Springtime dwindled and December reached the summertime threshold with a scent of warm rain and the end of high school. The 13th was a lucky day: when the last class of the year ended, the relief in the classroom was major and students suddenly sprung back to life. There was still extra assignments for those who needed to improve their grades, besides the course for college admission exams. But for now, for a brief intermission, no one worried about that. The class had already planned a trip to Cancun for celebrating, lulled into a sunny daydream with stretches of turquoise water and seas of tequila.

In the evening following the end of classes, a Friday, the school's Rotary Club promoted its traditional graduation party. Marisa had no intention of going, and twisted and turned to dodge her mother.

"What happened to the long blue taffeta dress? What you're wearing is so plain." The mother studied her in disapproval and pursed her lips.

"The blue dress got stained," Marisa said cautiously, smoothing her black minidress. "But this one will do."

It was a simple, sleeveless model with details in silver thread, which accentuated her figure and legs elongated by the high-heeled sandals. It matched the set of sapphire necklace and earrings that were her father's gift for her last birthday.

"I'm not so sure... black is such a depressing color... I can't believe you ruined that blue dress. It was so elegant."

Marisa hated the taffeta outfit her mother had bought for her. Right now, though, she didn't want to keep talking or an argument could erupt. When her mother was upset any word, even the most innocent, turned into an elephant paw on a mined field.

Under the pretext she didn't want to be late for the photo session, scheduled to half past six, Marisa picked up her purse and quickly said goodbye. She then initiated a small marathon: she took a taxi, got off at the party venue, made an appearance in the graduation photo book, sneaked out, slipped into another taxi, slipped the wig on and proceeded to meet with Marco at the Jardins area.

Marisa passed by mansions and upscale buildings, bars and restaurants exuding a deliberate casualness perfurmed with money. She disembarked before an impressive façade in the shape of an inverted arch that seemed to float above the glass-walled lobby. Similar to the profile of a ship covered in copper plates, the place was an architectural landmark in the city. Spherical windows dotted its six floors, and the entrance door at the side, as imposing as a cathedral's, opened up to a lobby featuring impossibly high ceilings.

Once in the atrium, Marisa had the impression of crossing the bottom of the sea as she passed by designer furniture disposed like coral clusters in clear water: black and white chaises lounges set anchor amid the spaces amplitude, here a sculpture of Saint George and the Dragon in a niche, there an anemone of flecked flowers. The reading area was delimited by a semicircular bookcase, red armchairs with fan-shaped back rests, and a gigantic navy blue puff that spread like a sleeping shellfish on sandy marble. Up above, the rooftop water mirror undulated in crystal reflections.

Marisa's thrill at meeting Marco was intensified by the singular beauty of the hotel, which not by chance had been baptized the Unique. It was strange getting together with Marco away from Downtown-a thrill mixed with disquiet. They should be safe, for the school crowd would stay at the graduation party until late. But what if an acquaintance happened to show up at the hotel? (Marisa lowered her head and glanced around the lobby to make sure no familiar face was found amid the executives, tourists and models circulating there.)

She neared the bar in the back featuring a concrete wall with gleaming shelves that piled up high, guarded on each side by a golden statue. One way or another, Marisa went on thinking, she had scored good grades and the school term was officially over. Freedom was almost within grasp for Marco and her. A future with no more secrets or guilt. Only one dark cloud still hovered on the horizon: her mother's reaction once she learned about them. But it was best not to think about it now.

One, two... eight, nine... fourteen, fifteen... She counted sixteen shelves in the bar before taking a side access and the panoramic lift that, immersed in a faint haze of light, took her straight to the rooftop. There, a vestibule wrapped in dimness led to a corridor fitted with translucid onyx of yellow veins. The stone emitted diffuse clarity like an ethereal tunnel.

