Anchored Hearts

by Priscilla Oliveras

  “So, what do you think of her?” Anamaría asked, surprising him with the personal question. “I know you haven’t spent much time with Lulu since she was born.”

  Only those few days early last year when Ernesto, Cece, and Lulu had flown to Atlanta for a long weekend.

  “She’s changed so much,” he admitted, scooping up one of her white sneakers in his palm. “She was just over a year when I met her. Stumbling around like a giraffe calf on wobbly legs. Freaking me out about her getting hurt ’cuz my town house is far from babyproof.”

  Anamaría chuckled, the sound like the light brush of her fingertips along his nape. Goosebumps shimmied down his neck, sweeping across his shoulders and spine.

  Ignoring the unwanted sensation, he focused on his niece, gently finger-combing her soft curls. “Now she’s riding a tricycle and talking in full sentences. It’s . . . it’s pretty amazing.”

  “They do grow up fast.” A warm smile curved Anamaría’s lips as she gazed at Lulu.

  The fact that she had witnessed many of the momentous stages of his niece’s young life while he’d been basically banished, relying on social media and video chats, smarted. Another reminder that he was an outsider in his childhood home.

  “It’s the same with Carlos and Gina’s two boys, José and Ramón. Those little rascals are getting so big,” she mused.

  “Named for your father, huh?”

  “Yeah, you should have seen his face when Carlos and Gina told him.” Anamaría pressed a hand to her chest, her gaze lost in some memory that didn’t include him. “Two of the rare times I’ve seen my papi tear up.”

  Alejandro understood why. Carlos and Gina’s decision showed their deep respect for the Navarro patriarch. A man beloved by his familia, fellow firefighters, and many of the island’s residents.

  Unlike, say, the unforgivable lack of respect his dad felt Alejandro had shown by refusing to work at Miranda’s. A living legacy of his grandfather. The man who, during the summer of 1962, sent his two sons from Cuba to the United States as part of the Peter Pan Operation. Two of the fourteen thousand–plus children whose parents had willingly said good-bye to them when Castro’s regime took power, thinking they would all be reunited shortly. For many families who participated in Operación Pedro Pan, that reunion wound up taking years. For some, like Victor’s father, it never came at all.

  To Alejandro’s dad, the success of Miranda’s stood as a tribute to the man who had sacrificed so his familia could live their dreams of freedom and prosperity. Alejandro identified with that desire. The dream for more. For something different. Only in his own way. Something he wanted to believe his abuelo would have blessed had he survived to immigrate with his familia to the United States.

  However, Alejandro’s father did not agree. In Victor Miranda’s mind, his elder son’s actions proved him to be ungrateful. Selfish. As if Alejandro considered himself too good to work in a kitchen. Which couldn’t be further from the truth.

  It was ironic, actually. Alejandro and his father had both been sent away. One with a blessing, the other with a curse.

  Anamaría had never truly grasped the finality of Alejandro’s last argument with his dad. In part because she hadn’t heard the steel conviction in his dad’s threat. But also because she had never felt the slap of disdain from the man she idolized.

  Her papi had always been her champion. As had her brothers. Growing up, she’d been their princesa. Granted, one who also threw a mean left hook and cursed the machismo common in their culture. But protected all the same. She and her papi shared a unique bond. One Alejandro had often secretly envied, but also one he knew had fed her fears after her dad’s heart attack.

  “How has your dad been?” Alejandro asked, remembering those difficult days following Señor Navarro’s emergency surgery.

  Anamaría hesitated, as if she sensed the two of them tiptoeing near the touchy subject of her decision to stay behind. She fingered the strands at the end of her long braid. A familiar, sometimes nervous, sometimes thoughtful gesture he remembered. The fact that he could no longer gauge which pricked his already-battered heart.

  “He still hates being relegated to a desk, and Mami keeps trying to get him to retire. I think they’d both go crazy if he was home all the time.”

  “No one likes it when they’re benched.” Alejandro tapped an armrest with a fist, knowing all too well how her dad must feel.

  She nodded. “Especially not someone who’s spent his life running toward danger when most are running away.”

