Chapter 8 - The Polanco Horizon
The apartment on the twenty-fourth floor of the high-rise in Polanco did not look like a piece of real estate that had nearly cost a woman her life. It was a vast, minimalist space of white marble, floor-to-ceiling glass, and warm cedar timber, designed to let in the sweeping, three-hundred-and-sixty-degree view of the Chapultepec forest and the distant, volcanic peaks of Popocatépetl.
Mariana stood by the window, a cup of green tea between her hands, watching the afternoon sun turn the glass towers of Paseo de la Reforma into pillars of liquid gold. The rooms were empty of furniture, save for a single, long oak table in the center of the kitchen where her architectural design journals were laid open under the light.
The front door clicked open, and Lupita walked in, wearing a clean, comfortable uniform of dark grey linen. She carried a basket of fresh white calla lilies, her face bright with a smile that she hadn't been allowed to wear during her ten years serving Doña Elvira.
“Where should I put these, Miss Mariana?” Lupita asked, her voice echoing softly against the marble floors.
“On the main table, Lupita,” Mariana smiled, turning from the window. “And please, stop calling me Miss. We’re a long way from Lomas now.”
“It’s a beautiful place, Mariana,” Lupita said, setting the flowers down and looking out over the city. “When I was in that house... when I saw what they were doing to you in the garden... I thought the world was going to end for all of us. I thought people with money could do whatever they wanted, and the rest of us just had to watch the dirt.”
Mariana walked over, her hand coming down gently over the old maid’s shoulder. “The money didn't save them, Lupita. Their arrogance was the thing that dug the hole. They spent twenty years believing that people were only as important as the numbers on their identity cards.”
The doorbell rang—a soft, musical chime that bypassed the building’s main security desk.
Lupita moved to answer it, but Mariana held up her hand. “I’ve got it, Lupita. Go check the kitchen delivery. The new refrigerator is arriving from the port warehouse.”
Mariana opened the heavy cedar door.
Esteban stood in the carpeted corridor. He looked older than thirty-two; his face was thin, his eyes lined with a permanent, deep exhaustion that had turned the corners of his mouth downward into a hard, bitter line. He was wearing a simple, cheap cotton shirt from a supermarket grid, his hands buried deep in the pockets of his trousers.
He didn't try to step across the threshold. He stood precisely three inches back from the line where the apartment’s marble floor met the corridor’s grey wool carpet.
“Mariana,” he said.
“Esteban,” she replied, her voice level, carrying neither hatred nor regret.
“Fernanda had the baby yesterday,” he said, his voice dropping into a rough whisper. “A boy. She named him David, after our father. She’s... she’s living in a small room in Iztapalapa now. Her boyfriend’s family won't answer her letters.”
Mariana took a slow sip of her tea. “I know, Esteban. I’ve already established an educational trust for the child through the Velez Foundation. He’ll have his tuition paid until he finishes university, provided neither your sister nor your mother ever has access to the principal.”
Esteban looked down at his shoes, a long, ragged breath shaking his chest. “I went to see my mother at Santa Martha on Tuesday. She asked me if you had sold the Polanco place yet. She still thinks... she still thinks you bought it to make her look bad in front of her friends.”
“The apartment isn't for sale, Esteban,” Mariana said, turning her head slightly to look at the golden light streaming through the living room windows. “I’m moving my design firm here on Monday. We’re going to use the space to design low-income housing projects for the municipal workers in Netzahualcóyotl.”
She looked back at him, her grey eyes clear, beautiful, and entirely final.
“You told me once that you wanted a simple life, Esteban. You have it now. You have a job, you have a name that has been stripped of its illusions, and you have the entire city to walk through without your mother’s debt hanging over your shoulders.”
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“I lost you, Mariana,” he whispered, a single tear clearing the stubble on his cheek.
“You didn't lose me, Esteban,” she said gently as she began to close the heavy cedar door. “You just finally figured out who I was after the sun went down.”
