Chapter 2: Suspicion

By Rodolfo

It’s true, I had a certain distrust of them; I suffered from my mother’s abandonment and always took care not to fall into the clutches of any of them.

I wasn’t going to be abandoned, the way my father was.

I don’t know if he never looked for a partner because he mourned my mother’s love or because it simply didn’t happen.

It’s true that we’re country folk, but we also traveled and mingled with high society.

Personally, when I traveled, I didn’t flaunt what I owned, because many women, among other things, are gold diggers.

In that regard, my father was lucky; he had divided up the assets, perhaps because he sensed the kind of behavior my mother might eventually exhibit.

Although both of them came from wealthy families, my maternal grandparents were importers.

My paternal grandparents were the ones who had much more money.

I arrived at my house—it was a mansion, in the middle of the countryside, it’s true, but we had every luxury we could possibly imagine.

I was devastated, in shock.

My father, Matthew, and I were very close.

Yesterday I had other things to take care of; otherwise, if I hadn’t had anything else to do, I might have gone with them—or maybe not; I didn’t always go.

Tough times lie ahead for me.

Thank goodness that woman left—the last thing I needed was to have to deal with that snob who looks down on everyone.

Sending her the check for her share of the profits every month should be enough, and I’ll have to do a lot of calculations to see if it’s worth it for me to buy out her share.

I do some quick calculations—it’s a lot of money—but if it comes down to it, I’ll cut ties with a few companies.

I’m getting ahead of myself—I can’t even think straight. I didn’t sleep last night, and ever since yesterday, when the accident happened, I haven’t stopped running around.

And on top of that, that young woman showed up—she wasn’t even able to shed a single damn tear for her father. I cried so much—for my father and for hers.

María wants to bring me dinner; it had already gotten dark, and I hadn’t even noticed.

I have so many memories of my father; it seems impossible that he’ll never walk through that door again…

-I’m not hungry, thanks.

“Rodo, please, eat something.”

The maid who usually takes care of me says affectionately.

“Well, serve me dinner.”

I agreed, mainly because I’m not in the mood to cheer anyone up and didn’t want her to start crying.

I ate very little; I’m exhausted, and at the same time I feel the terrible emptiness of this loss, which causes a rush of adrenaline in my body that keeps me from sleeping, even though I’m tired.

I went to my room early.

I thought a thousand times about the accident, about the condition the bodies were found in; I couldn’t understand what could have gone wrong.

I was going crazy, thinking the same thing over and over, and then there was the outrage I felt at the way Kelly was behaving, as if her father didn’t deserve her tears.

That woman really gets on my nerves; she inspires a lot of contempt in me.

She didn’t even say “thank you” when they served her coffee, or “please”—she didn’t even say hello to me!

Added to the immense pain is that woman’s—contempt?—toward her father.

I rub my hands over my face.

At six in the morning, having barely slept, I took a shower with lukewarm, almost cold water. It was September, and although the afternoons were still warm, the mornings were starting to get cooler; I especially love these days—my father and I always enjoyed them together...

Suddenly I remembered Kelly’s eyes—those eyes that didn’t quite match her demeanor.

I barely remember her mother; she was a kind woman, and I remember that she always treated me with great affection, but I don’t recall her features very well, although her eyes were light-colored, like her daughter’s.

Her attitude, however, was different.

The hours go by, and I’m getting more and more annoyed.

The house feels sad, and it even seems as if the horses have noticed, because the stable was quieter than usual.

The dogs were lying around, not barking, not playing...

Mourning was clearly in the air.

It’s going to be incredibly hard for me to get over this.

The days begin to pass slowly.

I received a preliminary report on the accident, and that’s what it was—simply an accident.

There’s not much to make of it.

Fifteen days later, a new helicopter arrives; I have no choice but to get on it and fly over the fields—I have to do this two or three times a week. I’m not afraid; it’s a safe mode of transportation...

I meet with the accountant; the check is written out—as it is every month—to that woman, who didn’t even deign to call, nor did she speak to the accountant or anyone else.

I was in charge of all the companies and everything that happened on the farm.

I meet with the lawyers, and they tell me that in a month, we’d have to meet with Kelly Miller to read the will. It struck me as odd, because she would receive her father’s share and I would receive what was due to me from mine— that’s where it was all supposed to end, but since we were business partners, it didn’t strike me as odd that they’d read the will to us together—maybe there was a clause regarding the sale of the other half, or one ensuring the other party wasn’t left with nothing, or something to do with the house we shared.

I wasn’t worried about that—if that woman came, she’d stay on the north side of the property and I’d stay on my side; we wouldn’t even have to cross paths. Besides, she wasn’t the kind of woman who’d last long out in the country.

Finally, a silver lining—I wouldn’t have to see her.

She’d head straight back to the city, or to Europe—wherever her shitty ass wanted to end up.

I despise her, just as much as she must despise me, but at least I was polite and said hello.

It doesn’t bother me that she doesn’t return my greeting out of false pride; what bothers me is that she’s rude, that she hasn’t shed a single fucking tear for her father or mine.

You could tell she was a vain, self-centered woman.

She thought she was such a big shot.

I was in the same financial position as her, and even if I were the lowest-paid worker, I’d still deserve a greeting from people—as long as I addressed them with respect.

That’s the word—she has no respect for anything or anyone.

I scold myself for wasting time thinking about how angry that woman makes me.

I make a call and drive my pickup truck to a cabin we have on our farm, about a half-hour’s drive away, just before crossing the lagoon.

The lagoon was also on our property; it was quite large and reached a depth of six meters in some areas. We used it for irrigation, of course, and in the summer, the farmhands would cool off there. I didn’t really like it when they went too far out, though, because of how deep it was.

I arrived at the cabin, and Emma—one of the girls I used to spend some time with—was waiting for me.

She was pretty; we’d run into each other sometimes. However, she knew she couldn’t expect anything from me—she wasn’t my girlfriend or anything like that, just a passing fling, and she wasn’t the only woman I saw. She was the daughter of a foreman at a neighboring farm.

I always made it clear to her that there was nothing romantic about our encounters, and she accepted the rules.

The rules I set, of course.

A nice gift every now and then and a deposit into her checking account every time we met—and if she ever got a boyfriend, I’d respect that, and that would be the end of it.

I had these encounters with three or four girls; they knew about it, so they couldn’t make any complaints.

Sometimes I’d call one, and sometimes another, depending on how I felt at the time.

But they all gave me more or less the same thing.

One had a better butt, another had bigger breasts, another had perkier ones, and so on—so it depended on what came up and what I was in the mood for.

There were also certain women I’d look for in town and others in the nearest city.

None of them had really made much of an impression on me, but I was pretty sexually active, so I was always looking for female company.

When I traveled to Sacramento, I also had my fleeting encounters.

Sometimes we’d run into my college friends, and we’d end up at my apartment with several girls we knew who were willing to do whatever we asked—that is, threesomes and even the occasional orgy—but as the years went by, some of them backed out because they had partners and even started families.

Not me—I shied away from any kind of commitment. It might sound chauvinistic, but I wanted women close to me only in moments of pleasure.

I don’t want much more from them.

Based on my personal experience, I’m convinced my reasons for thinking this way are valid.