C'mon on overOver the bridgeBridge the gapJazz up closerC'mon over

As she proceeded through the corridor, Marisa discerned the whispered singing of a deep house track. With soft notes of piano and guitar, the music kept growing into the restaurant, where a colored hostess in an impeccable blue dress waited. When Marisa mentioned the reservation under the name of Marco Aurelio Fares, the hostess grinned.

"Oh, yes, Marco." She pointed to the far end of the restaurant. "He's waiting for you on the terrace."

Marisa advanced through the long room in half-light, glancing at the large windows that leaned over the park right across the street. Once the water mirror was transposed, the room expanded onto the elevated deck beside a rectangular swimming pool with submerged lamps, which drew a fiery frieze along the edges and fairy circles of red in the water. On the opposite side, pairs of white loungers lined up under lanterns and square parasols. At that point, a flutter of butterflies and jazzy notes overflowed in her bosom...

Marco was idling on one of the loungers, his shoulders relaxed, one leg folded and the other stretched. He too wore black, with a new shirt that emphasized his broad shoulders. She rehearsed a sideway approach and, without making any noise, covered his eyes with both hands. Marco inhaled deeply-Vetiver-and grinned. Marisa lifted her hands, sitting next to him. She brushed a kiss on Marco's lips and then on his neck.

"Hmmm... I like it. What cologne is that?"

"Acqua. I decided to go for a change. According to the ad, this fragrance is gonna emphasize my virility and give me an irresistible aura of refinement."

Marco's playful expression vanished when he took his time to admire Marisa, pausing on the curves shaped by the dress and on her mouth. For a moment, he envisioned the two of them in a room of the hotel, where he would be able to yank off her dress and lipstick... He flirted with a change of plans, but forced himself to dismiss that thought. Tomorrow they would have the whole night for play.

"You look stunning. It's a shame you must hide under that wig. But it won't be for too long, I promise."

"Let's focus on the bright side. I feel like a spy in a secret mission, which is kind of fun. And I'm feeling more optimistic now that school is finally over. Everything will work out fine with my mom and next spring we'll have that picnic under the cherry trees, with a special cheesecake just for you..." A pause, another flutter of butterflies. "Hey, Marco, did I mention I love your company?"

"I love yours too, Mari." He stroked her hand. "And your cheesecakes."

She took those words with laughter, looped her arms in his, glanced around. The flickering glow of white candles poured onto the deck center, and a dotted line of lights followed the plant beds on the sides. An island in the heights, the terrace was surrounded by transparent glass plates, floating amid the night that twinkled with distant skyscrapers and neon towers.

"This is beautiful."

"Nice, isn't it? This is one of my favorite spots in Sao Paulo," he said.

"You are like one of those Russian dolls that one opens to find another doll inside, and another. I didn't know this side of you."

"Which side?"

"Your eclectic tastes... traditional bistros, transvestite bars, trendy restaurants..."

"I like places with a personality. They can be simple or sophisticated, modern or old-fashioned, it doesn't matter." He traced her jawline with the tip of his finger. "I'm very happy that you're here with me. Speaking of which, this calls for a toast."

Marco picked a champagne bottle from an ice bucket on the side table. He uncorked it and pulled a linen napkin covering a couple of black crystal flutes. He poured into them the golden liquid, which whirled up to the rim with a whisper. Marco offered Marisa one of the glasses: to your future, Mari, drink it all in one go for good luck. They toasted, and the echo of crystal blended into the music. The music about worlds colliding and the march of time. About standing there, at the beginning. Finally.

Dreams such as dreamers dream

Flitted before our eyes

And we gazed and dreamed

And we sailed over seas

Of white vapor that whirled

Through the skies afar

Angels our charioteers

Radiant, Marisa did as he said. When she reached the last drop, the glass clinked, and kept on clinking until it surprised her lips with a cold kiss of metal. Marisa widened her eyes. She tipped off the flute, and the ring rolled onto the palm of her hand, platinum lace embroidered with diamond, ruby, tourmaline, emerald...

