Rebeca

“Didn’t I tell you not to open that box?” he said, climbing the stairs like a madman. “But I’ve become part of this house. Don’t I have the right to know every corner of it?” “Yes, every corner, every inch of this house… except that box.” My husband, whom I’ve known for five years, is a smart and hardworking man. He loves life, but I’ve always felt he had a mysterious side. When we were dating, we always went to the same restaurant, sat in the same corner, and he would ask me to wear a pink shirt and white pants each time. I didn’t find it strange—maybe he just liked seeing me that way. And since my skin is a little dark, the light pink highlighted my beauty. My mother used to tell me she wasn’t comfortable with his behavior, but his kindness and respect stopped her from finding reasons for me to leave him. “I’m afraid he’ll ask you to wear that cursed shirt on your wedding day.” “It’s fine, Mom. He’ll get tired of this habit, I promise.” Days passed, and after five years of dating, he proposed to me at a surprise party. As usual, I was wearing that shirt and pants. That day he said, “You will become the queen of our home.” “Your home?” “I mean our home, mine and yours, Rebecca…” “Who is Rebecca?” “A beautiful name, isn’t it? I feel it suits you better than Catherine.” I took it as a joke, since he joked a lot, especially when he was happy. Our wedding day was like a rosy dream—delicious food, enchanting classical decorations, guests from the elite, and many details he designed himself to make it unforgettable. A few days later, he asked me something strange. He said there was a box in the attic that belonged to him, and asked me never to go near it. I promised I wouldn’t, if only he told me what was inside. That’s when I met someone new—not the gentle Henry I knew. He looked at me with a frightening gaze. “I told you, Rebecca, it’s personal. Do you want to ask again?” His look scared me, but what terrified me more was that he called me Rebecca again. I thought to myself: Is he obsessed with Rebecca? Who is she? I calmed him down and said I wouldn’t go near the attic. Two months passed. I forgot everything. Henry was back to being the man I knew—kind, respectful, playful. Strangely, he completely forgot about the pink shirt, and we never went back to that restaurant. But human curiosity kills. One day, knowing he’d be late, I dared to climb up to the attic. I found the box, and when I tried to open it, something froze me in place. A photo of a girl who looked exactly like me in every way. Was this Rebecca? A small notebook—his diary, dating back 15 years, before he even knew me. I read: “Today is the day I will propose to my beloved Rebecca, at South Road Restaurant. It will be wonderful. Finally, I will live my whole life with her. I’m afraid of her reaction, but I’m sure she’ll say yes. 6/7/2005…” Something was wrong. He never mentioned Rebecca. I knew about Lucy and Courtney, but not her. Wait—that date coincides with our engagement anniversary years later… “That day was one of the happiest of my life. Rebecca said yes. I’ll never forget her beauty—pink shirt, white pants, long black hair, eyes full of tears… tears of joy. We immediately started talking about wedding preparations, as if we were marrying tomorrow. She loves the classical style, unlike me—I prefer the simple and calm. But that’s fine, as long as she’s happy…” I felt dizzy. I had to leave before he came back. I would confront him and demand the truth. But as soon as I closed the box, I saw him standing at the attic door, watching me with those terrifying eyes. “Didn’t I tell you not to open that box?” he said, climbing the stairs like a madman. “But I’ve become part of this house. Don’t I have the right to know every corner of it?” “Yes, every corner, every inch of this house… except that box.” “I want to know everything. Who is this Rebecca you keep calling me? Why do you keep her photo?” “Who told you to stick your nose into my life, you nobody…” From that day, I’ve been imprisoned in the attic—me, Lucy, and Courtney. I finally understood what he meant when he said he didn’t like girls who talked too much. I knew exactly where Lucy and Courtney were. Five years ago ... I used to drink coffee every day before arriving at work. I am Catherine, thirty years old, single, not wanting to be in a relationship—unless someone comes along and changes my mind. I love coffee so much that when I don’t drink it, I suffer from unbearable headaches. I work at a company specialized in importing a certain type of wood. My job is limited to preparing legal documents. My manager, Mr. Henry, is a very intelligent man. He treats me kindly, and this kindness worries me… —“You like coffee, huh?” he said, laughing. —“Sir, I’m sorry… I’ll get back to work immediately. I drifted off while thinking about…” —“It’s fine, Re… Catherine, isn’t it?” —“Yes…” —“You work hard. Don’t you think you need a break?” —“But I just started my day…” —“Didn’t you say you drifted off? Then something is on your mind. Never mind, when you want to leave… leave.” He walked away, leaving me stunned. “This man… there’s something about him. Is he testing me to see if he’ll promote me?” I returned to my work, avoiding the cloud of questions in my head, and began working. Four hours passed, and finally it was lunchtime. Usually, we rest for a full hour every day of the week—except Wednesday, when we rest for two hours, and we don’t know why. Today was Wednesday, a beautiful sunny day. Since the weather was nice, I decided to go get lunch for myself and my friend, Berna. —“Are you going to South Road ?” I turned, and there he was, following me. —“Yes…” —“Then I’ll invite you to lunch today, since you didn’t agree to take the day off…” —“But Berna is waiting for me…” —“I told her to go home. You’ve accomplished great work today…” Indeed, we had closed several deals that day, all productive. —“So? Do you agree?” I couldn’t do anything