Face of Love

By SusanLeigh

Tina finished her assignment for the magazine and emailed it to her editor. She had learned a lot about Francisco as she interviewed Mario for her article. She learned about Francisco's work in the underground resistance against Pinochet. She learned about his escape to Spain and his long exile there. She learned that he was a man who felt deeply but kept his feelings to himself. Mario spoke long and lovingly of Francisco but he said little of Irene.

"That is something you must hear from Francisco, not me," he insisted when Tina asked of Irene.

The last three days were a blur of frantic working to meet her deadline and evenings full of frantic love making. Now her excuse for being in Chile was over and she had a big decision to make. She knew that she had to have some answers to some hard questions before she could decide.

That night Francisco picked her up at her hotel.

"Where would you like to go to celebrate finishing your work?" he asked.

"Your place. I don't want to share tonight with anyone else," she answered.

They stopped and bought groceries for dinner. Tina wished she could match Francisco's lighthearted mood as they made dinner, but she knew that soon she would have to spoil the evening with her questions.

After dinner, curled up together on the couch, Tina hated to break the mood. She took his face in her hands and ran her fingers over his lips, his cheek and through his hair. Oh, God, he was the most beautiful man she had ever met -- beautiful both inside and out. What if she got the wrong answers to her questions, could she stand it?

"What is it, Valentina?" his eyes had darkened with concern. His hands ran up and down her back sending her into a spasm of shivering.

"I have to know, Francisco…I need to know…" she stammered not knowing how to continue.

"About Irene and me?" he asked quietly.

Tears filled Tina's eyes and she nodded her head. She wasn't really sure she wanted to hear what he had to say.

He sighed deeply and rose from the couch to stoke the fire. The silence seemed to drag on and on. He sat in the chair opposite her and rubbed his hands together. His eyes were cast downward.

Finally he spoke.

"I loved her more than I can possibly tell you. I loved her so much that when she died I wanted to crawl into the casket with her," he continued. " I couldn't imagine life without her." He finally looked up and Tina saw his tortured eyes were filled with unshed tears.

"You want all the truth?" he asked.

Tina nodded again.

"But what's worse than losing her is the daily pain of knowing that I am the one that killed her."

Tina froze in shock.

"It wasn't an accident that cost Irene her kidney. It wasn't an accident that robbed us of children," he continued. "She was shot on a downtown street corner…riddled with bullets in fact…because of me." Now the tears slipped slowly down his cheeks. He stood up abruptly and turned back to the fire banging his fists on the mantle.

"I am the one who got her involved with the resistance. I am the one who put her in danger and I am the one who couldn't protect her from harm."

Tina was shocked at the grief and guilt of his words. Her heart ached for him. She crossed the floor and put her hand on his back. He turned, the tears now streaming down his face and she took him in her arms.

She had never expected such an admission but it explained his torment over her death that went beyond the norm. It explained why he wanted to recreate Irene in her…it explained the shrine to Irene in his bedroom. It was an answer to her question that made it clear what she needed to do.

She took his hand and led him to the bedroom. In all of their lovemaking, none had ever taken place there in the same bed that he had shared with Irene. It was time to exorcise that ghost for good.

She felt his resistance as she pulled him onto the bed. She continued holding him and whispering comforting words as she began kissing him. It took a few minutes before he finally began kissing her back, tenderly at first then more passionately. She slowly undressed him and herself.

When Tina saw that he was becoming as aroused as she was, she pushed him onto his back and straddled him. She held him down by the shoulders and looked him square in the eyes. He held her tightly around her waist.

"Look at me, Francisco," she whispered. "Truly look at me…I am here. Me…Valentina. Irene is gone. Choose either the past or the future."

Tina could not read the expression on his face. He was so still and his eyes bore into hers. She refused to break eye contact. She wanted to make sure that he saw her brown eyes and not Irene's blue ones. Long seconds passed and still he didn't answer. Finally he released her waist. His arms fell to his sides. He closed his eyes in pain and turned his head from her.

Tina had her answer…the one she least wanted to have. Sadly she crawled off the bed, grabbed her clothes and headed out of the room. She needed a drink badly. Maybe that would numb the stabbing pain deep inside her gut.

Tina fixed herself a stiff drink and started cleaning up the kitchen. She thought about calling a cab to take her back to the hotel. She had the answer she needed and she really wanted to get out with her dignity intact. She didn't know if her heart could stand another scene with Francisco.

Suddenly she heard sounds from the bedroom. Bumping, thumping sounds. She couldn't imagine what was going on but she wasn't ready to face him. After a few minutes, there was silence that was more ominous than the bumping sounds. She waited and waited but he still didn't come out of the bedroom. Curiosity overtook caution and she opened the door and peered in.

He sat on the bed surrounded by piles of Irene's clothes that were now strewn all over the room. He was holding one of her dresses to his face as if inhaling her essence. When he heard the door open, he looked up at Tina with such despair that she could not bear the emotion. Even as she crossed the room to his side, she knew that she was forever crossing a line into his life that would bring her intense joy and intense pain.

She crawled onto the bed. He crawled into her arms and wept