Anchored Hearts

by Priscilla Oliveras

  “Wise guy.” She smacked his thigh playfully with her bag.

  “Oye, watch it!” he complained.

  Removing her plum lip stain, she tugged the lid off, then stretched up to peer at her reflection in the mirror, moueing her lips.

  “Remind me again why I agreed to drive with you?” Her brother pressed his fingertips to his forehead as if he were trying to divine a secret message. “And how that wound up being me driving from my house, a few blocks from here, all the way to Stock Island to pick your ass up?”

  “Excuse you.” She pointed her lip stain at him. “My fine ass, thank you very much.”

  “So modest. What would Mami say if she heard you?”

  “Says the guy wearing his shirt a size too small so he can show off his hot bod.”

  Enrique flashed the cocky half smirk that had had most women, young and old, single and married, fawning at his feet from the moment his voice changed and his muscles started developing. “Hey, when you got the goods—”

  “Ay. Dios. Mío.” Capping her lip stain, she dropped it inside her minuscule purse, then gave her brother a duck-mouthed, child-please stare. “Whatever you do, promise me, you will not present this”—she waved a hand in the air from his head to his seat cushion as if to encompass all of him—“machismo or whatever you’re playing at to Natalia Peréz when we get inside. Alejandro’s really impressed with her, and she sounds like a good professional contact for him. I’ve met her once, briefly, but I would like us to impress her so it reflects well on him.”

  Enrique’s playful grin disintegrated, and he reached across the center console to cover her left hand where it lay on her chiffon dress skirt.

  “Look, I know you have Vanessa and now Sara to talk about all your girl shit, uh, stuff, with, and Luis is the listener out of all of us, but if you need to . . . I don’t know . . .” Brow furrowed, he shook his head. His obvious discomfort at the touchy-feely “stuff” juxtaposed with his need to be supportive had her bad-boy brother endearingly at a loss for words. “Vent or . . . whatever.”

  Touched by his gesture, Anamaría threw him a lifeline. “Or take a few jabs at a punching bag together?”

  “Yeah. That’s more my speed.” He winked but also squeezed her hand a little tighter, his face serious. “I don’t know exactly what’s been going on with you and Ale, and you don’t have to tell me. But just so you know, I warned him when he first got here. If he hurts you again, I will hunt him down like a dog.”

  Sappy tears pricked her eyes. “You’d do that for me?”

  “Princesa, we all know you could probably kick his ass yourself. But please, remember my ego, and just go with me on this.”

  Her more often wise-guy brother was being so sweet, she let him get away with using her dreaded nickname.

  “You’ll be happy to know he won’t be breaking my heart this time.” She forced herself to smile, better to start practicing now, as she uttered the lie she’d soon be telling everyone. Just like she had been telling herself for weeks.

  “Yes, we’ve been spending a lot of time together, but we’re both clear that Alejandro and I will part as friends when he leaves again, or when I leave for Europe on Wednesday. No hard feelings.”

  Enrique squinted at her in the shadowed front seat. Doubt shone in his dark eyes, but thankfully he didn’t argue with her.

  Down the length of Whitehead Street, city lights started to blink on as dusk neared. A rap sounded on her passenger side window, startling her. She jerked away from the door and swung around to glare at the interloper.

  Luis stood on the sidewalk, his big hands buried in the pockets of his black slacks. He ducked his chin at her in greeting, as if not realizing he had just scared the bejesus out of her.

  Beside him, Sara’s tall, runner’s figure had been poured into a bright orange fitted sheath dress that hit her mid-thigh. She sent Anamaría a wiggle-fingers wave, then tilted her head toward the intersection of Fleming and Whitehead a little farther down the sidewalk as if to ask, “Ready to go?”

  “Okay, let’s get this party started,” Anamaría said to Enrique. He stared at her for a couple beats, his gaze intent, searching for a truth she didn’t want to share. Finally, he nodded and reached for his door handle.

  Relieved, Anamaría did the same, grasping Luis’s hand when he held it out to assist her from the car. The usual hello hugs commenced, and by the time she and Sara had finished complimenting their outfits Enrique had joined them on the sidewalk. She ducked to avoid a low-hanging branch from the flamboyán tree near Enrique’s vehicle, surprised to see he had slipped on a black blazer.

