by Becca Bloom
"Did you get any good pictures?" Mom asked.
"Yes and yes," I answered them. "I was really scared at first, but it was amazing. I want to go again."
Then I went on to the harder news: my tailbone and concussion, of which Mammy tried not to snicker.
And then, I gave them the worst news: The dead body that had caused my concussion.
I don’t know what I expected. For them to insist I come home early; for Mom to declare she’d be on the next flight down to fix everything; for Dad to say he’d get back to me after thinking about how best to proceed….
What I didn’t expect was what Mammy said, “It sounds like you need to stay another month. You can’t come home until you’ve had a proper vacation and you haven’t had that yet. Surely, you can avoid stumbling into the middle of another crime scene in that time!”
Gosh, I hoped so.
To my amazement, Mom agreed. “If not, make lemonade out of lemons and create a comic series of your adventures. Mammy showed your drawings to her dance class and they all thought it was amazing. And your father has been showing it to anyone who will stop to look.”
“You’re very talented, sweetie. I’m so happy you’re drawing again,” he said, pulling the screen to him and flashing me a smile before he returned his attention to the road.
Mom added her usual spiel, “I’m so happy for you too, honey. You know, you really must do what brings you joy now before life gets in the way and derails your hopes. I’d hate it for you to lose sight of your dreams and we all feel you’ve taken a step in the right direction by nurturing your creative talent.”
Being the entrepreneurial creative she was, Mom had never understood my desire for stability.
They unanimously agreed I should extend my stay in Ecuador. The only remaining question was: Did I really want to stay another month?
Chapter 8
I slept in the following morning, waking up with the absolute certainty that the previous day had been nothing more than a really bad dream. Until I rolled over. The stabbing pain running up and down my back and legs as I sat up in bed was my first indication that it had all been real.
My head felt heavy, but it didn't ache as it had yesterday.
Carefully standing (to the protest of every overly-exercised muscle in my body), I showered and dressed, loaded up on ibuprofen, and headed down to Sylvia's kitchen behind the restaurant. If yesterday had indeed happened, it meant that my family's suggestion to stay another month had also been real. I couldn't just decide something like that without consulting with Adi and Sylvia first. What if they were ready to have me gone? I hadn't exactly been an easy guest.
"Hey, she's up!" greeted Adi, her arms laden with plates to take out to the dining room.
"You sleep too much," complained Abuelita.
"Good morning to you too," I said, smiling at her.
"She's on vacation, Ma," Sylvia said in my defense, adding, "Help yourself to the coffee pot, Jess. We saved you some breakfast. It's under the towel on the island."
I lifted the towel to see croissants, fresh cheese, a boiled egg, and strawberry jam. Yum. Next to my plate was a fruit bowl with some bananas in need of immediate consumption laying off to the side. They gave me an idea. "Are you saving these bananas for something in particular, Sylvia?" I asked.
"No. I couldn't use them for the fruit salad, so I just set them aside until I could figure out what to do with them."
"Can I use them?"
"Absolutely." She turned over fried eggs with one hand and mixed a long spoon in a saucepan with the other.
Abuelita ditched her by the stove to join me. No doubt, she sniffed out a carb-loaded treat in her near future. It was her other superpower. "What you make?" she asked.
"Banana crumb muffins."
"I no like banana."
"Have you eaten them in muffins with chunks of chocolate and a crunchy cinnamon topping?" I asked.
She squinted her eyes. "I no like banana."
Tia Rosa dried her hands, having subdued the pile of dirty dishes in the sink. "I love banana."
After two weeks, I was familiar with the kitchen and it took no time for me to pull out the mixing bowls and muffin tins I'd need between bites of my breakfast. Abuelita would have to reserve her judgment on my banana muffins until she tried one.
Adi came back into the kitchen, looking annoyed. "Christian is sitting out there waiting for you," she told me.
"He wait. Jess make baby cakes," Abuelita snapped.
Not being interested in seeing Christian in the least, I was content with her excuse. Food before fellas.
