Down a Narrow Alley

By Alfred J. Garrotto

Former international model Natalia Edgerly and her husband Arlo have relocated from the United States to Lima, Peru. She now works at the same Catholic orphanage from which she was adopted as an infant. Although childless, she experiences a maternal awakening when ten-year-old Marisol Lagos, is abandoned at the orphanage gate.
Marisol and fellow orphan Juan Alfonso de San Miguel become inseparable--childhood friends on the road to becoming lovers.

Natalia's widowed father, Roger McCrory, returns to Peru after 30 years in search of Rosaria Colomé, his former lover--and Natalia's birth mother. Natalia vows to keep them apart. But, Roger finds Rosaria, and together they test their reawakened feelings. Has the great, but adulterous, love of their youth survived the decades to allow them a second chance?
Marisol's mother, Peru's most wanted public enemy, resurfaces and demands that Natalia return her daughter, now 16. This sets in motion a chain of tragic events. Natalia's love and courage are challenged to the limit, when one member of her inner circle of loved ones goes to prison.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Alfred J. Garrotto
• Release date: Jul 17, 2011
• ISBN: 9781466118621

Alfred J. Garrotto

I was born in Santa Monica, California, USA, and now live and write in the San Francisco Bay Area. I am the author of thirteen books, including seven novels and two children's books. My most recent work of fiction is There's More . . . : A Novella of Life and Afterlife. My most recent nonfiction work is The Soul of Art, in which I explore the spirituality of creativity and the arts in all forms.

Book preview

In this sequel to Circles of Stone, former international supermodel Natalia Edgerly has relocated from the United States to Lima, Peru. She now supports and works in the same orphanage from which she was adopted as an infant. Natalia experiences a maternal awakening when ten-year-old Marisol Lagos is abandoned at the orphanage gate. She nurtures and mentors the child and promises to fund her education in the U.S. Natalia's dream for Marisol's future is shattered when the girl's mother, a rebel leader intent on sparking a violent revolution, resurfaces and demands the return of her daughter. This sets in motion a series of tragic events the reader will ponder long after turning the final page.

Natalia, the protagonist from Circles of Stone, continues to reveal the missing pieces of her life and assumes a mother’s love toward Marisol, an abandoned 10 year old. I enjoyed Down a Narrow Alley very much. Like Circles of Stone it reads like poetry.--Frances Bries Wojnar, author of Eliza: An Iowa Pioneer and Magdalena’s Conflict

* * *

Down a

Narrow Alley

by

A. J. Garrotto

SMASHWORDS EDITION

Copyright 2011 by Alfred J. Garrotto

Smashwords Edition License Notes

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* * *

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, are entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage or retrieval system, without the permission of the Author, except where permitted by law.

* * *

Contents

Part I: Loss

Part II: Sea and Sunshine

Part III: Storm Clouds

Part IV: Trial by Fury

Part V: Down That Narrow Alley

About the Author

* * *

Peter and the angel passed the first guard,

then the second, coming finally to the iron gate

leading out to the city.

The prison gate opened for them of itself.

They emerged (from the prison)

and made their way down a narrow alley,

when suddenly the angel left him.

Acts of the Apostles 12:10

* * *

PART I

Loss

1

Natty, your mom-- She's . . . Her father's words caught in his throat. The doctors say she's close to the end.

Natalia thrashed for a response. She understood Natty and Mom, but the voice coming across thousands of miles sounded older and weaker than her dad's.

I was in San Francisco two weeks ago. The oncologist had given her mother six months to a year of semi-quality life before lung and brain tumors would trigger the end stages. What happened?

She was upstairs getting dressed and looking forward to going to the opera. 'St. Francis of Assisi.' I thought it'd be good for her to get out so I got tickets.

Her dad hated classical music and turned it into one of his favorite quips, I swear to God I get a sore butt every time I drive past the opera house.

In recent years, her parents had found a way of living together that bordered on contentment. Each had made difficult compromises and held to unspoken agreements to bury past hurts.

It was getting late, he said. You know how I hate being late.

She did.

When she didn't come down, I yelled up the stairs, 'We gotta get moving, Ev.' I went up . . . she was on the bathroom floor.