  The thought of her as one of those brave firefighters, putting herself in harm’s way, filled Alejandro with admiration. And fear. Back in high school, she was always volunteering for service projects, so he had expected her to find some way to serve others no matter where the two of them settled. But she had never expressed interest in following in her father’s and older brothers’ footsteps. Until she had taken an active role in her papi’s recovery.

  “It’s good to hear he’s well,” Alejandro said. Really good. The loss of the Navarro patriarch would have hit many in their community hard. Especially both of their familias.

  “Thanks,” Anamaría murmured. “I’m just glad he hasn’t given us another scare.”

  Her gaze met his, and for a moment, Alejandro found himself transported back to the afternoon he’d gotten the call about Señor Navarro’s heart attack. The fear hammering his heart as he and his parents raced to the hospital. The devastation on Anamaría’s tear-streaked face when he arrived. The weight of her body as she collapsed in his arms, sobbing uncontrollably.

  Thankfully, Señor Navarro had survived. Looking back, though, that day, without Alejandro realizing it, had been the beginning of the end for his dreams with Anamaría.

  A bird squawked in the flamboyán tree and Anamaría swiveled on the support post toward the sound, breaking their connection to each other and the past.

  “Everyone’s doing well, gracias a Dios. Mami’s—” She huffed out a laugh and tipped her head toward the sliding glass door. “A lot like yours. Still trying to keep us all on her leash. I know she does it out of love, but it drives my brothers and me crazy.”

  “Man, I get the third degree over the phone every time I call,” he grumbled. “I’ve learned not to video chat when I’m shooting in rough locations.”

  Anamaría glanced over her shoulder with interest, but she didn’t prod him to elaborate. Good. He didn’t want to talk about his work. The less he brought her into his present-day world, the less he’d wish he could pick up the phone and share with her when he was off on his own again.

  “How about the others?” he asked, bringing the conversation back to her familia. “It’s been a while since Enrique and I touched base. I know Carlos and Gina have two kids; what about Luis?”

  She grinned. That open, charismatic smile he now only saw in pictures. Damn if the real deal didn’t pack a powerful wallop.

  “Luis is still a saint. Annoying but true.” She hitched a shoulder playfully. “He recently got engaged. Sara’s amazing; love her already. And Enrique’s . . . the best I can say is he’s still Enrique. Pushing the extremes. At work and at play. Letting his artistic talents go to waste, if you ask me. I think he plans to stop by tomorrow after his shift.”

  Two old friends catching up. That’s how anyone listening in might describe their conversation.

  And yet unspoken questions they avoided asking each other lay in the murky abyss separating them. Mostly because they remained at an impasse.

  She wanted what he couldn’t give her. Stability, a home here on their island.

  He wanted what she refused to consider. A life of their own outside of familia obligations, on their own terms.

  The futility of picking at the scabs covering these old wounds, knowing no good would come of it and they’d wind up having to restart the healing process, alone, all over again, grated on raw nerves.

  “Why are you here?” he blurted.

  Anamaría’s head dr
ew back at his rudeness.

  “Like you said, Enrique’s dropping by tomorrow,” Alejandro went on. “There’s no need for you to play doctor with me.”

  She glared at his word choice. “I don’t play when it comes to patients.”

  “I’m not your patient. You shouldn’t feel obligated to check up on me,” he argued, irritated that she did. It was the only reason she would be here.

  Hip cocked, arms crossed defiantly, Anamaría scowled. “Believe me, any obligation I feel is not to you.”

  The harsh words pelted him. Despite his knowing he deserved them for baiting her, they still wounded. Worse, her animosity did little to cool his pent-up desire to taste her lips again rather than argue.

  A move that would most certainly earn him a swift knee to the balls if he tried.

  Not that he could while stuck in this damn wheelchair. Nor was he pathetic enough to make a fool out of himself by doing so anyway.

  “Which brings me to a problem that we need to address. Apparently, your mom has upped her game.” Anamaría’s braid swung over her shoulder as she tossed an annoyed glance at the sliding glass door. “Moving beyond the typical verbal guilt trip and engaging in flat-out subterfuge.”

