Nights Like This

Chapter 47

Metty scrolled through the clips of the Baile des Jovenes to views of the palace. She gasped with awe at the sight of the palace of Mondragon aglow with lights, as if stars had come from the night sky for the ball. A fairytale castle couldn't look lovelier. This is real, not a story or a movie or an amusement park. Alexei lives there. Or in Palacio Ruidoso at the other end of the Park. I live with my mom in a three-bedroom house that needs a new roof, new furniture. Paint job. New everything. My car belongs to my grandma and is ten years old. Runs good.

The clip changed to Alexei in his military uniform, training with his unit. She blew her stuffed nose, but it brought no relief. He looked so handsome and brave. She liked him in uniform. The clip changed to a scene of a plane crash. Wounded men were carried off on stretchers and there were several body bags. Helicopters flew overhead.

Alexei appeared onscreen, talking to a reporter. She wished she could understand Spanish. He was dirty and sweaty. He had blood on the leg of his uniform and stood on crutches. He finished speaking to the reporter and limped back to the crash. She knew he had been injured from those scars on his leg.

She typed "Almurias" and "plane crash" on Google and waited for the results. They appeared just as she heard the doorbell. She shifted the covers to get out of bed but settled back when she heard her mother go to the door.

Metty selected an answer. In March 2019, a plane carrying cadets with the Almurian Air Force crashed on Isla Manta on its way to the Newport Naval Base. Several cadets had died.

Her mother entered the room carrying a box and a bouquet of roses. "These arrived for you. From your prince." She set the vase of roses on the end table.

"Alexei is the Prince's grandson." She took the box. It was about the size of a large shoebox, had Alexei's name on it, and had been sent from Charleston.

"He's more prince than anyone else you'll ever know. Enjoy dating him while it lasts." Sylvia sat on the bed, eyeing the box curiously.

Metty huffed, then opened the box. She took out a book of poetry by an Almurian in English translation, an old book by Fyodor Grigorievich telling of his escape from the Russian revolution with a noble duchess and their life in Paris, a bag of herbal cough drops, a shawl, and a letter from Alexei. She set the letter aside and pulled a wad of paper out of the box. She could feel a small object inside. She set it down.

"That's trash," Sylvia said.

Metty reached for the ball of paper.

"No, it's—"

Sylvia snatched the wad. There was a clink.

"You broke it."

"No," said Sylvia.

Metty unwrapped the wad of paper. A small glass figurine of a horse lay in pieces.

"Mother, you broke it."

"I'm sorry," her mother said. She looked greedily at the box. "Is that all there is?"

Metty nodded. She threw the broken glass and paper in her wastebasket.

The shawl, a pale apricot, lay in delicate folds on the bed. She picked it up, delighted by the softness. She ran the shawl through her fingers. It was smooth as silk and light as air. She touched it to her cheek.

"That's a pretty shawl," Sylvia said.

"It is. It feels as fine as it looks." She rubbed her mother's cheek with it. Sylvia started, closed her eyes and smiled. Metty draped the shawl around her shoulders. It was light and delicate, but warm.

"Dinner's at six," Sylvia said. "Bryan and Bryany won't be here."

Metty looked up. "They're out again tonight?"

Sylvia's full lips thinned. "At the Johnson's. I happen to know Russ Johnson is working in Florida."

Metty looked carefully at Sylvia. "Mom. What are you thinking?"

"He's fooling around with Alice Johnson."

"What are you going to do?"

"He'll be back. Russ has money and Alice won't leave that. Besides, where would he go?"

"Mom." Metty stopped. "Maybe you should think of breaking up with him. Doesn't he owe you two months' expenses?"

Sylvia's eyes shifted. She nodded.

"Or is it more than that? It is, isn't it?"

"He bought a car, a used Ford SUV. Paid for it in cash," said Sylvia, proudly. "He's a little short for a few months."

"Doesn't sound like Bryan. Last new car he bought, he cadged payments from you." Metty shook her head slowly. "I suppose so.

"Bryany and I got him a suit from Kraft's Fine Menswear for Christmas and an Apple watch. He looks good in the suit."

"Mom! That suit must have cost $500. He owes you money and you spend, what, a thousand dollars, on him? What will you do if he doesn't pay you what he already owes?"

"He'll pay. He always does. He won't leave without Bryany and he has no place to take her."

"Maybe you should consider getting a job. Get rid of him."

Sylvia's face puckered. She began her familiar whine: "Nobody will hire a woman my age for a good job."

Metty knew Sylvia didn't want to work. Period. It was one reason Sylvia put up with Bryan's stinginess and selfishness. His paycheck allowed her to stay home and scrimp to make ends meet. Her children from her first marriage scrimped along with her, although now only Metty was left to make ends meet.

"Christmas is in three days. Everybody will be here. I'm going to take a nap before dinner."

"OK." Sylvia got off the bed and left the room, a woman in late middle age, slim, who easily could have been attractive if she bothered to fix herself up. She only dressed up if she was going out with her sister and cousins, for a big party, or when Bryan took her out, which was never. Metty's birthday wasn't important enough.

Metty turned off her computer. She put the books away and snuggled into the shawl. She popped a cough drop in her mouth. She sucked on it as she read the letter from the box.

'Metty, cariña, get well. Wrap the shawl around you and know that I wish it were my arms. Read the books and think of me and Almurias, for I am thinking of you. Tù Alejito.'

Comforted, Metty lay down and dozed off.