* * *

As Natalia's AeroPeru flight from Lima to Guatemala City reached cruising altitude and reined in its snarling engines, she sank deeper into the padded leather of her first-class seat. Sister Roberta had reminded her to pack for Northern California's cooler weather, the mirror opposite of November in coastal regions of the Southern Hemisphere. Wearing a conservative beige pantsuit, pearl silk blouse, and a jacquard vest, she hid behind broad-lens sunglasses.

Letting memory range free, she scanned her often stormy, but lately quite affectionate, relationship with her adoptive mother. She had never used that maternal modifier until Rosaria Colomé entered her life. Natalia found it disturbing at first having two mothers. She had to reprogram her mind to think in birth and adoptive terms. Still, she had only one Mom, Evelyn McCrory.

Not so on the paternal side. The man she called Daddy was father in every sense. It wrenched her stomach to assemble his shared titles after seven, going on eight, years. Birth father. Adoptive father. One and the same. No daughter should uncover, as she had, the details of her father's infidelities.

Natalia wished Arlo had been in Peru when her dad called. She missed having her husband's arms enfold her, baling her together as she received the news. He'd have kissed away her tears before they fell onto the pillow and spread across its white cotton fabric. He'd be sitting next to her now, instead of jetting from London to meet her in San Francisco.

Accepting a Manhattan from the flight attendant, Natalia rummaged among disjointed life scenes, searching for tenderness, any sign that she and her mom had truly bonded, heart of each other's heart, if not flesh of each other's flesh. She sought moments of special intimacy, times long ago when she could tell her mother anything and everything. Before Arlo, she'd had nothing of lasting value in this world without her mom and dad. Despite her success in the fashion industry, she had no other familial port of last resort, no shelter from an alien, hostile world.

But Natalia had yet to shake the feeling of not truly belonging to this family, or of being valued by her mother and father as more than a Rent-A-Child. She peered through the scratched Plexiglas window and seeded the clouds with guilt.

You're a selfish bitch, Natty.

* * *

Trapped for the next five or so hours in an airborne capsule, Natalia confronted a reservoir of long-stored rage.

A surprise of her work at Ángel Guardián had been a growing understanding of the primordial anger and alienation felt by adoptees toward the men and women who shared with them communion of life and treasure, such as it might be. When her first trip to Lima exhumed the factual story of her birth, Natalia's wrath had targeted her father. Taking up residence in Peru had forced her to deal with Rosaria's complicity in her birth parents' adoption scheme.

At Natalia's invitation, Rosaria began volunteering weekends in Ángel Guardián's infant and toddler wing. During a break, birth mother and daughter had gone to the refectory for a drink and taken their chilled tea outside. They shared a wooden bench that needed sanding and a coat of paint. A pepper tree's compound leaves and clustered yellow-white flowers offered protective shade against the mounting afternoon heat. Their separate gazes focused on distant buildings beyond the garden wall.

You could have said no to him. The attack sprang from Natalia like an ambush.

Rosaria's chin lowered at the admonition.

You could have told my dad to go f-- Natalia snagged the expletive in mid-flight. We could have been together, the two of us, but you--what's the legal word?--'relinquished' me. God, it sounds so clinical. You might as well have left me on a doorstep. Or in a trash bin.

Rosaria flinched as if evading a blow to her midsection. And what would have become of you then?

This dagger point of logic pierced Natalia's spirit. Throttling back her venom, she said, I don't know. We'd have been together, though.

Rosaria shrugged. "Oh, hija, have you never done anything that later you wished you could undo?"

Shame burned a path across Natalia's cheeks. Haven't we all? She laced an arm around Rosaria's shoulder.

2

Natty!

Nearly swallowed by families eager to greet loved ones journeying from Latin America, Natalia acknowledged her husband's call. She moved through the crowded international terminal wheeling a carry-on behind her.

I've missed you so much! she said. Safe again in Arlo's embrace she released the grief that overwhelmed her in anticipation of her mother's death and the task of helping her father through the days--and years--ahead.

Wish I could've been with you when the call came. He cupped his palm at the back of her head and drew her moist face to his shoulder. It's okay, Natty. He escorted her to a waiting limo and, anticipating her objection, said, I know you're into this simple living thing, but I decided you could use some pampering.

