Anchored Hearts

by Priscilla Oliveras

  While her mami loudly proclaimed her absolute joy that Anamaría and Alejandro were spending time together, Anamaría was lying, telling her meddling mami that Alejandro and she were simply trying to rebuild their original friendship. Facilitated by working together on her videos and photography, while she watched over his recovery exercises and occasionally chauffeured him to and from Bellísima for exhibit planning.

  The two of them were being painstakingly careful to keep things platonic when they were out in public. Not wanting to provide fodder for gossip that would inevitably find its way to one of their mothers.

  But when they were behind closed doors . . . Oooh, that was a whole different story. One she relished rereading with him every day. And night. Of course, sneaking around meant they had yet to spend an entire night together. To do so would require explaining his absence to his mom and abuela the next morning. Talk about a Cuban mami inquisition to be avoided at all costs.

  Anamaría’s Apple watch vibrated with an incoming text. Alejandro’s name flashed on the tiny screen followed by his message: SOS!

  She frowned and raised her wrist to reread his call for help.

  “Excuse me.” She pushed back from the table, rushing to explain before her parents reminded her of the no phones during dinner rule. “Alejandro just texted me an SOS.”

  Papi and Luis straightened in their chairs, eyes alert, as if dispatch had sent a Tone Out sounding through their dining room, alerting them to a 911 call.

  “Did he provide any details?” Papi asked, his question delivered in his firm Watch Commander voice.

  She shook her head as she stood.

  “Go grab your phone, nena, and call him back!” her mother cried, waving her crumpled napkin in the air as she shooed Anamaría away. “Or tap your watch. Whatever it is you do when I see you speaking into your wrist like one of those Star Trek movies.”

  Luis’s mouth twitched at their mami’s non–tech savvy order, although, much like their papi, Anamaría’s brother’s body language shouted alert, ready to race to help if needed.

  Not wanting to call Ale on speakerphone via her watch, Anamaría hurried into the adjacent living room where she’d left her backpack. No surprise, her mami followed behind her. The anxious frown and the napkin twisted to shreds in her mami’s hand kept Anamaría from grumbling a request for privacy.

  Alejandro picked up on the first ring. “Cece’s in labor.”

  She gasped, then turned, wide-eyed, to her mom.

  ¿Qué pasa? she mouthed.

  Alejandro continued speaking on the other end, so Anamaría held up a finger to stop her mom from repeating her What’s happening?

  “My dad’s holding down the dinner rush, but there’s some kind of office party, so it’s crazy at Miranda’s,” Alejandro continued, the words tumbling out of him in a rush of frazzled panic. “Ernesto’s driving Cece to the hospital, but apparently she needs my mom there, too. Something about Mami being an ab-abduedla? I don’t know what the hell she meant.”

  “A birthing doula,” Anamaría explained. “With Lulu’s labor and delivery, your mom provided emotional and physical support to Cece, similar to what’s provided by a person known as a doula.”

  Cece’s in labor? Anamaría’s mami mouthed.

  Anamaría nodded as Ale kept talking, the anxiety and stress of someone who had never experienced the wonder of childbirth before evident.

  “Sure, doula, that sounds right. The problem is, Abuela’s not over the flu yet, so they don’t want her watching Lulu and getting her sick before the new baby arrives. My mom can drop me at Ernesto’s to babysit, but alone I’m not sure—”

  “I’ll be right over,” Anamaría told him.

  His “Thank God!” on a whoosh of breath sounded through the cell’s speaker before he asked, “Are you sure?”

  As if Ale had asked her the question, Anamaría’s mom gave an exaggerated nod. She made a quick sign of the cross, then clasped her hands, her lips moving in a prayer for Cece and her unborn child.

  “Of course I’m sure.” Anamaría dug her keys out of her bag as she headed for the front door. “I’m still up in Big Coppitt at my parents’, so it’ll take me a little longer to get to Midtown. Let Lulu know not to worry, her favorite babysitter is on her way.”

  His raspy chuckle was a good sign that the poor guy wasn’t totally freaking out.

