I discovered that Fani knew what was happening between Adan and me almost as soon as I did or perhaps a little beforehand. I had the sense that they spoke often and that I was the chief topic of their conversation. I began to believe Fani was acting as a matchmaker almost as enthusiastically as mi tía Isabela.
“You two really looked good together at Danielle’s party,” Fani told me.
“With my crutches? We couldn’t even dance.”
“You still made a good impression, and that photographer managed to keep the crutches out of the picture, didn’t he? All I’ve heard are good things about the two of you. My parents said it, too, and they spoke to other adults at the party. You’re the talk of the town, Delia, our own Latina Cinderella.”
All of this talk made me very nervous when Adan arrived on Wednesday. He brought me another gift, a pair of designer sunglasses that I later found out cost hundreds of dollars. Even my aunt would be jealous of them.
“You can’t keep giving me presents,” I told him when I unwrapped the box.
“You can’t drive a car like that wearing an ordinary pair of sunglasses, Delia. It’s practically a sin.”
I laughed and put on the glasses. When I looked in the mirror in the entryway, I was impressed with myself. Immediately, I studied the shadows behind me, too, searching for some sign of the ojo malvado. Adan was watching me, a slight smile of amusement on his lips.
“What?” he asked, seeing the expression on my face.
With Ignacio, I would not have hesitated to explain my belief in the evil eye, but I was afraid Adan would laugh at me and perhaps not want to have anything to do with a girl who was so superstitious.
“Nothing. They are beautiful. Gracias, Adan. But you spend too much money on me.”
“Nothing compared with what your cousin Edward spends,” he said. It was like a sharp cut. He saw the pained expression on my face and quickly added, “Besides, I like buying you things. You really appreciate it. Most of the girls I know and have known are so damn spoiled I’d have to buy them a jumbo jet to get a sincere thank-you.”
I continued to look at him in the mirror. It seemed safer to talk to him this way. It was more like a dream, a fantasy, an imaginary relationship that didn’t compare to the reality of Ignacio and me. It was as if Adan and I were characters in a movie we were both watching. To the other girls at school, it truly seemed that way. We had quickly become what our English teacher would say, quoting from Shakespeare, the stuff that dreams were made of. Maybe if I, too, believed this and conducted myself this way, I would not put Ignacio and myself into any real danger. Could I treat it all as lightly as air, slip in and out of my own body, and speak like a puppet? Would Adan notice, and would that make him angry?
“Thank you, Adan,” I said, and he smiled and reached for my hand when I turned to him.
“C’mon. Let’s get to that car. You have the key, right?”
“Right,” I said, laughing at his enthusiasm.
We went out quickly. I opened the locked doors as Jesse had shown me, and Adan got into the driver’s seat. First, he went through every button, every control. He had me get into the driver’s seat so we could put the seat’s position and height into memory. All I would have to do was touch a number, and the seat would move to fit me. Even the side mirrors moved to fit the way I would look out at them.
We went through the climate-control system and the audio, and then he started to explain the navigator. We put in the address of mi tía Isabela’s hacienda first.
“All you’ll have to do,” he explained, “is push this location icon th
at says ‘home,’ and the car will tell you what turns to make until you are here.”
I could see he enjoyed my astonishment. “Most of the roads outside our village have no signs,” I told him. “However, there is always someone who can tell you where to go or how to get there.”
“There’s not always someone here,” he said. “And you can’t depend on their directions, anyway. Besides, you have to be careful about whom you talk to when you’re driving this car. A beautiful young woman who looks well-to-do is a moving target.”
I nodded, impressed with his concern.
“Do you want the top up or down?”
“Maybe down,” I said.
“It’s a hardtop convertible. Watch this,” he said, pressing the button. The top lifted up and back. “Neat, huh?”
“Yes, it does so much.”
“Only what you tell it to do,” he said, smiling.
We started away, and he explained more about the engine, the gears, and the driving. Finally, he pulled to the side of the road, and we changed seats. I pressed the memory button for my seat, and it moved closer and higher. I screamed with delight, and he laughed. It took awhile for me to get used to the accelerator. The car was so powerful that if I pressed too hard, too quickly, we both were snapped backward, screaming. Eventually, it all became much easier, and I became comfortable.
“It’s a beautiful piece of machinery,” he said, stroking the dashboard as if to him the automobile was really alive. “You’re going to enjoy it.”