  Grasping the wheels on his chair, Alejandro maneuvered himself around sharply.

  The move jostled Lulu, and she grumbled in her sleep, rubbing her nose on his T-shirt.

  He shushed her with a few gentle pats, before lowering his voice to a harsh whisper as he glared at Anamaría. “What the hell has my mother done now?”

  Chapter 6

  Fifteen minutes ago when she had knocked on the Mirandas’ front door, Anamaría had told herself to hand Señora Miranda’s phone over to Alejandro’s abuela and leave, then send out an SOS to her brothers for advice on how to disabuse both mothers of their over-the-top matchmaking shenanigans.

  But after they exchanged hello cheek kisses, Alejandro’s abuela had practically dragged her inside. Seconds later, Anamaría found herself being pushed toward the enclosed lanai leading to the back patio.

  “Lulu will be very disappointed if you don’t go see her,” Abuela Julia insisted.

  Guilt trips . . . had to be a skill Cuban mamis learned during pregnancy. And mastered throughout their kids’ lives.

  One look at the determined glint in the older woman’s eyes and Anamaría caved. A little Lulu hug to brighten her day, a polite take care of yourself to Alejandro, and she’d be on her way.

  Only she had peeked through the sliding glass door and discovered the two of them napping. Alejandro’s lanky frame hunched over his niece. His arms wrapped around Lulu’s tiny body in a protective embrace. Their dark heads and bronze skin tones so similar, they could easily be mistaken for father and daughter.

  It wasn’t a leap for her to wonder, if she and Alejandro had stayed together, would they have a precious little girl or boy of their own by now? Maybe two?

  Dangerous territory for a woman who’d recently admitted to herself that she had subconsciously allowed their breakup and the ease with which he had moved on from her to negatively impact every other romantic relationship she’d had since.

  “¡Vete, nena! Go say hello.” From her seat on the living room sofa in front of her telenovela, Alejandro’s abuela shooed Anamaría out back.

  Without a good excuse to avoid doing so, she had tugged open the sliding glass door and ventured into the turbulent waters of what might have been.

  She may have let her guard down a little while talking about her family, but his rudeness reminded her there was no need to bother being polite, especially when they were alone and didn’t have to pretend.

  “What happened?” Alejandro asked, his voice pitched low to avoid waking Lulu, who had settled back to sleep on his lap after his initial outburst. Drool dribbled from a corner of her slightly open mouth, leaving a misshapen dark spot on his gray tee.

  “Somehow her cell phone wound up conveniently in my gym bag after Zumba.”

  “What?” His dumbfounded expression matched her initial reaction to finding the cell earlier.

  “I know, crazy, right?” She shook her head, bemused, though also miffed. “Then she called it from the restaurant, acting all surprised when I answered, only to ask if I didn’t mind dropping the phone off here. Where, of course, your abuela insisted I come out back to say hello.”

  Alejandro jabbed a hand through his hair, mussing the black waves. She couldn’t help noticing that he had shaved this morning. The devil-may-care scruff was gone from his cheeks and angular jaw, giving him a clean cut vibe that belied the reckless glint in his eyes. The dark circles shadowing under his eyes yesterday had lightened. Maybe, thanks to the pain meds she had insisted he take as prescribed, he’d finally been able to get a decent night’s rest.

  Men and their tough-guy bullshit. She saw it every day on the job.

  “Are you kidding me?” he asked.

  “Nope. Convenient, right?” she added, bobbing her head yes at his wide-eyed shock.

  “No shit,” he grumbled. “I mean, it’s kinda genius. If it didn’t involve us,” he quickly added when she balked. “Un-fucking-believable.”

  He grimaced and cupped a hand over Lulu’s ear, like the little girl could hear him curse while she slept. Anamaría smirked as she spun away to pace out her frustration.

  “Believe it. I’ve tried being frank with my mom,” she told him. “Last night during familia dinner, I—”

  “You still do that?”

  His question took her by surprise and she spun around before reaching the end of the patio’s cement slab. Familia dinner had always been a Navarro tradition. One night a week, all of them sat down to break bread together. No excuses.