  She shot him an “are you kidding me” glare for pulling her leg the entire time she’d been grilling him about being underdressed.

  He grinned, crooking his arm for her to loop hers through.

  The four of them chatted as they strolled down Whitehead, making a right onto Fleming and heading toward the gallery on Duval Street a short block away.

  Fourth of July meant tourists flocked to the island joining locals ready to kick off a long weekend of revelry and fireworks. At 6:50 in the evening, sunset was still about an hour and a half away, but as shadows lengthened along the busy streets, people headed west toward Mallory Square. The famed sunset festival would have kicked off already with street performers wowing the crowd, vendors hawking their beach-themed wares, and the breathtaking open ocean view of Mother Nature’s nightly artwork.

  Despite the allure of an island sunset several blocks away plenty of people meandered the downtown streets, popping in and out of the various T-shirt shops and stores, grabbing a bite to eat at the smorgasbord of restaurants, or enjoying a TGIF happy hour at any number of downtown watering holes.

  On the corner of Duval and Fleming, Anamaría spotted Bellísima in the one-story building with soft yellow siding and white-trimmed windows housing a row of businesses on the opposite side of the street. The gallery’s glass door was already propped open, although the event didn’t officially start for ten more minutes, and a middle-aged couple headed inside.

  As they neared the entrance, Anamaría caught site of a two-by-three foot painting canvas propped on a wooden easel in the wide front window. Swooping calligraphy brushstrokes in red paint announced: “Award-winning Local Photographer Alejandro Miranda’s Window to the World Exhibit.”

  Next to the painted sign, propped on another wooden art easel, sat an eleven-by-seventeen publicity photo of Alejandro. The full-face shot had been taken mid-laugh, joy plumping his cheeks, his eyes glinting with humor. Behind him, a cobblestone path led between two brick buildings. Sunlight glistened through the narrow pathway, practically beckoning him to follow, see where it might lead.

  Anamaría paused in front of the gallery’s window, staring at Alejandro’s image, moved by the happiness captured in that moment. Knowing him and his sense of adventure, always in search of his next great photograph, he would have snapped his picture, then turned to head up the narrow alley. Away from her.

  “You ready to go in?” Sara asked. She wrapped an arm around Anamaría’s shoulder, drawing her attention away from the publicity photo.

  She read Sara’s real question, You gonna be okay?, in the pinched look around her friend’s blue-green eyes.

  “Carlos texted about twenty minutes ago,” Luis said. “He, Gina, and the boys are already inside. I guess Alejandro invited them to come early, so he could show the boys around before things get busy.”

  Anamaría nodded, knowing the details already. Ale had asked her if she’d like to join them, but she had a special client in town for the weekend and couldn’t late-cancel on the woman. Plus, heading into Bellísima determined to be happy for Alejandro’s success, without revealing the sorrow eating away at her soul would be a helluva lot easier if she walked in surrounded by reinforcements. Sara and two of her brothers.

  “After you, beautiful,” Luis told Sara. He swept an arm toward the entrance for his fiancée to precede him.

  “Why, than
k you,” Anamaría joked, as she followed Sara inside.

  Luis shot her a wink as she passed; then he slid in ahead of Enrique, who murmured, “Age before beauty.”

  The familiar adolescent dig had her smiling, and a measure of the tension knotting her belly eased.

  Inside, Marcelo and Logan greeted them warmly. The couple handed out half-page layout maps and explained how the various collections were spread throughout the gallery. Having heard the details from Ale already, she listened with half an ear and peered around the early arrivals, noting several of their high school classmates and a group of older women from St. Mary’s. She caught sight of Gina and Carlos deeper into the open space, their boys standing in front of another photograph farther away. But she didn’t see—

  Alejandro.

  Her pulse raced when she spotted him, looking all panty-melting gorgeous in a tailored suit while talking to Natalia near the office door at the back of the gallery.

