Three freaking months. That's thirteen weeks, the equivalent of ninety-one days, or two thousand one hundred and eighty-four hours. It feels like twice that long and I've missed Rosanna every single minute. That asshole Pearson still doesn't allow me to see her. No doubt this is even harder on her with the pregnancy and all the worry. She needs me. Now I regret ever thinking twice about the baby and marriage. I should've been fully committed to her from the start.

"Yo, mano. Are you even listening to me?"

I look up from my cereal bowl. "What did you say?"

Felipe rolls his eyes. "Man, you need to stop. No woman is worth that kind of misery."

It's easy for him to say. Idiot has never been in love. "I just miss her. That's not a crime. Now—what were you saying?"

"I asked if you're coming to Quito with me tomorrow?"

I grimace. "Sorry. Not into getting laid these days."

He rolls his eyes again. "I guess if you had listened to me at all this week, you'd know I'm not going for that."

"What do you want from me, Felipe?"

"I want you to relax. Or at least smile once in a while."

Nothing to smile about. The chair next to me trembles as Juana slumps into it. Her jaw is clenched, matching the mulish expression on her face. The sparkle in her eyes speaks her true emotions. She's close to crying. She and Miguel must have had another fight, something that has lately been more rule than exception.

"Hey, Juana."

She acknowledges Felipe's greeting with a dark look. "What's up?"

"Don't you think Tomás should smile once in a while? The same goes for you."

"Smiling hurts my face."

"Wow. That bad. What did Miguel do now?"

She blinks a few times and drops her gaze. With her thumb and index finger, she pinch the corners of her eyes. I've seen it before when she tries to suppress her tears. I squeeze her shoulder in solidarity. One more deep breath and she pulls herself back together.

"Mind your own business, Gallega."

"Alrighty then." Felipe shrugs with his typical that's a girl for you eyeroll.

Change of subject is in order. I smile at Juana. "Felipe was just telling me he's going to Quito. Maybe you want to come?"

After I kick him under the table, Felipe catches on. "Yeah, why don't you tag along? With Santino's wedding this weekend, I need to get a tux. Tomás needs one, too. We could use some expert womanly advice to make sure we buy something trendy."

She shoots him another murderous look. Somehow, he has managed to put his foot into his mouth again.

"I'm not going to Santino's wedding."

"You're not?" As he leans closer, his gaze becomes quizzical. "What about Miguel?"

Tears well up in her eyes. I kick Felipe again, so he dumps his stupid questions. He doesn't pick up on it. "I mean, you and Miguel are a couple. It would be beyond rude if you didn't attend his father's wedding."

And the tears fall. "Fuck you, Gallega." Juana jumps up and storms out of the cafeteria.

It's my turn to roll my eyes. "Way to go, Felipe."

"What did I do?" His contrite smile is filled with innocence. He seriously has no clue.

"Wasn't it apparent that she didn't want to talk about Miguel?"

He shrugs. "Girls. I don't get them. And why do they have to cry all the time? That's just annoying."

My smile is mild. Girls just constantly burst with emotions. It's part of their natural makeup. Rosanna has always worn her heart on her sleeve, even before she got pregnant. I find it cute.

Thinking of her is like a stab to my chest and a sudden bolt of anger gets the better of me. Why is Pearson such a dick? Crumpling up the napkin in my fist, I pretend it to be his head. Only a deep breath keeps me from tearing the napkin to shreds. Another deep breath and I'm back in control. It's futile to get upset. Rage won't change this screwed-up mess.

With a sigh, I rise. "I'm off. Are we still on for lunch?"

"Of course."

I leave the mess hall and head over to the training center, turning left before the stairwell to get to the big gym. Peeking around the door, I scan the area for Juana. The usual sparring practice is going on, but no sign of her. I bite my lip. Where could she be? I finally check in the small locker room she uses as a changing facility.

She's crumpled on the ground like a heap of misery with her face resting against her knees.

"What's the matter, Juana?"