"Did you give him a menu?" asked Sylvia.
"I tried, but he said he wasn't going to order anything."
Abuelita dropped the “baby cake” tin on the counter-top with a resounding bang. "He come to my restaurant and he no order food? Is estúpido."
Sylvia sighed. "Calm down, Ma. He'll go away when it becomes clear Jessica isn't interested in seeing him. Do you have everything you need?" She wiped her hands on a towel and joined us at the island. I’d already measured the dry ingredients into one bowl.
"Yep, thank you. There is one thing I wanted to ask you about, though. I called my parents last night." Sylvia had never made me feel anything but comfortable around her, but I was still nervous.
She raised her hands to her cheeks. "They must think we're the worst hosts ever. Did you tell them about your injuries and the murder?"
"I did.” I stopped, not knowing how to bring up my family’s suggestion. I still didn't know if I wanted to stay another month. What if they didn't want me?
Creaming the sugar into the butter, I added a generous drizzle of vanilla and cracked the eggs into the batter.
"And? What did they say?" asked Adi, biting her lips and cracking her knuckles.
Sylvia shook her head and smacked the top of the counter. "I've let them down."
"No," I was quick to reassure them. "That's not it at all. In fact, they suggested I stay for another month."
Squeals pierced my ears and I soon found myself enveloped in four pairs of arms. Even Abuelita hugged me.
"You make for me the doughnuts every day!" she exclaimed.
"No, Ma," said Sylvia, stepping back and continuing to pet my arm and hair. "With another month, she can finally go on a tour of the country and experience things she can't back home. She can finally have a real vacation."
While relieved at their reaction, I still had to ask. "That was their thinking, too. Do you mind? I mean, I don't want to wear out my welcome."
"Are you kidding? You're welcome to stay as long as you want … so long as you don't mind sharing your room with gowns and bolts of fabric," said Adi, clearly pleased.
I found that I actually wanted to accept Mammy's suggestion. "Okay, then, I'll call them and they'll change my ticket today." All my bills were set up to pay automatically, so the only thing I’d have to arrange was for my bank to send a check to my landlord. Easy.
More claps and jumps. All my uncertainty faded from me and I felt so happy, I agreed to make Abuelita two dozen doughnuts over the weekend.
One of the waitresses came in through the swinging door and whispered to Sylvia, who pursed her lips and glared through the door as she spoke.
"Estúpido," she muttered, which caught Abuelita's attention. (It was her favorite word, after all.)
"What happen?" Abuelita asked.
"Christian wiggled his eyebrows and blew kisses at a table of female tourists. Being sensible young ladies, they got creeped out and left before they could order. I don't care if he sits at a table all day waiting, but I don't appreciate him scaring off customers like that."
I pushed the batter aside and wiped my hands on the front of my jeans. "I'll ask him to go away. He’s my problem." A problem I hadn’t asked for even a little bit, but my problem nonetheless.
Abuelita slapped her arm across my stomach. "You stay. I go." She rolled up the sleeves of her button-down shirt, grabbed a stack of
menus, and headed toward the dining room.
We scrambled behind her, holding the door back just enough to allow us to watch the show without drawing attention to ourselves.
We had a perfect view of Christian's profile. He sat between the front door and the kitchen. Abuelita approached him, turning far enough to the side that we could appreciate the extra-wide smile pasted to her face. She offered him a menu, which he raised his hand up to refuse. After more discussion, he evidently felt the pressure to order something.
He couldn't see the pinched expression on Abuelita's face as she went to the counter by the cash register and grabbed the pitcher of purified water with ice cubes and lemon slices floating in it. Had he seen it, he would have ordered something more substantial than water. I held my breath and stared ahead of me without blinking, not wanting to miss any detail.
Just as she neared his table, water pitcher in one hand and menus in the other, a group of tourists entered the restaurant seeking a late breakfast. I couldn't see Abuelita's face, but I saw her hesitate as she neared the back of Christian's chair.
