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It wasn’t until the second night on the boat that Lidia finally had the time and energy and mental space to really think about what she’d just done with her life.
She knew she was sure of what she did. She knew she made the right decision, and if she learned anything in her life it was that sometimes the right decision broke your heart the most.
She loved Carlos. She could see her whole life with him – she’d already lived so much of that life. He was the husband she dreamed of, he was an excellent father to Eva.
Until he wasn’t. On the one hand, she knew she’d never truly understand his situation – she had spent most of her life at this point without a mother, without a family. She never had enough time with her mother to have the sort of deep connection that Carlos and Carmen had, for better or worse. She didn’t know, truly, what it took to walk away from that.
At the same time, though – she and Eva were Carlos’s family. They were they family he chose, they were the family he and Lidia built together. And Lidia tried to understand, truly. She tried to forgive Carmen for everything, or at the very least live with it. And she did! She lived with the spectre of Carmen over her life for years because it meant she and Carlos and Eva could be together.
So when he said he was finally done with her, she believed him.
Carlos was the first man that Lidia Aguilar loved. Alba had loved one man, too, but Alba didn’t exist anymore. She was Lidia now, for better or worse.
And while Alba did whatever it took to survive, Lidia does whatever it takes for her family – her daughter, her friends, her husband. Her Francisco.
It broke her heart – it broke her – to leave. It broke her heart to separate Eva from her father, to separate herself from Carlos, the man she would’ve married twice, it broke her heart to untie her life from those of her friends – the family she chose, after all this time.
But it was right. Eva wasn’t safe there and if Carlos wasn’t going to keep her safe, he wasn’t going to get to see her.
She thought he’d come for them. She hoped he would get his act together and come to them and they could be a family.
But that second night on the boat, when Eva was finally comfortable enough and used enough to the new surroundings to get some sleep, Lidia could think.
She made the right decision, she knew it. The fear of going somewhere entirely new was still so much less than the fear of Carmen getting her hands on Eva, than the fear of Carlos finally letting that happen, whether he meant to or not.
She let herself think about how deeply, deeply it hurt and ached and burned that Carlos couldn’t protect his daughter. She hoped he felt it, too. She wasn’t one for revenge, that wasn’t what this was. But she did hope it was a wake up call. Eva needed – Eva deserved - a father who would protect her from anything and everything, no matter what.
“Get some sleep,” Francisco whispered, sitting across from her in their very small cabin on his small bed. Lidia shared a bed with Eva. “I’ll be up if she needs anything.”
“I’ll be up, it’s okay,” Lidia said. “You should get some rest, you’ve been through a lot.”
“I think I’ve been on a boat before,” Francisco said. “Being here, it’s helping me remember.”
“Really? When?” Lidia asked. She was glad he was getting some memories back – Francisco swore up and down that he’d go with her wherever, that he would never regret this, that he wanted to go to New York with her. But at the end of the day, she was also taking him away from Madrid, too.
“I think I went to England,” he said. “With…with Elisa. And-.” He cut himself of, realizing suddenly this maybe wasn’t the best memory to share.
“Carlos,” Lidia finished for him.
“And Carmen,” Francisco finished. “I’m sorry,” he said, looking down into his mug of weak tea.
“Don’t be,” Lidia said. “It’s your life, Francisco. I’m glad you’re remembering. And if you ever want me to, I promise, I can make them turn this boat around-.”
“No,” Francisco laughed. It was so nice to hear him laugh, Lidia thought. It was nice to make him laugh. “No, I’m not going anywhere. I want to be here.”
Lidia smiled. There was a weight on her chest since the moment she decided to do this. Just then, it got the slightest bit lighter.
“I mean, we didn’t exactly travel like this, but this is good,” Francisco joked.
Lidia laughed too, careful to be quiet with Eva sleeping in front of her. “Have you been to New York before?”
“No,” he said. “I don’t think so. But I’m excited to go.” He took a long sip of his tea, like he was scared to let the words come out. “Madrid wasn’t what I thought it would be. I think I have been looking for a reason to leave.”
Lidia nodded. She knew the exact feeling – she remembered being thirteen, making a pact with Francisco in her parents’ small barn to start saving money, whatever little bit they could, so that they could start their lives in Madrid.
She remembered squirreling away money in a box under her bed, packing the box with old rags so no one could hear the coins rattle. With every peseta she put in the box, she imagined her and Francisco walking up to some swanky city bar, dressed in the latest urban fashions, confidently ordering a White Lady for each of them. She knew they could steal a lot – they could hop a train, they could forge paperwork for jobs, they could finagle their way into anything. But the White Lady was something she would not compromise on. That was something she wanted to buy honestly.
And, of course, their big move to Madrid went very off the rails. So she knew what he meant – she made a home of Madrid because that was where she ended up. It was never the home she imagined.
“I know what you mean,” she said.
He sat back a bit, but as he did, the boat rocked and he fell back with more force than he meant to. He bobbled his mug, spilling tea all over his shirt.
“Oh!” Lidia exclaimed, then she laughed.