I don't mind.

Where to? he said snuggling close to her in the back seat.

Natalia glanced at her watch. Past nine here. I lost track of time. Her eyelids drooped, and she longed to clutch her husband through the night in their Marina condo's spacious bed. I need to check on Mom.

The limo wove out of the airport and north onto Highway 101. Arlo flipped open his cell phone and pressed a series of buttons. Roger? She's in . . . Yeah, she's fine. He surveyed his wife. Gorgeous as ever.

Right, Natalia muttered, but it pleased her that Arlo approved of the woman she had become. She had enough pride left to think that, even at thirty-one, she could get herself back on the runway within a few months--or at least a gig doing cosmetic commercials.

What would it take to draw her back to the business?

Money? They had enough to last the rest of their lives.

Vanity? Yes, that might cause her to backpedal into the fashion scene. The lure of bright lights, the stereophonic whirring of camera motors, regaining the fawning recognition that followed her everywhere--all of it tempted her. But she wasn't that person anymore. From jet-setting cosmopolite she had morphed into a pilgrim on planet Earth, seeking meaning rather than money.

We're on our way into the city, Arlo told her dad on the cell phone. She wants to see Mom. He pressed Natalia's palm to his lips and handed her the silver-cased phone.

Daddy, I'm so glad to be-- was all her emotions allowed.

Why don't you two go on home first? You can visit Mom in the morning.

The strain in her dad's voice warned her that he had passed beyond hope to contemplating what life might be like without his wife.

We're already on our way, Natalia said. See you in a few minutes, Daddy. I love you.

3

Happy sixteenth birthday!

Marisol felt Juan Alfonso's arms encircle her from behind. He pressed a long-stemmed rose of the deepest crimson into her hands. His nose brushed her thick hair which emitted such dizzying fragrance that it paled even the wondrous aroma of his gift.

She exulted in this first time they'd been so close without the kind of playful jostling that had become their usual way of being together.

Juan Alfonso jerked his head to one side then the other avoiding her searching eyes. Giving in, she relaxed and folded his bare arms across her midsection, letting them support her breasts which tightened at his touch.

How does it feel to be a year older? he said.

Everything seems different. She inhaled the fragrance

of the spiral rosebud. Have I changed since falling asleep last night?

Matter of fact, you have.

Tell me how.

I don't know. More . . . grown up, I guess. Definitely more beautiful, if that's possible.

Juan Alfonso's boldness astonished her. Was it because this birthday marked the end of childhood, the dawn of womanhood? Or because this more than any previous birthday seemed to have brought her a giant leap closer to Juan Alfonso's age, now edging toward eighteen?

Marisol pressed the rose to her face. Heaven must smell like this. Her rib cage expanded with each breath and pressed his forearms deeper into her breasts.

I-- Juan Alfonso stammered.

Marisol's body filled with desire. Aware of her rising passion and the thickening of his sex as he pressed against her, she fought back a sudden dizziness. Yielding to curiosity might ruin the easy friendship they'd built since that first day in the infirmary six years ago.

I grew it myself. He rushed to add, The rose, I mean. Just for you. For today. I worried it wouldn't bloom in time.

St. Rose saw to that, I'm sure. Only a miracle can produce something as beautiful as this.

I suppose. I prefer to credit my horticultural prowess.

I love it, Juan Alfonso. It's the best birthday present I've ever had. When it fades I'll press it between the pages of my Bible. That way it will always be with me.

* * *

Orphanage rules forbade residents under sixteen to leave the grounds without adult escort. Today, Sister Roberta pressed a few soles into Juan Alfonso's hand with a wink. Buy her a birthday ice cream. And-- The world-wise nun cocked her head and tossed them a half-teasing glare. You two behave yourselves, okay?

Yes, Sor Roberta, I'll take care of her, Juan Alfonso said.

Roberta smiled and shooed them off. You know what I mean.

We do. Marisol felt loved and protected from all sides.

They set off by bus from Ángel Guardián to explore the Plaza de Armas, including the ancient cathedral built on the site of an Incan temple, and the changing of the guard at the Palacio de Gobierno. Spending a whole day together away from the orphanage for the first time made them giddy as eight year olds. They laughed more than they talked, until a late-afternoon bus brought them home.