"Bad timing. She won't cause too big of a scene in the restaurant with new customers," whispered Sylvia.
Passing behind his chair, Abuelita whacked him on the back of the head with her stash of menus. She hit him so hard, he slid off his chair.
Looking at her accusingly, Abuelita shrugged. "I sorry. I no see big head," she said over her shoulder as she continued to the table of newcomers, setting the pitcher down and handing menus out to the customers with a welcoming smile.
"Looking at her now. You'd think she was a nice, old lady," whispered Adi.
Tia Rosa clucked her tongue. "She wonderful actress."
I bit my tongue to stifle my giggle.
Christian, recovered from his head blow, draped one arm over the back of his chair and blew kisses in the direction of the hungry, female tourists. Pulling out his breath freshener, he sprayed his mouth and wiggled his eyebrows. I had to wonder if that ever really worked for him.
I saw Abuelita's back stiffen as she saw the ladies before her look around at each other uncomfortably. When one of them made to stand, she grabbed the water pitcher, marched over to Christian's table, and dumped the entire thing over his head.
He sputtered and wiped at his face while squirming to free himself from the ice cubes.
"You come here, you no order food, and you scare the girls." Slamming the empty pitcher down on his table, she pointed out the door. "Out! If you no eat, you no come back!"
She chased him out the door, wiping her hands in good riddance and nodding her head in satisfaction as she pasted another smile to her face and squared her shoulders before entering the restaurant once again. She walked back to the kitchen to the sound of applause from the table of tourists.
We scurried away from the door before she caught us.
Without missing a beat, Abuelita told Adi, "Christian make mess at table. You clean."
Adi was in too good of a humor to balk at her order.
I focused intently on spooning my muffin batter into the greased tins, sprinkling the crumb mixture generously over the tops and trying so hard not to burst into laughter, my stomach hurt.
Sylvia's shoulders shook and she stirred the soup pot more vigorously than she needed to.
It was Tia Rosa who broke the silence. Patting her little sister on the back, she said, "Is miracle Sylvia marry. You scary lady."
We laughed openly while Abuelita grumbled and repeated, "He deserve it. He annoy me. That man Sylvia marry annoy me too."
"You didn’t like him because he refused to be intimidated by you," Sylvia replied. To me, she said, "We had to elope because of her. She told everyone he was on the run and had to flee his country. Even the judge believed her."
"And you divorce! I right! He no good," said Abuelita.
"I would do it all over again. He left me with two of the best children a mother could hope for."
Abuelita didn't contradict Sylvia, but she wouldn't admit Sylvia's ex had any redeeming qualities either.
Adi peeked through the swinging door. "The mayor is here. Shall I let him back here or do you want to come out and talk to him?"
Sylvia looked over at her stove and the pile of vegetables on the counter next to it. "See him back here. If he sees how busy we are, maybe he won't stay too long," she said with a wink.
Moments later, the man with the blindingly white smile I'd seen the day before at Dr. Montalvo's office entered the kitchen with Adi.
Opening his arms wide, he greeted each of us with noisy kisses to both of our cheeks. "Sylvia, as always, it is a pleasure to see you. I was in the area and decided to stop by to see if I can convince you to change your mind about participating in my fundraiser for the mineral pools. The artisan section is full, as is the midway, but I still have three tables available in the food section. You are the best cook in all of Baños and your involvement would guarantee success to our efforts, as well as benefit the community."
"My answer is the same as before. I'm much too busy here to do justice to a table. You’ll have to be content with my donation check. I'm sorry, Señor Guerra," said Sylvia firmly.
Señor Guerra was not one to give up easily, as suited his chosen profession. "Think of the unfortunate people of Baños who have never been able to pay the fee to enter the pools. I plan on inviting them to our grand reopening, free of charge. All members of our community should have access to the marvels of our quaint town, do you not agree?"
Tia Rosa dripped soapy water across the floor, gathering a pool at her feet where she stood near the mayor. "You say three tables?" she asked.
