The early Saturday morning had slipped into a quiet, somewhat melancholic one at Thorne Mansion. The whirlwind of arrivals, departures, and revelations from the past few days seemed to have left a sediment of expectant calm. After saying goodbye to Fernando and Ruby in the pre-dawn darkness, Lysandra had found Agnes already up, her eyes reflecting the sadness of her loss, but also a serene strength.
They shared a simple breakfast in the kitchen, bathed in the first rays of a sun that promised a hot day. They didn't speak much. The aroma of coffee and toast mingled with a respectful silence, each lost in her own thoughts, but united by a bond of affection and the impending journey ahead. Lysandra watched her nana, noticing the lines of fatigue around her eyes, the way her hands, normally so agile, moved with a slight slowness. The trip to the village would be both a necessity for Agnes and an opportunity for Lysandra to offer her tangible support.
After breakfast, as Agnes finished packing a small bag with a few essential belongings and Lysandra ensured her own carry-on, with the two precious diaries tucked safely inside, was ready, a sense of purpose began to settle over Lysandra. It was no longer just the feverish curiosity about her parents' secrets, but also a genuine desire to accompany Agnes, to be there for her.
The journey began shortly thereafter, in Lysandra's sturdy SUV, better suited for the rural roads than the elegant black sedan she typically used in the city. Agnes settled into the passenger seat, a small lace handkerchief in her hands.
"The road is long, my child," Agnes said with a barely audible sigh, as they left the limits of Cancún and entered the highway that wound towards the interior of the peninsula. "It's better to rest a little. Last night… last night I couldn't sleep a wink." Her words were a simple statement, devoid of self-pity, but laden with the weight of her recent grief.
"Rest as much as you need, Nana," Lysandra replied softly, her violet eyes reflecting a deep empathy. "I'll drive. Don't worry about a thing."
Agnes gave her a grateful smile and, a short while later, with the gentle hum of the engine and the sway of the car, her breathing became deeper and more regular. She had fallen asleep, overcome by emotional and physical exhaustion.
Lysandra drove in silence for some time, watching the urban landscape give way to stretches of low jungle and more solitary stretches of highway. The sun climbed higher in the sky, its light filtering through scattered clouds. And then, with Agnes asleep beside her and the promise of several hours of travel ahead, the temptation became irresistible.
She pulled the car over to the side of the road, on a stretch where the vegetation created a canopy of shade. She turned off the engine. The only sound was the chirping of cicadas and the whisper of the wind through the leaves. With her heart pounding with a mixture of anticipation and almost reverent fear, Lysandra reached for her backpack from the back seat and extracted the heavier, larger of the two diaries: her father, Julian's.
The dark leather was worn from the touch of hands and time, the corners softened. She untied the simple leather strap that kept it closed and opened the cover. The pages, thick and ivory-toned, were filled with her father's energetic, slanted handwriting, a script she vaguely remembered from notes and dedications in books from her childhood. The scent of old paper, faded ink, and something indefinably masculine—perhaps the trace of his pipe tobacco or the leather of his study—wafted up to her, a sensory ghost of his presence.
Lysandra took a deep breath and began to read the first page.
For the next three hours, as the car devoured kilometers southward, Lysandra immersed herself in her father's world. Agnes slept soundly beside her, oblivious to the emotional journey her "child" was undertaking. The landscape outside gradually transformed: the highway became narrower, small villages grew farther apart, and the jungle, majestic and impenetrable, began to dominate everything, its intense greens and deep shadows creating an almost mystical backdrop for the revelations contained within those pages.
They advanced towards the heart of Quintana Roo, leaving behind the more traveled routes, venturing ever deeper into a territory where the past seemed to whisper among the trees. Their final destination, Agnes's small village, was named José María Morelos, a name that evoked history and struggle, nestled deep in the jungle. And as Lysandra read, with Julian's diary open on her lap, she felt she was not only approaching a geographical location, but also the epicenter of her own family's secrets, a journey that promised to be as arduous and revealing as any expedition to a lost city.