but agree. His gentle manner makes a person say yes and nothing else. —“Half an hour, then I’ll be back.” —“Go home. You have no work today.” —“You’re joking, aren’t you?” He looked at me in surprise. —“Sorry… let’s go.” We sat at the restaurant and talked for hours—about life, about the beautiful days of childhood. Then my mother called. —“Catherine, don’t forget the milk when you come home…” I glanced at the clock. Three hours had passed, and I hadn’t noticed. His gentle manner had carried me away. —“Excuse me, Mr. Henry, I must leave. Thank you for your kind invitation.” —“Henry. My name is Henry.” I left, my hands trembling, as if I were a teenager sneaking into a restaurant to secretly meet her boyfriend. I hadn’t felt this way in years. Every relationship I’ve had collapses within months… —“What’s wrong with you, silly?” Berna appeared before me. —“Nothing. I’m not well.” —“Not well? Or very well?” —“Why are you talking like that?” —“Looks like someone has started dating.” —“W…what?” —“Why else would our manager dismiss me from work and say Catherine will be the reason for my promotion because of her great work?” —“And that’s an excuse?” —“I’m joking. I saw you two. And I saw in your independent eyes a sparkle I haven’t seen in years.” —“Stop your nonsense, Berna…” —“Remember well, this is the chance of a lifetime, dear. Or do you want to live in a nursing home, spending all your earnings on nurses to change your diapers?” —“Berna…” —“Goodbye,” she said jokingly and left. Berna was right. This manager had become like my shadow. I saw him everywhere, and his excessive kindness worried me. The older we get, the more our view of love changes. What? I’m talking about love. Catherine, you must be stronger. Catherine, remember your dark history with relationships. But could it be that he’s different? Different in what? All men show you they’re different at first, then the masks fall. But… aren’t we old enough? Could it be that a forty-year-old man, a manager, thinks like a twenty-year-old boy…? —“Catherine, where’s the milk?” —“Oh my God…” —“What am I going to do with you?” I had lost my mind. I must clear this cloud from my head. He’s a liar. He has money and just wants amusement. “Tomorrow I’ll go to work and won’t make myself a joke in front of the employees. I won’t soften to his kind words.” Yes, every girl says that—especially if the man in front of her matters to her. Avoidance is escape. Escape from a truth you don’t want to believe. And the more you make yourself that unbreakable girl, the more one word—or one act—will break you. My days were fine, until Wednesday came again. And once more, I had to face him. He was very cheerful. I saw him waiting for me at the company's door, holding a cup of coffee. —“Oh my God… again.” What could I do? I had become a joke. Everyone was looking at me, and now I’d become the juicy topic of lunch breaks. —“Why are you embarrassed?” —“No… who told you that!” I said with a mask of heaviness and pride, which kept falling every time I saw his eyes. —“You girls are a bundle of personalities.” —“What!” —“Nothing. Go to work. We’ll meet today at South Road.” —“Again?” —“Again, Miss Catherine.” “What a disaster, Catherine. You can’t even pretend to be the strong, unbreakable type.” I saw Berna laughing that silly laugh. I wish I were like her—never thinking of anything, always happy. That’s how simple people are: always happy, because they have nothing to lose. She works hard to feed her child and mother, after her husband went to prison for drug trafficking. —“Beautiful Cathy, why don’t you come? Are you afraid of my comments? No, no, I won’t talk.” —“Good thing you won’t talk…” —“I won’t talk until you tell me the good news.” —“You’re…” —“I have news for you. My husband has been released, and we don’t know how. Someone paid what he owed to get him out. Isn’t it wonderful to be Catherine’s friend? You get dismissed from work on Wednesdays, your husband gets out of prison… See, dear, he’s a good man.” —“I’m glad he’s out, but are you sure Henry was the one who got him released?” —“Henry,” she said, laughing slyly. “Yes, Mr. Henry came in the morning and told me I’d work until one o’clock and then leave because my husband was waiting at home. What a clever man. He tries to use Wednesdays to get rid of me, and I’m happy he does.” I could only be happy for her and stay silent, because her loud voice had already exposed me enough. One o’clock came, and I unwillingly walked to that restaurant. He was there, waiting in the same place. As usual, we talked about life, about childhood, and hours passed until my alarm rang. Yes, I had set an alarm so I wouldn’t lose myself. —“You like sticking to schedules. Or haven’t you told your mother yet?” I looked at him, trying to act angry, but his words were funny. I was afraid to admit that I felt comfortable with this creature. —“What?” —“Nothing,” he said, laughing to himself. —“I must go. I forgot the milk last time. I don’t want to put myself in the same situation.” —“But it’s normal to forget milk unless…” —“Unless what?” —“Unless your thoughts are crowded in your little mind…” I looked at him, speechless. —“You can go. It’s fine.” I left without saying anything. —“Our date is next Wednesday.” I turned. —“Again??” —“Is there any problem?” I don’t know why I started teasing him. —“And this time, who will you release from prison?” —“If a man wants something, he gets it.” I didn’t care. I was in a hurry. I wanted to get home and talk to my mother. I had to tell her everything. I reached the door of my house… Damn, I forgot the milk again. And there he was, beneath our building, holding a bag of milk. —“Didn’t I tell you not to forget the milk? I knew you’d forget, so I brought it.” I couldn’t help myself. I smiled, took the milk, and forgot to pay him. He wouldn’t accept it anyway, but out of respect I should have offered. I went upstairs, but I didn’t tell my mother anything that day.