She doesn't look up. "Go away."

I squat down next to her and massage her shoulder. "Is there anything I can do?"

She finally raises her head. "Can you punch Miguel again?"

My smile is crooked. "I'm not sure that's gonna help."

"Probably not." With a groan, she leans her forehead against her thighs. "Argh, I feel so stupid sometimes."

"Come on, spill it. You'll feel better afterward."

She snickers with bitterness. "Oh, what the heck? I'm not sure if Felipe ever told you, but when Miguel was little, his parents promised him to a leading family."

I knit my brows together. "What do you mean by promise?"

"You know, like an arranged marriage."

Felipe mentioned before that this was customary among the leading families. He was only spared because he had grown up at the orphanage since he was a small baby. "And I take it that you weren't the one."

"Of course not. My father used to support your dad and only switched sides after the overthrow, so my family lost a lot of their influence."

Must also be the reason why he never moved up in rank. As far as I know, he has been mayor for close to twenty years. "Who was the chosen bride?"

"Isabella Gomez."

Hell. That's Jorge's sister. Their father is one of Santino's oldest supporters and probably went through the roof when Miguel snubbed her.

"But you and Miguel have been dating for how long?

"Almost two years."

"There you go. Shouldn't they be over it by now."

"Well, they are not. Santino has never accepted me. I guess he's hoping if he ignores me long enough, I'll go away. And he flat-out refused to allow Miguel to bring me as his official date to the wedding. I can accompany my parents, but I'm not supposed to talk to or dance with him." With a sigh, she props her chin onto her knees. "And do you know what's the worst part? Miguel didn't even care. He just shrugged it off and accepted it."

"Miguel can be a dick sometimes."

"Yeah." A smile softens her face. "I still love him, though, but lately, I'm not sure he feels the same. I guess that's what hurts the most."

"Oh, come on, he's crazy about you. And maybe look at it from his perspective. It's his father's wedding and I guess Miguel feels that he should at least respect this one wish. It's what a son is supposed to do." I bite my lip to stop myself from further justifying his actions. Hell, why am I even defending him?

"Yeah, that could be it."

"And if I were you, I'd have him make it up to me instead of sulking. Insist that he takes you somewhere nice for a long weekend. Maybe even to that resort in Colombia you showed me pictures of."

"That would be nice."

When her lips still twist as if she could use a little more convincing, I poke her in the ribs. This time, the smile lights up her face.

"You really know how to cheer a girl up, Tomás. Rosanna is lucky to have you."

"Yeah, if I ever get to see her again."

"Well, I've got something for you." She stretches out her hand and I pull her to her feet. Opening up the side pocket of her cargo pants, she pulls out a paper that looks like a photo printout. "I was going to give this to you at breakfast but wasn't sure if you wanted Felipe to see it."

"What is it?"

She flattens the paper with her hand and offers it to me. "It's Rosanna's ultrasound picture."

The breath catches in my throat. Is this really my baby? "Where did you get it?"

"As part of the city patrol, we stop by the clinic. I met Rosanna there. She was just done with her appointment and slipped me the picture when Pearson wasn't looking. Since I figured it wasn't meant for me, I decided to pass it on."

I stare at the paper in my hand. This is my son or daughter. Granted, I can't really make out much and the proportions seem all wrong, but who cares? A lump forms in the bottom of my throat. What a little miracle. I want to hold Rosanna in my arms and tell her just that. And how beautiful she is for having him or her. Hell, if it's a boy, she can call him Isandro or anything else she likes.

The truth that I might never get to see my baby after he or she is born finally pushes me off cloud nine. Pearson is such a stubborn fucker.

"How did Rosanna look?"

"Pale and miserable like you. She was stroking her belly, though, and told me the baby has started to kick. You could see quite the bump under her shirt."

The other day, I counted back the days. She must be approaching twenty weeks. Halfway there. I wish I could've been at the hospital with her for her check-up.

"But she was okay, right?"