  “I’ve got a little over six weeks of spoiling her to knock you out of that number one spot. You better watch out.” The playful challenge erased the nervousness that had tinged his voice moments ago. It also reminded her of the clock ticking down their time together.

  Moments later, her papi followed Anamaría down the wooden front steps to her SUV. The motion sensor light mounted on one of the front pillars that raised their house per hurricane safety building codes illuminated them, casting long shadows over the driveway. The familiar scent of the full bougainvillea vines trailing up the stair railing sweetened the humidity-laden air.

  Her papi opened the door for her, giving her cheek a kiss before she slid behind the wheel. Instead of backing away to wave good-bye, he stood in the door opening. “You know I usually leave the meddling to your mamá. Pero ahora—but right now, I can’t hold my silence, Princesa.”

  Anamaría frowned at his serious tone. “What is it?”

  “Back then, after my heart attack, cuando te quedaste aquí.” He rubbed a hand over the center of his chest, where the scar from his open-heart surgery marked him, before repeating himself. “When you stayed here, I worried that at first it was because of me. And then—”

  “Papi, I stayed because it’s where I needed to be. It was the right decision.”

  “At the time.” He nodded slowly. His face set in the solemn, pensive expression that meant he was considering the right words of advice to offer. “Later, in the years since, I have occasionally wondered if it may have become the safe decision instead. Keeping you from something else.”

  She sucked in a quick breath, shocked by his perception. Wondering how long he had known a truth she’d only come to terms with in the last few years.

  He cupped her shoulder with a large yet gentle hand. “I have always told you, nena, anything is possible with hard work and passion. Right?”

  She nodded dumbly.

  “That goes for all aspects of your life, not only your job, Princesa. Remember that. And perhaps you want to share my advice with someone you have been spending quite a bit more time with lately, ha?”

  “Oh, Papi, we’re not . . .” She fumbled for words, unwilling to lie to her father. Absolutely certain she didn’t want to discuss the friends-with-benefits arrangement that could very well wind up biting her in the ass, either. Talk about an uncomfortable father-daughter topic.

  “It’s not what you think,” she finally said.

  He gave her shoulder a comforting squeeze. “There is no need for you to explain anything, Anamaría. To me or your mother. Simplemente, un consejo.”

  Simple advice, huh? When it packed a wallop of truth like his did, simple was an understatement.

  “Gracias, Papi. Te quiero.”

  He repeated her I love you as he gave her another quick adíos peck on her cheek and a Dios te bendiga blessing. After closing her car door, he tapped the hood, signaling the all-clear for her to back out of the driveway.

  There was nothing simple about her and Alejandro’s situation either. Papi’s claims about her past decisions were only partially true.

  Her decision to stay in Key West wasn’t a safe one. Being close to her familia, actively involved in each other’s lives, even when she complained about wanting her space. That was part of who she was as a person.

  The safe choice? If she was honest with herself, it was staying at the fire department. Continuing to work toward her pension alongside her brothers and father, choosing not to pursue the more iffy career path of nutrition and training full-time. Not turning her back on their Navarro familia legacy, like Alejandro had.

&
nbsp; She immediately halted that line of thinking. It wasn’t fair to him.

  Their situations were different. Her entire familia would give their blessing if she chose her own route. His father had not.

  But even if the rift between him and his father was healed, she had no idea whether or not Alejandro would choose to make Key West his home base. He had always felt confined here, living under what they had joked was their mamis’ microscope.

  Just as it hadn’t been fair of him to ask her to leave for good all those years ago, it was unfair for her to ask him to stay now.

  As she drove down the Overseas Highway, past the U.S. Naval Air Station at Boca Chica, she thought about her dad’s advice.

  Anything is possible with hard work and passion.

  In her case, those wise words were best applied to AM Fitness.

  They might encourage Alejandro to work at reconnecting with his father. She could pass them along and see.

  But as for her and Alejandro, no amount of “hard work” would change the fact that her close ties to their island weren’t ones she was willing to cut, while he’d shown no signs of wanting to drop anchor here in between jobs.

