Chapter 29

'Berto

Roberto looked at Toni, his head aching, and his mouth still tasting foul in spite of having brushed his teeth, and his stomach barely civilized. She had forgiven him, and he had promised never again to hurt her as he'd done. And she was holding his hand. He had feared when he sat down that she would never want to touch him again, would want him never again to touch her. The simple feel of her fingers in his, around his, was just now the most wonderful sensation in the world. She hasn't rejected me, he thought. She has the right to, but she hasn't.

She squeezed his fingers for a moment. "You're not eating, 'Berto."

He looked at his plate, where most of his second piece of toast still lay. He'd lost his appetite when Toni's voice had cracked and her tears had threatened to spill out on her cheeks. He couldn't eat when the woman he loved was in such distress. But now he thought that perhaps he could. He pulled the plate back toward him with his free hand and took a tentative bite. Cold buttered toast wasn't going to win any awards, but he found that he was truly hungry now. He didn't trust his stomach to take more than toast at the moment, but he finished the piece in just a few bites, and – still using just one hand – put two more pieces of bread in the toaster and pushed the handle down.

"Are you feeling better, 'Berto?"

"Physically, a little. Otherwise ... if you hadn't forgiven me, Toni, I don't know what I'd do. But since you have, I feel a lot better."

"I have to fight temptation. There's a part of me which wants to make you pay for what you did to me, to make you suffer as much as I did. But most of me is glad that you're not hurting as much, even though what you felt doesn't compare with what I went through all night."

"I hope I never hurt like you did, Toni. I don't want to know what I put you through..."

"Nor do I want you to know. Some things you don't need to know."

He paused to butter the toast that had popped up, finally retrieving his hand from Toni's so that he could do it. "So you're still my palomita morena?"

"Roberto George Vargas, I will always be your little brown dove. Even if you drive me away I will still be yours in my heart. Married or not, I'm yours forever. I can't change that – I belong to you, and I don't have any choice about it."

"And I belong to you ... with no more choice than you have. That's why what I did is so ... so reprehensible. I can't think of a worse word. You've called yourself wicked and sinful, but me ... when I think of what I did to you last night..." And the tears ran down his cheeks.

"'Berto, it's all right. It's over." She reached out her hand, that one that wasn't holding his, and gently wiped his tears away. "I love you, and you love me, and that's what counts."

"Yeah, I guess you're right." His voice was a little rough, but coming back under control.

"You know, 'Berto, most of what I had planned for today is wrecked, but there's one thing I still want to do. It was for you that I thought of doing it, and I want to do it in spite of everything. Can you wait here for a few minutes?"

"Sure." He wanted to ask, but didn't. Anyway, he could make some more toast; he realized with a surprise that he'd now gone through four pieces and was still hungry.

"All right, then, my lord – don't stir." And she smiled faintly as she got up from her chair and left the kitchen.

While he waited he made two more pieces of toast, using a little more butter on them this time; he thought his stomach could take it. He had finished the first one and just started on the other when Toni's voice came from the living room.

"'Berto, could you please come here?" It was her voice, all right, but it sounded different somehow – softer, perhaps, more gentle, like a verbal caress.

He got up from his chair and took the two or three steps to the living room. Toni was standing there, behind the sofa, where he could get a good look at her. And he looked ... and looked ... and looked. "Toni, you're beautiful!"

"Do you like it?"

"I love it!"

She was wearing a dress – the first one he'd ever seen her in. It was a pale brown that went well with her Mexican skin, sleeveless, and came to her knees. Her arms were slender, soft, inviting as he saw them this way for the first time. The neckline was modest, yet low enough that he could see the soft skin below her throat. She'd pulled the hair back behind her ears and held it in place with a pair of barrettes, and her face – devoid of makeup today, as far as he could tell – was fresh and clean and smooth.

"Oh, Toni..."

She held her arms straight out from her sides and twirled around, the skirt of her dress flaring gently around her. When she faced him again she kept her arms out and said, "Roberto George Vargas, I love you. I am going to marry you, one way or the other. And I wanted you to see not just Toni Cedillo, the girl who wears pants and scrubs and looks like a tomboy, but Antonia Leticia, the woman who loves you with all her heart." And now she reached for him.

He took three steps and her arms were around him, and his were around her. She reached up, through the six inches that separated them, and kissed him hard. Her eyes were closed, he saw, and her arms were around his neck, and she pulled him to her fiercely. His arms, wrapped around her back and shoulders, pulled her to him just as strongly, and his eyes closed, and he knew then that forgiveness wasn't just words – it was her whole heart and life refusing to hold his actions against him. And he felt his eyes filling, and he was sure that his tears were spotting her face. And then she broke the kiss, and put her face against his chest, and from the wetness of his shirt he knew that she was crying too.

Toni

Last night Toni had cried in anger and fear and sorrow. Now she cried for joy. Their argument had been so fierce, and 'Berto's disappearance so sudden and frightening, that she had wondered if their relationship had come to a shattering halt. But now, with 'Berto holding her as tightly as she was holding him, she knew that they were still together, that they still loved each other, that they still were going to get married. So her tears flowed, and as they did she smiled into Berto's clean shirt, a shirt that didn't have the stink of vomit and booze in it but only the fresh smell of the laundry and of his clean skin.

When her tears had run their course, she lifted her head and looked into his eyes. "Do you know how much I love you, my lord?"

"If you love me as much as I love you, I do, my lady."

She smiled, and it felt to her as though it would be what writers like to call a brilliant smile. "We understand each other very well, don't we? That was exactly the right answer."

He returned her smile, and kissed the tip of her nose before answering. "It was a true answer. If it was right, so much the better."

She reached a hand up to the back of his head, and pulled him down into a kiss. When she released him she said, "Let's go for a walk together."

"Okay. I think I actually could use some fresh air."

She drew in a sharp breath. "I'm sorry, 'Berto – I'd forgotten how sick you must be."

"That's okay, Toni. I do feel better – that long sleep I had helped – and I think a short walk would be good for me, even if it is unusual for you to want one."

"A short walk, then, my lord. Let me put some shoes on, and you do likewise, and we'll go."

For 'Berto it was easy – he just had to put on his usual shoes, which fortunately he had not thrown up on during the night. Toni had to go into the closet, and rummage around in a corner. She hadn't worn a dress in ages, and so she hadn't worn any of her dressier shoes in ages either. Eventually she found a pair of white flats, and slipped them on. It felt good, she realized, to look feminine for a change. She darted into the bathroom, and quickly put on a touch of pale pink lipstick, just enough to emphasize her lips. She reached for her eyeliner and used it, making her already large eyes seem enormous – at least that was how she expected 'Berto would see it. And then a touch of rouge to highlight her cheekbones, and she was ready. I don't need eyebrow pencil – not with those eyebrows, she thought. If anything, I need to pluck them.