  “Mm-hmm. The night fluctuates week to week now that we’re all with the fire department. But none of us work green shift, so that helps,” she answered.

  There’d been a time when he had a reserved seat at their table. Now her older nephew filled the spot beside her.

  A wistful glimmer shone in Alejandro’s eyes. She told herself to ignore the answering pang in her chest and resumed her pacing back in his direction.

  Alejandro’s throat worked with a swallow. “That’s . . . that’s good to hear. Those dinners were always sacred to your mom. I think about them every now and then.”

  Struck by his admission, she sucked in a shaky breath and drew to another stop. “They still are. Anyway, um, at dinner yesterday I told Mami they need to quit with the matchmaking and meddling. It’s a waste of their time. And ours. I figured she’d pass that message onto your mom and they’d back off. Based on this latest maneuver, that doesn’t seem to be happening.”

  “This is crazy,” he grumbled, grabbing the right armrest and planting his sneaker on the floor to lift his hips and shift his position.

  The wheelchair creaked in protest and Lulu stirred, drawing Alejandro’s attention. Somehow in his attempt to shield her while he found a comfortable position in the chair, his left foot slipped off the plate holding it aloft. His heel dropped onto the cement slab and he yelped in pain.

  Anamaría rushed over, pushing Lulu’s overturned tricycle out of the way to hunker down at his side. “You okay?”

  “Yeah,” he grunted, waving her off, but his pinched features had her scrambling around the front of the chair to inspect the metal rings and pins.

  The muscles in his jaw tightened, Alejandro tucked Lulu closer to his chest with his right arm while he rubbed his left thigh and knee with the other hand.

  “Don’t play superhero. If there’s something hurting, keeping it to yourself can lead to problems later,” Anamaría warned.

  He scowled, either still fighting his discomfort or annoyed with her for lecturing. Probably both. “I’ll keep that in mind, when I talk to my doctor.”

  “Wiseas—”

  “Anamawía, guess what?” Lulu’s sleepy question interrupted their verbal sparring.

  Alejandro hunched forward to look at his niece at the same time Ana
maría leaned in with a smile for the little cutie. With Anamaría crouched in front of the wheelchair, her face wound up mere inches from his. This close, she caught a whiff of Alejandro’s woodsy cologne, its undertones of patchouli and citrus blending in an enticing aroma that was different, richer, than what he’d used as a teen. A tiny red scratch from his razor blade marred his tanned skin where his jawbone curved. In the past she would have teased him for rushing, then kissed it better.

  The warmth of his exhale caressed her lips, and she couldn’t stop her gaze from trailing to his mouth. Desire curled through her.

  It had been so long since she’d felt his lips against hers. Tasted what she thought was the sweet promise of a future together. The night before he’d left for Spain, when the two of them had stood on the canal seawall in her parents’ backyard and held each other. They had shared their last kiss then, though neither had known it at the time.

  Ultimately, she had stayed behind. Confused. Unsure. Pining for him. Yet convinced she needed to find herself.

  He’d gone off to a new life, easily rebounding after their breakup with that quickie wedding to a swimsuit model he met on a shoot. She had consoled herself by privately dubbing the marriage a total cliché.

  As if his betrayal was fresh, hot anger bubbled in her chest, rising to burn its way up her throat. She drew back in her crouch, intent on distancing herself from him and the insanity of craving his kiss once more. The abrupt motion made her lose her balance, and she grabbed the wheelchair’s armrest to avoid falling on her ass.

  “Wait!” Lulu’s tiny fingers circled Anamaría’s wrist. “I wanna showed you sumping. Tío Ale’s got lelephants on here.”

  The tyke dug out a slim, supersize iPad from between Alejandro’s hip and the side of the wheelchair. Her tiny pointer finger tapped the screen. It came to life with a gorgeous photograph of a giraffe casually munching on tree leaves in a field of tall, wispy, dry grass. The animal with its distinctive spotted coat stood in partial shadow, the setting sun’s rays spreading in radiant reddish-orange rays across the darkening sky and horizon.