Then in the background, very clearly, she heard her father speak.

“¿Quién es, mi amor?” he asked. And the tenderness in his voice as he spoke to his wife made Melanie choke with pure jealousy.

Melanie hung up swiftly. She tore off her dress and plucked that white bikini from her suitcase. In seconds flat she was ready for the pool. But when she went into the bathroom to reapply her lipstick, she couldn’t escape her own eyes in the mirror. It might be years before she came back here again, or it might be never. Her father had shown no disposition to visit her. If she ever imagined doing anything to heal their bond, now was her chance. Don’t blow it by being a coward.

She studied the return address on the Christmas card. She’d checked it out on a map when she’d first arrived. It wasn’t more than ten or fifteen minutes’ drive from the spot where she stood. She yanked a pink terry-cloth tube dress on over her swimsuit. Sometimes you just had to pull the trigger.

MELANIE PAID THE DRIVER and stepped from the taxi she’d caught at the hotel. The house was modest by the standards of the neighborhood, but cheerful and well tended. A single-story concrete bungalow painted cream with fanciful iron grillework over the windows and doors, it boasted a graceful, leaning coconut palm in the front yard. Her hands were sweaty at the thought of seeing her father after so many years. So intent was she on her goal that-just as she’d been back at the hotel-she was completely oblivious to her surroundings. She hadn’t noticed the dingy old sedan idling in the El San Juan’s porte cochere when she’d first hailed the cab. And she didn’t notice it now when it slowed to a stop farther down the block as she approached her father’s front door.

The door was decorated with a jaunty cardboard Santa whose red metallic suit glinted in the hot sun. Melanie walked up the shallow steps, their handrails bristling with unlit Christmas lights, and pressed the buzzer. A dog began barking furiously inside the house.

“Cálmate, cálmate, chiquito,” she heard Gladys say.

Gladys opened the door. Melanie hadn’t seen her father’s wife in twelve years, since their wedding. Gladys was extremely pretty then, and she’d aged well-the only obvious change wrought by time being the chunky blond highlights in her stylishly short dark hair. She was about fifteen years younger than Melanie’s mother, with a cute figure. Same old story.

“Melanie?” Gladys asked, eyes widening.

“I was in the neighborhood so I thought I’d drop by.”

“What a surprise,” Gladys said in nearly accentless English, her tone implying that the surprise was not a pleasant one.

“Is Papi around? I brought you guys something,” Melanie said, indicating her straw bag.

“Yes, of course. What am I thinking? Come in, come in.”

Gladys pushed the still-yapping beagle away from the door and ushered Melanie into a small living room to the right of the entry hall. It was cool and dark, with a white tile floor and blinds drawn against the afternoon sun. A whirring air conditioner poured a continual stream of icy air into the room. Gladys opened one of the blinds, letting in some light.

“Stay here, and I’ll get him. You’re lucky, you know. Normally he’d be at work during the day, but they put him on night shifts because they’re so busy over the holidays.” Melanie’s father had changed jobs a couple of years back and now worked as a banquet manager for one of the major hotel chains on the island.

Gladys strode off. The dog followed her, its nails clicking on the tile floor.

Melanie sat down on the edge of a Naugahyde recliner and swept up a photograph from the side table. It was a picture of her father’s twins, two boys who must now be around ten. They were good-looking kids, but they favored Gladys. Melanie didn’t recognize her father in them, let alone herself. She felt slightly sick, wondered why the hell she’d come.

At the sound of a footstep in the doorway, her head jerked up. Her father stood there, grayer and with more lines in his face but looking otherwise the same. He’d always been a handsome man, tall for a Puerto Rican, with aristocratic features and poet’s hair that flopped into his eyes. But despite his relatively unchanged appearance, Melanie couldn’t reconcile the person standing before her with her childhood memories. Maybe she’d just pored over those memories one too many times. Looked at all the old photographs-of her sitting in his lap or him holding up her birthday cake for her to blow out the candles-until they got so blurred with overuse that she couldn’t truly see them. Because this man felt like a complete stranger.

Her father hesitated, momentarily catching her awkwardness, but then opened his arms wide and gave her a big smile. “What a nice Christmas present to see you, hija. Come give me a hug.”

She went over and hugged him, feeling numb. When the hug was over, she wasn’t sure what to do next.

“Let’s sit down,” he said, indicating the sofa. They took seats facing each other. “Alvaro Junior and Armando are still in school. They won’t be home for another hour. So we have a little time to catch up.”

Was she being paranoid, or was he subtly asking her to leave before his sons returned? She’d never actually met her half brothers. She wasn’t even sure they knew she and Linda existed.

“So what brings you here?” he asked cheerfully, in the same tone he might’ve used for any acquaintance he’d run across unexpectedly after a number of years. There was something else different about him, but she couldn’t put her finger on it.

“Business, actually. I’m here on a case, and I had a little downtime. I’m staying at the El San Juan, and it’s close by, so I thought…” She trailed off.

“Oh, very nice place. You must be doing well for yourself. And that husband of yours? Still making a good living?” Papi asked.

“Yes,” Melanie said. Then, after a moment, “Actually, we’re getting divorced.”

“Oh. I’m sorry to hear that. Didn’t you just get married a couple of years ago?”

“Over six years ago now. Remember? You came to the wedding.” That was the last time she’d seen him, in fact.

“Time flies. And how is your little one?”

“Maya,” she said, wondering if he remembered his granddaughter’s name. “She’s great. She’s the best, actually. So funny and cute. Here, I brought you a picture of her.” Melanie pulled the gift from her bag. She’d put it in a nice frame and wrapped it in gold paper tied up with a red satin ribbon. She handed it to him, but he just took it and put it on his lap, unopened.

“Thank you. I’ll save it for under the tree. I’m afraid I don’t have anything for you.”

“No, of course not. You didn’t know I was coming.”

Melanie suddenly realized what was different about her father. His English was astonishingly improved from what it had been years ago.

“Papi, you speak so well,” she said, confused, almost for a moment wondering if she was in the right house. But of course she was.

“That Gladys. She makes me practice every night with a tape. But she’s right, you know. It’s helped me a lot to move up at work.” He smiled. An awkward silence settled over them, which Melanie felt powerless to break.

“So,” he said after a pause, “how is your mother? And Linda?”

“Both in fine form. You know, you can’t stop them.”

He forced a laugh. “Linda wrote me a very nasty letter a couple of years back. Made me feel bad.”

“Well,” Melanie said, then stopped. She had to side with Linda on this one, even if she herself preferred to handle things in a less confrontational way.

“Very nasty,” Papi said again, but his words were belied by the mild look in his eyes. Melanie had the distinct sense he didn’t really care that much about getting kicked out of Linda’s life.

“I guess she never got over your leaving us like that,” Melanie said.