"She was fine. Pearson might be mad, but he'll make sure she has everything she needs."

Except for the man who loves her and should be there for her. I should call him again. Ridiculous that I can't see my girlfriend.

"Thank you for this, Juana. It really means a lot."

"You're welcome." She smiles and nudges my shoulder. "And I guess I should thank you for listening to me. By the way, how is your training coming?"

"Pretty good. Zambrano and I have been going over interrogation psychology. You know, spotting deception and lies—that sort of stuff."

"Sounds interesting."

"Oh, it is." Truth is, it's fascinating to catch people in a lie. At least for me. The young recruits we use as guinea pigs might have a different take on the whole experience. When I flushed out that they don't really want to be soldiers, some even cried. "Speaking of Zambrano, I have to run. I'm already late for my morning session with him."

"Okay, I'll see you this afternoon for weapons training."

The highlight of my day. With all the additional time on my hands, I've been practicing to perfect my marksmanship and can now compete with the sniper squad. Picturing Pearson's head as the target beats punching the crap out of the heavy bags.

I leave the locker room and conquer the stairs, taking two steps at a time. Just before the second landing, the phone buzzes in my pocket and I lose my rhythm. With a frown, I peel it out of the front of my uniform shirt. Pearson's number flashes on the display. All warmth drains from my face.

Shit.

Something must've happened to Rosanna or he wouldn't call. When I press the connect button, my hand trembles. "Go for Araya."

"Tomás, it's Pearce. Can you come over to the orphanage? I need to talk to you."

What the fuck? He can't just call after three months with this nonchalance as if nothing happened. I'm not his pet who jumps whenever he feels like it. Then my heart plummets all the way to my kneecaps as I imagine the worst. "Is Rosanna okay?"

The moment of silence is nerve-racking. "Yes, she is fine, but can you come now? It's urgent."

I let out a heavy breath. Silence in a yes-or-no scenario before responding is a classic telltale sign of lying. She's probably sick and he doesn't want to tell me over the phone.

"Okay, I'll be right there." For a second, my gaze flicks to the third-floor landing where Zambrano is expecting me in his office. Just blowing him off without an explanation and then pretending I was sick might be my best option. He'll still be mad but is generally easy-going enough to let it slide without too much fuss.

I spin around and jump down the steps from where I came. The entrance hall is busy with people coming and going and no one is paying attention to me. That is until I round the final corner to get to the exit. I just manage to step aside before colliding with General Varela.

I salute. "Sir."

A wrinkle cuts his forehead. "Are you going somewhere?"

Keep eye contact. Smile. Don't let your face crack. Yet those skills I learned to camouflage deception still don't solve my fundamental dilemma. What should I tell him in the first place? When my mind comes up blank, I settle on the truth. "It's my girlfriend. I need to check on her. She's pregnant and I might have to take her to the clinic."

He arches his brows. "I didn't know your girl was pregnant."

"She's already twenty weeks."

"Well, I hope you'll make an honorable woman out of her before she gives birth."

"I intend to, sir."

Luckily, he is unaware that Rosanna is underage, or he'd send me straight to lockup.

For a few seconds, his gaze drills into me. "Then you better get going, son. Does the coronel know?"

"I was going to call him from the car."

"Don't worry. I'll let him know."

Not wanting to waste any more time, I rush out of the training center and get in the first Jeep I find. Engine roaring, I floor the pedal and the vehicle jerks forward. I bomb down the steep mountain road that leads from the compound. At the turn to town, I keep to my right. The streets will be packed at this time of the morning, and going through the mountains will be quicker.

Since I didn't bother to close the top, the cool airflow pricks at my face. I barely slow down in the curves, almost losing control of the Jeep once when the back tires slide sideways in the mud. With every passing minute, my worry for Rosanna grows. I should've insisted on seeing her these past months. Hell, if she makes it through this, Pearson won't be able to stop me from coming around to support her.