  They’d come full circle to where they’d been twelve years ago. Only now they were mature adults planning for their eventual separation.

  Planning, while also dreading.

  * * *

  “One more story, por favor?” Lulu begged. Her purple sheet and comforter tucked under her chin, the little tyke peered up at Anamaría with big, pleading eyes.

  How could anyone resist such cuteness?

  On the other side of the twin mattress, the three books they’d already read resting on his lap, Alejandro smirked. He probably knew she was about to cave. But really, why deny a child’s love of books, especially in this day and age of electronics?

  “Okay, one more, and then”—Anamaría tapped Lulu’s nose playfully—“bedtime. And when you wake up in the morning, we’ll have news about your new baby brother or sister!”

  Lulu’s face lit with excitement. “’N’-’n’-’n’ I can see da baby. ’N’ holded da baby. ’N’ hug da baby! ’N’ wuv da baby!”

  With each new item on her list of things she planned to do with her new sibling, Lulu’s excitement grew. Her eyes widened. Her engaging grin plumped her round cheeks, turning her into the exact opposite of a sleepy child ready for bed.

  Anamaría shared a raised-brow, uh-oh glance with Alejandro. They’d been in the throes of Lulu’s nighttime ritual for almost forty-five minutes. This after the little bugger had convinced her uncle to give her an extra serving of chocolate ice cream. Second dessert, they had called it while mugging for Anamaría’s cell phone camera with matching chocolate mustaches.

  With Lulu, he turned into such a gooey pushover. An endearing quality that inevitably stirred Anamaría’s imagination into picturing him with a child of his own. Of their own.

  Dangerous musings that had no place in their here and now.

  “’N’ I can—”

  “But first,” Alejandro interrupted his niece, tucking the edge of her lilac-colored blanket around her tiny shoulder, “you have to go to bed and get some rest. Or you’ll be too tired to hold the baby tomorrow.”

  He combed his fingers through his niece’s dark curls, the tender gesture matching the expression softening the chiseled angles of his face.

  Anamaría’s heart melted a little more as she watched his sweet interactions with Lulu. Earlier, Alejandro and his niece had sat at the round kitchen table, heads angled close, sharing crayons as they worked on a page in her Wonder Woman coloring book together. Later, Alejandro had sprawled patiently on the floor, his healing leg propped up on a decorative throw pillow, while Lulu had carefully clipped every barrette in her plastic box on top of his head.

  In high school, those selfies of him and Lulu might have been useful bribery footage. Few teen boys wanted a pic of them playing hair salon on the internet.

  Adult Alejandro, all six foot plus of gorgeous, mushy-hearted maleness of him, had already posted a photo to his Instagram Stories with the caption “This tío is #blessed!”

  “We’ll read one more,” he told Lulu, bending to place a goodnight kiss on her forehead. “Then sleep time. Deal?”

  The tip of her chin disappeared under the blanket’s edge with her nod.

  Alejandro smiled, the tenderness spreading warmth through Anamaría’s chest. He brushed a curl off Lulu’s forehead with his thumb, then ducked low and whispered to her, “Te quiero.”

  “I wuv you, too, Tío Ale,” Lulu said, her high-pitched voice solemnly sweet. Her hair rustled against her sheets when she turned her head to look at Anamaría. “Quiero leer Alma.”

  “Oooh, you want to read Alma? Good choice!” The story about a little girl who complains that her name is way too long but then in learning the story behind each of her namesakes comes to see that one day she will have her own story to tell was also one of Anamaría’s favorites. She held up the two versions of the child’s beloved book. “In English or Spanish?”

  “Both,” Lulu suggested.

  Anamaría and Alejandro laughed.

  “Your tío Ale said one book, but nice try.” Anamaría wagged her finger at Lulu, who giggled in response. “Let’s read in Spanish.”

  Alejandro shifted to lie down beside his niece. Lulu snuggled closer to him, and damn if seeing the two of them nestled together didn’t send a pang of yearning for the dream that would never be searing deep in Anamaría’s soul.

