Lunch went lighter than I expected. Rosa talked as she served a little more food, pride slipping into her tone.
— You're getting the room done — she said. — At the pace you're going, you'll finish everything today. And as soon as the smell of paint is gone, you'll have a corner that's yours in this house.
I smiled, imagining the room ready, the light walls, the space finally mine.
Vicente cleared his throat softly.
— I won't be able to stay late today — he said, without lifting his eyes from his plate. — In the middle of the afternoon I'm leaving. I have an appointment.
I looked at him right away. The expression that escaped was almost childish, like someone ending a game that was too good too soon. But before I said anything, I noticed Rosa's look.
It wasn't surprise… it was worry.
She set her fork down and took a deep breath.
— I think you've completely lost the reins of that boy — she said, looking at my father. — Sometimes it did him good to get scolded.
My father lifted the beer glass resting beside his plate, took a long sip, and answered without humor:
— I've already lost the reins of my own life.
The sentence landed too heavy for that table.
Vicente kept looking at his plate, like he hadn't heard. But I knew he had. He always heard.
I stayed quiet, an uncomfortable curiosity growing inside me. What kind of appointment was that?
When we went back to the room, I tried to push the feeling away and focus on what was in front of me.
I started sorting the boxes, remembering Rosa's directions. The ones that were going to the garage stayed on one side. Inside them were small car parts, cans of automotive paint, screws, things I didn't really know the names for. It was clear that up until then, that room had been an improvised extension of Vicente's work.
I pushed those boxes closer to the door.
Farther back, I found others. Books. Old notebooks. Folded tests, papers yellowed by time.
My chest tightened with curiosity.
Vicente had always been an excellent student. I remembered that well. While I complained about exercises, he solved everything too fast, like school was just another thing to conquer.
I knelt beside the box and lifted the lid.
Vicente appeared behind me at the exact same moment.
— You don't need to keep that.
He shut the box firmly.
— I'll take it with the others — he continued. — This one I'll toss in the trash on the way.
I nodded, without questioning.
But something about the hurried way he did it stayed with me.
The afternoon went by full of noise. Furniture being dragged, the vacuum running over the floor, my laughter slipping out without warning. The room no longer looked like storage… it was starting to look like a beginning.
It still wasn't anywhere near night when Vicente put things down and said:
— That's enough for today. I'll come back tomorrow and we'll finish.
— Do you really have to go? — I asked, before I could think.
He nodded.
He was already at the door when I called him.
— Vicente.
He looked back over his shoulder.
— Thank you.
He took a second to answer.
— We're not even done yet — he said.
— Still.
He made a vague gesture with his hand.
— Rest for the rest of the day. Tomorrow we keep going.
And he left.
I stood there, in the middle of the room that still smelled like paint, looking at the light walls and the stacked boxes.
As soon as Vicente walked out, my eyes fell on the dresser against the wall. On top of it, tossed carelessly, were the car keys.
I grabbed them without thinking.
I went after him, a quick impulse.
When I reached the living room, I stopped.
Rosa was there, standing, her eyes glossy. She held Vicente's hand tightly, like she was trying to keep him there with the little she could still reach.
— Be careful — she said, her voice too low to be firm. — Please.
— You don't need to worry — he answered. His tone was the same as always, too calm for someone leaving like that.
That's when they saw me.
Vicente made a brief startled expression. Not anger… just like I'd seen too much.
I lifted my hand with the keys.
— Vicente… you forgot—
The sentence came out broken, and before I finished, he took the keys from my hand in an automatic, firm motion, like he needed to recover something essential before it turned into a problem.
— Thanks — he said, that was all.
And he walked out the door.
A few seconds later, the engine echoed outside. The sound pulled away too fast.
Rosa turned her back and went straight to the kitchen.
I don't know when I started walking after her. When I realized it, I was already there, watching her wipe her eyes on her apron like it was just tiredness.
— What is he going to do? — I asked. — Is it… dangerous?
Rosa lifted her face slowly.
For a moment, I had the feeling she was about to tell me everything. Her gaze came toward me. But before it met mine, it stopped.
I looked back.
My father was standing in the kitchen doorway. His face tight, shoulders dropped, like he knew exactly what we were talking about…
Rosa looked away.
— If you want to know — she said, already turning to the sink — ask your father… or Vicente.
She started packing some sweets, trying to look focused on the movement.
Before I could say anything, my father turned around and left.
I stood there, still, feeling like I'd stumbled into something too big to be explained in just one sentence.
I didn't understand what was happening, but I knew it wasn't small.
And somehow, I was sure Rosa wouldn't keep pretending for much longer.
Something was about to blow up.