Francisco looked down, getting over the slight shock of suddenly being covered in lukewarm tea. Then he laughed, too.
“I guess I’m not as used to boats as I thought I was.”
“I hear they’re more comfortable if you’re not on the very bottom deck,” Lidia chuckled.
Francisco set his now-empty mug aside and get out of the bed. “Do you mind if I change?”
“No, please,” Lidia said. She tried to turn, but there really wasn’t a lot of room.
“Lidia, you don’t need to turn,” he laughed.
So, she didn’t.
She still tried to avert her gaze, and he faced the wall, but she couldn’t help but look at him.
She’d seen Francisco every which way in the over fifteen years they knew each other. It was still so novel to see him standing, though. To see him alive and moving and-. And scarred.
She couldn’t help it, she gasped when she saw his scar. There were scars he had that he didn’t have as a child, scars that she’d seen in the past few years and still didn’t know the story of.
But this one, this one she hadn’t seen yet, that one she knew the story of.
He turned a bit, hearing her surprise. She tried to look away but he saw her eyes linger over that one particular scar. It had healed completely but it was still pretty gnarly, to be fair.
“It’s not as bad as it looks,” he said. “It doesn’t hurt or anything.”
“Still…” she breathed. “It’s…”
She couldn’t help herself, she reached out and ran her fingers over it. She felt the tough scar tissue, she felt the ridges of where the doctors pulled him back together.
Francisco couldn’t help it either, he leaned back a bit into her touch. He didn’t know how badly he needed her to see it, to touch it, to touch him.
He turned, feeling her fingers drag across his back and end up on his front, where the bullet entered him.
“The front one isn’t as bad,” he said.
“It doesn’t hurt?” she asked. She carefully got up, leaving Eva sleeping peacefully behind her. She stood in front of Francisco, feeling his scar because she couldn’t see it very clearly anymore with the tear that welled in his eyes.
“Not at all,” he said. “I’d do it again in a second.”
“Francisco-.”
“I would,” he insisted. His tone wasn’t a joking one anymore – he was dead serious.
“Francisco…” She said it quietly, almost whispering. She wasn’t just saying his name, either – the simple word carried with it the weight of everything they’d been through, of everything he’d done for her and Eva. For her family. For this family.
“I mean, I hope I won’t have to,” he said, trying but failing to bring back that light tone.
It was gone, though. Things had changed.
“Lidia, I’m here,” he continued. “I’m not going anywhere. I would do anything for Eva. I would do anything for you.”
“I know,” Lidia nodded, letting the motion force a few tears to fall form her eyes. She kept her hand on his scar, letting herself feel how deeply he loved her and her daughter.
“You don’t have to say it back,” he assured her. “It’s okay, I’m okay-.”
“I would do anything for you,” Lidia said, suddenly looking him straight in the eyes. It was important he understood that – how could he not already know? After everything he'd done for her - both for Alba and for Lidia. It didn't matter to him, so it didn't matter to her, not anymore. Francisco was the one person who knew her completely. “Francisco, I would do anything for you. You did this for Eva, for me…”
Francisco nodded. He knew she appreciated it. He knew she believed him, he knew she knew how he felt.
“Always,” she said, fearing suddenly that he could misunderstand her and wanting to be perfectly clear. She needed to be clear about this. “I will always do anything for you. Everything I’ve done since we found each other again has been for you, I-.”
They let that heavy pause hang there for a moment, then for another. He knew what she meant, he wasn’t going to make her say. She just left her husband, the father of her child, he didn’t need to hear her say it.
Lidia didn’t want to force herself to say it, either. She knew her situation – she was in the middle of a huge, lifechanging move that affected every relationship in her life. She knew better than to say something she didn’t mean.
So, she said what she meant.
“I love you,” she said, like she was surprised to say it. All those times she avoided saying it, all those times she told herself it didn’t matter as much as it did, none of that mattered now.
None of it matters because here is Francisco Gomez, standing in front of her with a scar that almost cost him his life. And he did it for her, for her family.
And the weight of that, all their shared history and love, hit her (ironically) like a train.
“It’s you,” she said, maybe too tired, too emotionally spent to dance around her words and her feelings anymore. “It’s always been you. You’re the man who will put his life on the line for me, for my daughter.” She heard her voice crack at that and didn’t even stop to let herself feel even the slightest bit embarrassed. “Francisco, you’re my family. You always have been. It has always been you. I have always loved you.”
“Lidia, you’re my family,” he said. “For better or worse, it’s you. I will take bullets for you, I’ll cross oceans for you – it’s you. I have always loved you, too.”
She finally ripped her fingers away from the scar, pulling him close into a tight hug. She went from having her fingertips on his scar to having his whole self in her arms, and it was exactly what she needed.
She felt the warmth of him, the slight dampness still on him from the tea. She felt his heartbeat against her own, she felt his strong arms wrapped around her, supporting her like she always wanted to be supported.
That night, in the cheapest room on a transatlantic liner, she knew she had her family. For better or worse.