  Rubbing at the anguish deep in her chest, she prayed that it would crest, then eventually fade away like the concentric circles that formed when a fish jumped in the ocean.

  But when Lulu’s and Alejandro’s similar eyes gazed up at her expectantly, she realized with sudden clarity that this dream would probably never go away. She’d simply have to learn to live with its loss.

  “I’s weady,” Lulu singsonged.

  Overcome with love for this precious little girl and the man who would always own her heart, Anamaría opened the beloved children’s book and began reading.

  * * *

  An hour later, she and Ale lounged on the leather sofa in the living room of Cece and Ernesto’s modest two-and-one home on Seidenberg Avenue. An Amazon rainforest documentary played on the thin television mounted on the wall in front of them. Ale reclined on the buttery yellow leather cushion beside her, a muscular arm draped over her shoulders. Her head nestled in the comfortable crook of his arm, one hand at home on his chest.

  “So, the art consultant from Chicago you and Marcelo have been working with arrives . . . when?” she asked Alejandro.

  They’d been going over their respective schedules, hers busier than normal now that everything with Brandon and AllFit was speed racing.

  “Let me check again. I skimmed the message quickly while you were bathing Lulu.” He pressed a kiss where her hairline met the top of her forehead and thumbed through email on his cell.

  She closed her eyes, the contentment of them simply being here together, doing absolutely nothing other than enjoying each other’s company flooding over her.

  “Looks like Natalia gets here the second week in June and plans to stay for . . . a few days,” he summarized as he scanned the email. “Then she’ll return on the . . . where is . . . oh, here. On Monday before we open that Friday, July third.”

  “I hope I can meet her. It’ll depend on how my training schedule shakes out.” Anamaría circled a clear button on his shirt with her fingertip, then traced the material’s wavy pattern of small blue and white lines with her nail, following them as they undulated over his pecs.

  “Mmm, that feels good,” he murmured.

  Dropping the cell phone on his lap, he nudged her chin up with a knuckle, then ducked down to brush her lips with his in a featherlight caress. Once. Twice.

  Her hand fisted in his shirt, pulling him toward her as desire simmered to a low boil inside her. His mouth opened over hers and their tongues brus
hed. Languidly twisting and savoring and seeking each other. Mimicking the act her body craved.

  He sucked her lower lip in his mouth, nipping it with his teeth. She moaned her pleasure. Her hand slid down his chest, desire driving her to find his hard length straining behind the zipper of his khaki cargo shorts. Brazenly she stroked him, reveling when his hips bucked, pushing his erection against her palm.

  “God, I want you,” he groaned.

  Cradling her nape with his left hand, he devoured her mouth again. The muted sounds of the narrator droned through the room, intermingled with their moans and sighs and murmurs of affection. His palms kneaded her breasts, his fingers teasing her nipples into hard nubs straining for more of his attention.

  She broke their kiss on a gasp, desire threatening to consume her.

  Alejandro placed a soft peck on the mole beneath the right edge of her mouth, moving to drop another on the ridge of her jaw. Another at the juncture of her neck below her ear. He laved her lobe with his tongue before sucking it into his mouth. His teeth nipped at the sensitive lobe at the same time his hands languidly massaged her breasts and she grew wet with need.

  A wild animal screeched in the documentary, startling her. The light flashing on the TV screen brightened, and she was reminded of where they were. That Lulu dozed in her room down the short hall and could wander out here at any moment.

  “We should probably . . . oooh.”

  Alejandro blew in her ear again, robbing her of the ability to form words.

  The rush of warm air sent a thrill shimmying an erotic trail down to her breasts. Her nipples pebbled in response, anxious for his touch. Rational thought fled, heading out the back door in her brain.

  “Might wake up,” she murmured.

  “Hmm?”

  His teeth nipped at her jaw and she angled her head, giving him better access to pleasure her.

  Somehow a thought wormed its way back into her head. “Lulu . . . awake.”

  He froze; then, with a horrified expression, Alejandro stretched up to peer over the back of the sofa toward the hallway. “Lulu? Are you out here?”