She felt her throat blocked and her eyes cloudy with a veil that for an instant made the world waver out of focus. She wavered with the world and took a deep breath so not to cry, muttered his name and couldn't voice anything else. Marco dried the ring with the napkin, sliding it onto Marisa's third finger.

"I was leaning toward a solitaire, but thought these colors go well with you. Do you like it?"

"A lot... thank you, my love. You didn't have to do that."

Marisa placed a kiss on the palm of his hand. Marco caressed the lacey finger and covered her hand with his.

"Hey, don't cry, Mari. Of course I had to."

"It's just that I've never received such a beautiful gift from a boyfriend. And your gesture-"

"Shh, you deserve it. Now let's go inside. We can't take too long to have dinner."

The two sat at a table by the window, and the waiter brought them the champagne and their glasses. As they drank, they enjoyed the view of the park dressed up in Christmas lights. And suddenly, as if someone had pressed an off button, the whole scenery blurred under a summer rain. Those on the terrace stampeded into the room amid exclamations and laughs. Marisa glimpsed at them and turned her attention back to Marco.

"This will be my first Christmas without Dad," she said pensively. "Although I still miss him a lot, today for the first time I was able to imagine the possibility of being happy again. Now I realize the pain was the last thing my dad left for me, the last memory... I got attached to it for that reason. It was the only stable thing remaining in my life, the only thing no one could take away from me. The pain was mine. Since my father's passing, I've been carrying around a weight. This morning, when I looked at myself in the mirror, I knew straight away something had changed: the weight was gone."

"Just consider that everything in the world is energy, Mari. Quantum physics has already demonstrated that, when you reach subatomic particles, the physical contours setting things apart are no longer visible; everything is part of the same sea of energy. Your father just shifted into another form. He continues to exist and, most importantly, he continues to live in your heart. What's left is the longing, which only time can cure. But I'd like to help you get over this... if I can."

"You've already helped me and are still helping me, Marco. If it weren't for your support, I don't know where I'd have ended. I was devastated when we first met. Many times, I could look fine but deep down..."

"I understand. I know you."

They gazed at each other, communicating silently. It was as if they had lived together their entire lives. And in a way they did, in dreams and thoughts.

"I wish I could reciprocate all you do for me, Marco."

"You do reciprocate, more than you think. I am the one in debt with you."

He stared at her as his words lingered in the air and gradually faded into the drumming of the rain. The waiter brought them bread, moved away, and the echo of the words still persisted.

"How come, Marco? You give me all the loving and support."

"I'm not sure if it would be the same with another woman. You bring out the best in me, Mari, and I want it to surface more and more because that does so much good to me. You give me your love... and thus give back to me my own love, which I thought I was no longer able to feel."

Marisa reached out over the white tablecloth to hold Marco's hand. As she did so, she admired the ring on her finger with new awareness. Marisa knew that Marco sometimes would not say what was in his innermost. He expressed it in other ways though.

"Your ex-wife did hurt you a lot, didn't she?"

"Certain wounds take time to heal. Sometimes they never mend completely." He got lost in a pause. "When I look back, I realize how Lorena and I were immature. Today I understand her. We were not ready for marriage, and to make matters worse our situation was quite turbulent. But there's a part of me that still can't accept what happened. I always think that, had I behaved in another way, maybe we could have been happy and..." he did not finish the sentence and just shook his head.

Marisa stiffened and released his hand. She folded her arms, and behind them there were clenched fists. She felt the ring's texture against her palm - a ring whose meaning she could no longer interpret. It seemed suddenly hollow and brittle, an empty shell. Marisa was seized by fear, for she felt she was being emptied herself.

Noticing Marisa's reaction, Marco leaned over the table, his gaze trying to reach her where she had sought refuge.

"What is it, Mari? Why are you suddenly angry?"

"I hadn't realized you were still so attached to your ex-wife. Maybe you still love her? You need to seek the answer in your heart with utter honesty. Not only for my sake but for your own."

"Give me your hand, Mari," he asked in a conciliatory tone, which revealed an edge of apprehension.