  With Anamaría’s schedule busier than usual lately and Alejandro’s all-consuming preparations leading up to tonight, the two of them hadn’t spent as much time together this past week. When they had, Natalia’s name had peppered many of his sentences.

  During their brief introduction, Anamaría had been drawn to the other woman’s confident personality. The petite brunette was professional, no-nonsense, and strikingly beautiful. Definitely a memorable combination.

  While Anamaría knew nothing was going on between Ale and the engaging art consultant, she couldn’t help but envy the time the woman had spent with him. Especially with that damn ticking clock counting down the days, hours, minutes Anamaría had left with him.

  As he spoke, Ale swiveled to face the gallery, a single crutch tucked under his left shoulder. The Ilizarov external fixator rings and pins had been removed earlier that week, so he’d graduated to a CAM boot and one crutch for added support. He’d been so restless and impatient for that moment to arrive. Complaining about the limitations, especially when it came to their fun and games. She had been equally as anxious for their removal, even though it meant he was one step closer to being ready to leave.

  Tonight, he had ditched the CAM boot rather than wearing it over the slim-fit charcoal suit pants that hugged his hips and thighs and narrowed down his legs. A crisp white button-down left open at the collar and a charcoal single-breasted jacket spanned his broad shoulders, while a pair of black brogues capped off his devastatingly dashing ensemble. His head tipped back on a laugh and her breath caught at the sight of him relaxed and happy, in his element. She wanted that for him. Had secretly prayed he could finally find that here.

  Beside him, Natalia’s smile widened, her hands motioning along with her words. Several men nearby eyed her, and Anamaría figured the combination of Natalia’s animated personality and trendy vibe was hard for them to resist. The art consultant’s outfit tonight was pretty spectacular. Her black lace palazzo pants with matching black undershorts left her shapely bronze legs in peekaboo view, and a bloodred figure-skimming sleeveless halter top tucked into the waist of her pants, the color matching the slash of red on her lips.

  Together Alejandro and Natalia moved into the open gallery area, pausing to talk to an older couple Anamaría recognized from the Miranda’s neighborhood. His abuela and Señora Miranda should be here already having arrived earlier to help set up the catering. Someone else from Miranda’s would work the event so his mom could enjoy herself, though knowing her, she’d check in with her employees.

  Ernesto and Cece, sans their little ones, walked around the partial wall in the center of the gallery. With the new baby boy at home, Alejandro’s brother and sister-in-law wouldn’t stay long, but Anamaría’s heart swelled with joy for Ale as he and his brother exchanged a back-thumping hug. Ernesto pointed at something Anamaría couldn’t see through the growing crowd, and the brothers stepped in tandem toward another partial wall that created a little nook off to the left. Alejandro’s lips moved, his hand releasing the crutch grip as he gestured toward whichever photograph they discussed.

  “You want to go say hello or start making our way around the exhibit?” Sara asked. She looped an arm around Anamaría’s waist, apparently taking her job of sticking close for moral support seriously. “Oh, my goodness, look at that one. It’s amazing.”

  Sara pointed at a stunning photograph of two nuns dressed in full light blue and white habits, about to join a mass of people who created a long line trailing into the distance. If Anamaría remembered correctly, Ale said he’d taken that one in Portugal, while participating in a pilgrimage to Fátima.

  “You just got back from New York, so you and my brother deserve a date night. Go wander. Enjoy yourselves,” Anamaría answered. She leaned close to her soon-to-be sister-in-law and whispered, “I’ll be okay.”

  “Are you sure?” Sara waited for Anamaría’s nod; then she and Luis linked hands and moved into the Cultures around the Globe area.

  Iona ambled by, and Enrique snagged two glasses of bubbly from the tray Miranda’s longtime waitress held aloft. Pride for Alejandro swept through Anamaría at Iona’s awed praise for his work. The older woman encouraged them to check out the savory appetizers, then headed off to serve other guests.

  “Who the hell is she?” Enrique whistled softly. “Coño, Alejandro’s been holding out on me.”

  She followed her brother’s intent stare toward the back of the room. “Pick your jaw up off the floor, hermanito. That’s Natalia.”