"Only three remain. That is correct," he added with a grave expression which communicated that the whole success of his project depended on those three tables.
"What win the person who make the more money?" asked Abuelita.
"The one who makes the most money will be featured on the news with me." Stepping closer to Abuelita, he swooped his arm in front of her, painting a picture. "Just imagine, your name in big, bold letters next to mine on the evening news for all the families in the country to see. It'll make headlines in the newspapers."
"That all?" asked Abuelita, unimpressed.
"Is that all?" guffawed the mayor. "It's free publicity for your business! Who would not want to eat at the very restaurant featured on television screens across the nation? A restaurant known for their community involvement and delicious traditional meals?"
Abuelita huffed.
"I take one table," said Tia Rosa, causing a moment of silent wonderment in the room. Tia Rosa was an expert dish-washer for a reason. She didn't know how to cook.
In a flash, the mayor pulled out a paper with a list of names written on it and popped the lid off the heavy ballpoint pen he pulled out of the inner pocket of his suit jacket. "Sign here, Señora Rosa," he said, looking around to see if anyone would follow suit.
Abuelita looked like a volcano about to blow. "You no cook, Rosa! How you do table?"
Tia Rosa handed the pen back to Señor Guerra. "You no tell me I no can cook." She pulled me to her side, looping her arm through mine and giving me the horrible presentiment that she was going to involve me whether I wanted to be involved or not. "Jessica help me." She patted my arm.
Abuelita laughed. "Jess no help you if she help me." Grabbing the list from the mayor, she smoothed it out before her and wiggled her fingers impatiently for him to lend her his pen, which he happily did.
Signing her name so hard, she pierced through the paper, she looped her arm through my other side and looked up at me adoringly. "You help me, Jess," she said, patting my arm.
Soon I became the subject of a tug-of-war between the two feisty sisters.
"I win prize and you eat the humble pie, Bertha," said Tia Rosa, pulling me closer to her.
"I make more money of all tables and tell everyone on the television you no can cook!" countered Abuelita.
"You no dare," replied Tia Rosa.
"I do dare. I the brave sister. You the soft sister."
"I no soft! I nice!"
"I nice too!"
"You no nice, you mean! I win and I tell everyone you mean on the television." Tia Rosa's horn-rimmed glasses tottered precariously on the end of her nose.
Abuelita pulled me in her direction.
I tried to tune out their words. I tried not to involve myself more than they'd already done. I widened my stance so that I didn't feel like a rag doll two cantankerous kindergartners fought over until one of them pulled off an arm. It was one thing to be asked, but quite another to treat me like nothing more than a tool.
My face burned, my heart raced, my muscles tensed, and I felt the exact moment I'd reached my limit. As Mammy would have said, “There she blows!”
Chapter 9
Pulling my arms up and out of their reach, I said, perhaps a touch louder than necessary, "That's enough! I'm not going to help either of you. If you want to insult each other, you can do it without dragging me into the middle of it."
"But you no can leave Baños. You stuck. You be bore. I help you!" said Abuelita, turning her argument around to give herself a more flattering motive. I knew better.
"She have more fun with me," countered Tia Rosa, pushing her thick glasses up her nose and leaving a blob of soap suds between her eyes. She jumped up to try to gain possession of my arm again. Like a curly, gray-haired poodle.
Abuelita played dirtier. Poking at the ticklish spot in my ribs, I flinched low enough, she grabbed my arm. “She win with me.”
That was it. I wouldn’t help either of them. Tugging my arm free and addressing the mayor, I asked, "Can I have a table of my own?"
Before Abuelita or Tia Rosa could object, he pulled out the list and handed me his pen. I scribbled my name on the last line in triumph, my hurried handwriting every bit as bad as Dr. Montalvo’s, and looked at Abuelita and Tia Rosa's frustrated faces with satisfaction.
"I hope you happy. I bury you," threatened Abuelita, poking me in the arm with her pointy finger before turning her attention to the stove top.
