After school, I take the same buses Olga rode to work the day she died. I’m not exactly sure what I’ll do when I get to the office. I don’t have a real plan. I just hope to show up and somehow find the man who inseminated my sister.
I sit in the waiting room reading the list of doctors over and over. There’s no way I’m going to figure out who he is this way. After twenty minutes of watching me pretend to wait, the receptionist asks if she can help me with something. I wonder if she’s the one who replaced my sister. She reminds me of a possum
—maybe it’s her teeth—but she’s still pretty somehow.
“Um, I was hoping to make an appointment with…Dr.
Fernández.”
“Have you seen her before?” “No.”
“Do you have an insurance card?” “No.”
“What kind of insurance do you have? HMO or PPO?” “I’m not sure.” That’s a stupid answer, I know.
“I don’t think I can help you, miss. I’m sorry. Maybe you should come back with your parents?” she says, and smiles.
As I try to figure out what to do next, a man in a dark suit enters the office. It’s him. It’s the man from Olga’s wake, crying in the back. The one with the gray suit and expensive watch. I guess he wasn’t my uncle after all.
“Hello, Dr. Castillo,” the receptionist says. “Your son left you a message about five minutes ago.”
“Thanks, Brenda.”
I crouch to the ground and pretend to look for something in my backpack until he’s gone.
“I think I made a mistake,” I say, and run out the door.
—
The office closes at 5:30, so I wait outside until he comes out. By 5:45, right when I begin deliberating about going home, I see him walk out the door. He looks powerful in his black suit and leather briefcase. He’s definitely old, but I can see why Olga was attracted to him; there’s something about the way he walks that’s forceful, magnetic.
What am I going to say? What’s the point of all this?
I take a few deep breaths and run after him before he gets into his black BMW.
“Hey! Hey!” I yell before he closes his door.
“How can I help you, young lady?” he asks, in a slight accent I can’t detect. He has to know who I am. I can see it in his discomfort, the way his eyes shift, as if looking for an escape.
“I’m Olga’s sister.”
“Oh my God,” he says. “Yes, of course. I’m so sorry for your loss.
Olga was a wonderful employee. We all miss her very much.” “Yeah, I’m sure you do. Since you got her pregnant and made
her think you were going to marry her….And…and then she died.”
Dr. Castillo sighs and looks down at the ground.
“Why the fuck did you do that?” I’m startled by my own anger. “Please, stop, let me explain. I’ll give you a ride.” He leads me to
the passenger side with his hand on my shoulder, and something
about that is comforting, even though I think I hate him. He smells like cologne and aftershave, like man, just like Mr. Ingman.
—
The diner is almost empty. Neither one of us says anything for a long time. I don’t know where to begin.
“Listen,” he finally says. “I know you’re upset, but I want you to know that I loved your sister.”
“But you were married, and Olga was only twenty-two. That’s gross. How old are you anyway? Fifty?”
“When you get older, you’ll understand that everything is much more complicated than you ever imagined. You plan your whole life, and nothing works out the way you expect.” He sounds as if he’s talking to himself.
“Tell me how old you are.”
“That doesn’t matter.” He scratches his neck and looks behind him.
“It does to me.” “Forty-six.”
“You’re older than our father. That’s so fucking weird. Jesus.” I can’t even look at him.
“Life is incredibly complex. One day, you will see.”
“What’s so complicated about you lying and taking advantage of my sister? You were never going to leave your wife, were you?”
“I wanted to marry Olga. I swear to you. Especially when…” He rubs his face.
“She got pregnant.”
He looks wounded, like I just kicked him in the balls. “Yes, that.”
The waitress finally comes by to take our orders. “Just some coffee for me, thanks,” Dr. Castillo says.
“I’ll have a grilled cheese and some apple juice, please.” Might as well get a meal out of this.
Dr. Castillo reaches into his back pocket and pulls out his wallet.
He takes a folded piece of paper and smooths it on the table.
There it is, a hazy little outline: a suggestion, a possibility, a blob, a clump of cells. I can hardly make out the shape, but I can almost feel its tiny heartbeat in my hands. “How many weeks?”
“Twelve.”
“What do I do with this?” I say to myself aloud. “How do I bury this, too?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, how am I going to keep this secret? Why do I have to be the one living with this shit?”
“Please, don’t tell your parents. Olga never wanted to hurt them.”
“Why wouldn’t I? And why should I listen to you?” “Sometimes it’s best not to tell the truth.”
“Of course you would say that. You lied to my sister and your wife. You were playing both of them like motherfucking fiddles.”
“I never lied to Olga.” He shakes his head.
“What did your last text say? I know you were the one she was texting.” I take a bite of my sandwich.
“She told me that if it was a boy, she was going to name him Rafael, after your father.”
I don’t even know what to say to that. Something about it makes me feel like all my insides are being vandalized.
“So you were never going to leave your wife, right?” “Yes, I was.” He nods.
“Yeah, sure. Look, I read all the emails. Every single one. I’m not stupid or naive, no matter how much everyone wants to think I am.”
Dr. Castillo sighs, says nothing.
“You just kept stringing her along, and she kept waiting and waiting, doing nothing with her life.”
“When she told me about the baby, that changed everything.” Dr. Castillo looks out the window. His eyes are wet now. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a grown man cry before, not even Apá. “I loved your sister. You have to believe that. Her death ruined me. It destroyed me like you can’t imagine.” He lowers his head into his hands.
“Actually, I can imagine. It ruined me, too.”
“I’m divorced now. I couldn’t do it anymore.” He dries his eyes with a silk handkerchief.
“Yeah, well, it’s too late for my sister, isn’t it?” I crumple my napkin and take a sip of my juice. The waitress picks up my plate and wipes the table. The rag smells awful. There is nothing left to
say, so I get up and put on my backpack. I can feel him watch me as I walk out the door.