I never had a more perfect day, Marisol said as they entered through the broad iron gate.

4

Natalia grieved to see her mother hooked to an array of tubes, pumps and monitors. I hate hospitals, she said when Arlo returned from the commissary with generic black coffee in Styrofoam cups.

Have you ever been hospitalized? he said.

Strange that they had been so close for so long and this common bit of information was missing from Arlo's data bank.

No, and I'd rather have a tooth pulled without Novocain. But this was her mother. She would glue herself to a chair and remain at her side to the end. Her mom had devoted her life to her, making all the mistakes a parent makes, absorbing with hurt but not complaint a mother's punishment for caring too much.

Roger had gone to the lounge on 6 West to nap. With Arlo dozing in the private room's only other chair, Natalia edged hers flush against the side rails of her mother's bed. Mommy, I wish I'd told you more often how much I love you. Not just in Christmas cards and during hurried phone calls from chaotic foreign and domestic airports. She wished she'd said it when they were alone, the two of them. How hard would it have been to come up behind her mother as she stood at the kitchen window looking out on her summer garden and whisper, I'm sorry, mom. I don't know why my tongue knots when I try to say it. Please forgive me?

At four in the morning, Evelyn's waning vital force peeked out through eyes that became clear and focused. Natalia gazed through the narrow openings and imagined a lone figure, walking on the surface of the sea toward a final sunset.

Arlo! Natalia said.

He awoke and in an instant was alert, ready to obey any command.

Get my dad.

He set off down the hall. Moments later, the men braked outside the door and entered attempting a casual gait.

With an almost imperceptible movement of her index finger, Evelyn summoned husband and daughter closer. Her cracked lips moved without sound.

Don't talk, Mommy. Natalia's voice assumed the hushed, loving tone she regretted not using more often in times when her mother would have treasured it.

Roger approached, tried once to speak, then again before saying, Save your strength, Evie.

With another flick of her finger, Evelyn admonished them to silence.

Natty . . . . She expended her reserve of energy in that single raspy utterance and let the lids close over her darkening eyes. A nurse entered the room and checked her vital signs.

A minute passed. Another. Natalia glanced at her father to see if he, too, thought her mother had passed over on that one last note.

She's still with us, the nurse said.

Evelyn rallied. Natty, you've been my life. Made me . . . happy . . . proud.

Natalia's guilty heart batted away the undeserved praise only a mother would speak, one whose sacrifices were many, the rewards few but sufficient. She kissed her mother's forehead.

I love you, too, Mommy, so much. And I'll miss you more than I could ever have imagined.

Natalia thought how unsatisfying it must be to die suddenly, struck by a train at a crossing or murdered in a senseless drive-by. No final goodbyes, no time for reconciliation.

Evelyn's face grew luminous, as if she'd crossed to the other side but clung to enough of this world to proclaim a final testament. Roger, her voice grew stronger.

Yes, Evie, what is it? He positioned his ear close to his wife's lips. What are you saying, Evie? I don't understand.

Natalia returned her father's puzzled glance. For the first time she understood Till death do us part and yielded to her parents' finale. She reached for Arlo's hand which was already searching for hers.

Evelyn's head moved with the slightest perceptible motion. She uttered something into her husband's attentive ear. An instant later, a rattling sound gurgled in her throat. With a final, heaving breath she relaxed into permanent repose.

Roger folded his wife's hands across her abdomen.

Arlo gripped his father-in-law's shoulder. I'm truly, truly sorry, Roger.

What did she say, Daddy?

Roger wiped the back of his hand across his eyes. We'll talk later. I'm a little confused right now.

* * *

Natalia and Arlo stayed on in San Francisco for two more weeks. They forsook their gated condo to inject life into her dad's somber home. First, there were the funeral preparations, made less complicated by her parents' foresight, including Evelyn's instructions for cremation. The first few days she didn't seem gone at all. Every hour her name rang through the house . . . Evelyn said . . . Mom would've . . . .

Close friends, joined by a Christmas-card cousin or two who made the trip from the Northwest, celebrated a Memorial Mass at Old St. Mary's near Chinatown. Natalia held herself together long enough to eulogize her mother and thank