By the time I reach the fork that leads to the orphanage, I'm ready to throw up. A cloud of dust follows me as I race down the forest path. A few potholes make the Jeep jump. Pain shoots up my spine from the bounce, but I grit my teeth and keep my foot on the pedal. Desperate times call for desperate measures.

With screeching tires, I stop in front of the administration building and jump out of the Jeep without bothering to open the driver's door. A few kids stare. I take the two steps that get me into the building with one long stride. Rushing down the hallway, I tear the door to Pearson's office open. He sits behind the desk, gazing up with a peaked brow.

"You got here fast."

"You said it was an emergency. Now, where is she?"

"Who? Rosanna?"

"Yes. Is she okay? And the baby?"

"They are both fine. I told you this wasn't about her."

"Yeah, but you hesitated before you answered."

"Meaning?"

I'm not going to get into the specifics of interrogation psychology with him. "What do you want, Pearce?"

His chin juts at the same chair I took the roasting in the last time. "Sit down. I've got some good news."

He probably found a couple for the adoption. Screw this. I'm not going to sign on the dotted line, even if hell freezes over.

When he shows no inclination to spill this allegedly good news, I plop down into the chair. My fingers knit together to keep my hands from shaking. He holds out a letter. I snatch it up. As I scan the header, my forehead wrinkles. It's from some college in America. Juilliard School in New York City. "What is this?"

"Read it closely."

My focus returns to the main block of text.

Dear Mr. Araya—we are pleased to offer you a place in our incoming class for the fall semester in our music section with violin as your principal instrument. Scholarship information is enclosed in Appendix A of this letter. Please communicate your acceptance no later than June 30. If you need assistance in obtaining an F-1 student visa, contact our admissions office to be put in touch with the appropriate adviser.

I lower the letter. "What the hell is this, Pearce?"

"It's an acceptance to Juilliard, which is maybe the best performing-arts school in the US. If you look at the scholarship package, they are offering you a full ride. This is your chance to turn your life around, Tomás. Such an opportunity will never come again."

"But I never applied to college. How can they accept me?"

"Well, I might have sent in a few applications for you."

I stare at him. "How? Don't you need my signature? And what about school? Don't they want transcripts? And how do they even know I play the violin?"

"All this has been arranged. For the last year, I've recorded you and made an audition tape. The orphanage school is registered with the US embassy, so I was able to issue an official transcript. You'll still have to take a couple of entrance tests for your English and math placements, but with your academic skills, it's going to be a piece of cake."

I stare at the letter again, then at him. My hands shake hard as my anger boils over. I can barely hold on to the letter.

Fuck.

He went behind my back and did all this shit. Probably falsified my signature, too.

"I'm a grown man. You can't just keep making decisions for me. This is my life. Do you really think I want this?" I try to keep my voice calm, but the trembling fury breaks to the surface. This is ridiculous. "Do you seriously think I'm just going to leave my home? Abandon Rosanna? Hell, Pearce, if you even thought for a second I would consider this, you don't know me at all."

"But it's a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity."

"No. It's a bunch of crap!" My shouted words ring painfully in my ears. Jumping to my feet, I hold on to the edge of the desk to keep my fists from ramming into his face. First Rosanna, now this. He betrayed me—and doesn't even see it. How can he expect me to abandon my life?

"Calm down, Tomás."

"You went too far!" I spit out the words even louder to overpower the swooshing blood in my ears. The pent-up rage of the last three months seethes under my scalp. I can even feel the vein on my temple pulsing in unison with my racing heart. "And I want to see Rosanna! Right! Now!"

"All right. You can see her if you calm down."

I close my eyes, my fingers tightening around the desk.

Get it together, Tomás. You got what you wanted.

When I open my eyes again, I'm halfway calm. "Where is she?"

"On kitchen duty. And please, just think about college. Maybe you could even talk it over with her."

I spin on my heel and storm out. No way I'm ever going to leave my home, or my girlfriend. My life will always be in Malaguay.

~~~~~

© Sal Mason 2018

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