  “The art consultant from Chicago?” Surprised interest widened his eyes at the same time a sly grin curved his lips. “Hell, I woulda stopped by as soon as I got back from my training if I had known she was—”

  “Thank goodness you’ve been out of town then,” Anamaría interrupted, her gaze trained on Natalia, now deep in conversation with a portly middle-aged gentleman Anamaría didn’t recognize. Alejandro hugged his brother again and kissed Cece’s cheek, leaving them in the Nature and Wildlife area to join Natalia and the other man.

  “Come on. We’re going in.” Enrique placed a hand on the small of Anamaría’s back and downed a hefty swig of his Prosecco. “I need an introduction.”

  “She is not a random hookup, E,” Anamaría warned her playboy brother. “Please don’t muddy things for Ale. Like I told you, Natalia has great contacts that could lead to something good for him.”

  “Cut me some slack. I just want to meet her. Maybe she’d like a private tour of our intimate little island.” Enrique waggled his eyebrows like the lecherous fool he could be.

  Anamaría squinted at him in warning. His wolfish grin widened.

  She would have punched him in the arm, but they stepped apart to allow an old man in a cream guayabera and dark brown slacks to pass between them. Stooped low over his cane, he clutched the layout map in his hand, his thumb crooked over the section marked Mi Cuba. Removing a white handkerchief from his shirt pocket, he swiped at his eyes and swayed slightly to his right.

  Enrique cupped the older gentleman’s elbow to steady him.

  “¿Está bien?” E asked, pitching his voice lower to give the man a measure of privacy now that the gallery had begun filling up.

  “Sí, I am fine. Gracias,” the gentleman answered. “Lágrimas de alegría.”

  Tears of joy?

  Anamaría shared a confused glance with Enrique.

  “Be sure to visit Mi Cuba,” the older gentleman recommended. He set a trembling hand over his heart, his wrinkled face softening with nostalgia. “Recuerdos de mi isla. Tan bellos.”

  With a dip of his head, he continued toward the front door, repeating his last words, “so beautiful,” and murmuring about the “memories of his island.”

  The man’s heartfelt reaction confirmed that Anamaría had been right by encouraging Alejandro to showcase his secret photographs, despite his unease about his father’s reaction.

  Excited to share the older man’s praise with Alejandro, Anamaría elbowed her brother, signaling her intent to move on.

&
nbsp; “There you are!” Ale cried, waving his hand high above the crowd when he spotted her.

  She grinned back, a blush rising in her cheeks as his gaze slowly traveled over her. The extra time blowing out her long hair and creating a natural look with her eye shadow, plus the price of a new cocktail dress, was well worth it when she caught the unbridled desire in his eyes.

  He winked, and her stomach flip-flopped as she recalled him peeking up at her from under the bed sheet with that same naughty expression. He spread his palm up and let his gaze quickly dart about the space as if inviting her to look around with him before his gaze came back to rest on her, his face alight with wonder.

  You did it! she mouthed, grinning like a fool, giddy with glee that his youthful dream was now a reality. Her heart singing with elation over sharing this momentous occasion with him.

  The portly man in the cream business suit who’d been speaking with Natalia had already started edging away by the time Anamaría and Enrique reached them.

  “Let me know which offer you want me to book first. As your agent, I say Napa. But it’s your call. Great job here, you two.” He circled a pudgy finger in the air, indicating the showcase. “I’m out. Shoot me a message.”

  “I will. Hold on a sec, Robert.” Alejandro clasped the guy’s shoulder while turning to include Anamaría and Enrique in their circle. “Let me introduce you to my . . . uh, to two friends of mine. Anamaría Navarro and her brother, Enrique, one of my old partners in crime growing up.”

  As she shook hands with Alejandro’s agent, Anamaría prayed her polite hello smile didn’t mimic her wavering heart at Alejandro’s stumbling introduction.

  Had he started to say something else? Call her something else? Or had he simply realized that their relationship, as it stood now, didn’t really have a label suitable in a professional setting?

  Friends with benefits? Temporary lovers?

  Or what was the latest term she’d heard from a rookie at the station? Situation-ship.

  She bit the inside of her lip to stop a denial from slipping out.