Marisa made a negative gesture and remained with her arms crossed. She could have kept quiet and pretended nothing was going on. Pray that all would be fine and, above all, act pleasant. She had always behaved that way. It had never led to anything. Louis became increasingly selfish, Sergio went on with his damn diving instructor who was 'just' a friend... No, Marisa would no longer pretend everything was okay when in truth she was gnawing herself inside. She didn't want to gnaw herself inside anymore.

"I prefer to have everything in the open, Marco, no matter how brutal the cut. Yes, it's going to hurt, a lot, because you're the closest person I have in this world. But it's better than living a lie. You know how it was with Sergio. A lie. I don't ever want to go through that again. Even if I wanted, it wouldn't be a solution. Because one day the house of cards goes tumbling down anyway."

"Give me our hand. Please." When Marisa finally stretched her hand out, he cradled it between his. "I know exactly what it's like to live in a crumbling house of cards. I don't want that either for you or for me. Don't get me wrong, Mari. I'm not implying I'd still want to be married to Lorena. What I wish is to have prevented so much pain. When I got involved with her, I had no idea of the problems I might cause."

"I'm sorry if I interpreted what you said all wrong. I guess I have my own traumas..." Marisa sighed. She wanted to help him and didn't know how. "After all, what problems are you talking about? I know you two dealt with a lot of friction, and arguments were escalating."

"To say arguments were escalating is an understatement. Our marriage turned into hell. We said horrible things, hurt each other way too much. The contradiction is that while we argued there was hope. That's because, one way or another, it was a sign that we still cared about the relationship. Lorena still cared. The worse was when we silenced. She stopped complaining. I fell into depression and clammed up in my resentment. There's nothing worse than feeling lonely when you are with someone, Mari."

"Surely there was something else going on?"

Marco would rather not go into details-in a way, he said, they were sordid. He did not like to remember it. He distanced himself, skipped the prologue, brushed on the facts without lingering. Contrary to the usual, his voice was monotonous.

Lorena's family didn't approve of the marriage and broke contact with her, stirring all sorts of tension. The irony was they rejected Marco because he possessed no wealth. A year after the divorce, he and his brothers inherited their uncle's coffee farm. That alone would not be enough to appease Lorena's family, but time has passed, the road was paved and the city expanded to the perimeter of the farm. The year before the last, they split the property into lots and sold it per square foot to a luxury condo.

He still recalled the last time he had coursed the coffee plantation with his brothers, under the deafening song of destitute cicadas fleeing the urban offensive. Their shadows stretched in the sunset, streaking the path speckled with the flush plumage of tiny flowers that waved goodbye in the breeze. Goodbye to childhood memories. The next day the bulldozers took it all down.

Every gain came at a price.

After investing the money, Marco got into a comfortable situation. He studied for his PhD and, for now, taught for the enjoyment of it and to test new educational methods. He wanted to have his own school. If it were today, Lorena's family wouldn't have any problem in accepting him. During the marriage, though, the situation was different. Lorena became increasingly frustrated and unhappy. The few relatives who would still talk to her fed the lies. Marco blamed himself for not having sufficient maturity to support her the way she needed. He just wished he could have avoided what happened later.

And as he said that, the monotony emerging from his throat was tinted with a rip of color. It was red. It was crimson, scarlet, coral, rosy, almost white... and then the surface of the cut sealed up again. In silence, Marco stared at the glass window pane where rain teardrops spattered.

Marisa entwined her fingers in his. The stones on the ring sparkled.

"You know it's a lost battle. We can't change the past, only accept it and learn from our mistakes. Then everything is worth it. All experiences, good and bad, shape us into what we are today, isn't that so? You try to suppress your hurt, but it's still very much alive within you. It's no use keeping it in a drawer under lock and key. You need to open that drawer, forgive Lorena and yourself."

"I've tried, believe me. It's hard... I tell myself I'm gonna erase it all and pretend none of that happened. But it just doesn't work."