarer, happy variety.
When she passed back the phone, she said, “Thank you. Thank you so much, Atlas.” Ofélia gulped at her roast now, reaching for a napkin to wipe her mouth, she leaned over. “May I ask how did you find Jesús?”
“Social media is a powerful tool.” Atlas finished his heavenly brew, wishing he had more again. He didn’t need the extra caffeine though. Not with Ofélia in front of him, her glowing expression, all the warmer and prettier when she smiled; she was all the boost another cup could have given him. “It helped that you told me about his huge online presence.”
“Well, really? I didn’t think it would be so easy using that.” Ofélia trailed off, her brow pinching. “But, how did you find him exactly? I used to look at all his pages every morning. Sometimes I would watch his last few videos and re-read those last online messages to see if I could know where he went.”
“I threw out a feeler.” Atlas smiled sardonically. “It might come as a surprise but all young boys are young boys, and Jesús couldn’t pass up an opportunity to work with me.” He didn’t add the figures of the loose contract. Ofélia’s eyes widened enough as is.
“Qué? A job?”
Atlas detailed his plan for the youngest Espinosa. Even if he, Mr. Montero, and the Oriols were quite a ways from re-opening the resort to a whole new audience, Atlas knew it was never early to do his PR. Since Ofélia’s kid brother had a huge online following, Atlas could see himself putting Jesús to use.
Ofélia sunk into her chair, fingers absently trailing the perspiration over the mug, her sight unseeing again. “I just cannot believe he didn’t tell me. What was he thinking? I know he apologized, but it is not enough. Jesús should have known how worried his family was.”
“He reminds me of Tom,” Atlas had her attention again. He didn’t know why he’d said what he had, but he continued, unable to stop the flow. “I haven’t told you this, but Tom is my half-brother. My mom died when I was six, and six years later my father introduced me to his new wife and my five-year-old brother.”
Ofélia was silent, perhaps out of respect or fear she’d stop him. Whatever it was, he was happy she was quiet. His tongue had grown heavier with the confession, his gaze resting on his hands atop his crossed leg.
“Suddenly I had this brother and new mother, and my father didn’t understand why I didn’t care.” Atlas looked up, a sudden lethargy gripping his blood, his body. “Tom is crazy, as I’m sure you know. He’s always been like that. An attention seeker, and it worked with my dad and stepmom, I was the only one who saw through the act to his stupid nature.”
“You hate your brother?”
“No!” Something in Ofélia’s tone made him snap. There was caution there wavering her voice as she’d asked, not with accusation, but with wariness.
Atlas had put two-and-two together by now: She clearly valued her family, families in general and it most likely pained her to her this sob story.
“Sorry,” she was saying. “I shouldn’t have assumed.”
“It was an understandable assumption. You don’t need to apologize, and truthfully I used to think so too.” Atlas failed to recall a time when he wasn’t carrying a white-hot ball of pressure in his chest at the mention of Tom, a symbol of everything Atlas had lost, namely his mother.
Otherwise his father surely wouldn’t have ever considering siring another child and remarrying.
“I don’t hate him. At least, not anymore,” Atlas met her gaze and nodded. “I’m sure I used to. But that’s not the case with your brother. What I’m saying is that siblings are supposed to push your buttons. You can’t vouch for what other people will say or do, and,” and what?
Ofélia had been leaning forward again, hanging onto his every word, waiting patiently for him to finish by the looks of it. Her deep brown eyes like big ovals, rimmed by long, black lashes, her nude-glossed mouth matching her eyes in shape. Complete rapture summed her expression up.
“And,” Atlas drawled, spreading his hands over the tabletop, hoping he sounded cool and unaffected. “You have to remember you can only control your own thoughts and actions.”
“I guess.” Ofélia sagged back again. “If he did not want to study at the college anymore, he could have said so.”
“He was probably worried about what you’d think of him.”
She bobbed her head, folding her arms and lifting that full chest of hers. “Lo sé. I mean, I know. Really, I will have to just let this go then.”
Atlas smiled his agreement and she sighed, gulping down the contents of her mug and wiping her mouth. She stood and carried their dishware to the drop-off counter.
Outside the café she thanked him.
“I appreciate you coming to Aguascalientes for my family. I am going to have to remind Jesús about his manners when I talk to him next.” Her smile grew larger and Atlas had to get a grip on the loop-di-loop of his major organs. “But I really am happy that he is okay.”
“I know.”
And then they were left with the awkward goodbye.
Atlas called her back, his heart pounding harder as she resumed her place in front of him.
“Yes?”
“Well, I actually have been looking into Aguascalientes. For future projects and stuff.” And stuff? Atlas smiled through the mounting tension rising behind his neck, cramping his stomach and doing a number to his mind obviously. He hadn’t sounded so unprofessional in his life.
“I could use someone to show me around. Give me a tour.”
She hooked her thumbs in her jean pockets, her floral blouse riding up and revealing her browned, delectable belly and the piercing he hadn’t noticed. “Atlas?”
“Mhm,” he hummed, drawing his gaze to her face, his face and neck a tad hotter and not all of it could be blamed on the weather.
Expecting her to chide him, instead she asked, “A tour? You want me to show you around the city?”
Atlas nodded, no longer trusting of his voice or his eyes or anything of his near Ofélia.
Yes, Ofélia, I want you to show me around the city.
I want you to do that and so much more.