by Tia Louise
His lips press into a line, and he releases my hand. “We’ll release that story to the past.”
“When I get back, we’ll go for a drink.”
“I’ll have the family here. We’ll have a party.”
“Put it on the calendar for March.”
He nods, and a ghost of a smile curls his lips. “Our family will reunite.”
“What’s left of it.”
I’m pulling into the private parking lot for chartered planes. My bags are checked through, our flight plan has been filed, and I’m aching to be in my seat and in the sky.
Even a few days feels like too long now, and I can’t wait to see how much progress the workers have made.
Inside the Gulfstream G3, a lone flight attendant helps me with my carry on. “Welcome, Mr. Dring. I’ve got whiskey or beer—”
“I’ll have a scotch if you have it.”
“Of course.” She nods, moving to the front of the small plane. “The captain said as soon as you’re in your seat, we’re clear for takeoff.”
Easing out of my blazer, I put it on the chair across from me and take a seat. “Let’s go.”
Four hours later, I’m in a car headed out of Cuidad Victoria, northwest towards the rising peaks of the Sierra Madre mountains.
My phone buzzes on the seat, and I glance at the face. The words sit on the screen, and I start to smile.
He orders a beer and a mop.
While I was waiting for the car to come around, I’d sent a text. A skeleton walks into a bar…
The road grows narrower and turns to cobblestones as I enter the Villa de Santa María de Aguayo. Colorful houses rise in layers along the foothills of the mountains.
It’s exactly as she described it, exactly as it was when I left two days ago to settle matters with our families. I approach the ranch house, which is in the in the process of restoration, and warmth spreads across my stomach when I see her.
Angel stands on the front porch beneath a strand of yellow twinkle lights. She’s in a thin cotton sundress, and her feet are bare when she walks to the top of the porch steps.
Stepping out of the car, I pause a moment to take in the beauty of her waiting for me. Her stomach is just starting to show the smallest baby bump.
I grin, and she blinks quickly, her cheeks flushing. “Did you miss me?”
“I always miss you when you’re gone.”
Closing the door, I leave my bags for later. It’s a beautiful night, and my lady is looking at me like I’m the best thing she’s ever seen.
She’s the best thing I’ve ever seen, and I want her in my arms.
32
Angel
“Tell me about my brother. What did he say?”
The white sheets on our king-sized bed are rumpled from our love-making, and we’re surrounded by sheer mosquito netting. Workers have finished this half of the house, and it’s like a luxurious resort. Through arched windows, we can see the purple peaks rising in the distance during the day. At night, the moon shines overhead, bathing us in silvery light.
Deacon’s head rests against my chest, and he smooths his palm over my growing belly. “She’s getting bigger.”
The warmth in his voice makes my chest squeeze. I reach down and trace my fingers through his hair. “We don’t know if it’s a girl yet.”
“She’s a girl, and she’s going to be as beautiful as her mamma, with a cute little dimple at the top of her cheek.”
“Is that so?” I rise up on my elbows to look at him, but a sharp pain makes me drop quickly onto the mattress again. “Ouch.”
His head pops up. “What happened?”
“Just forgot I’m still healing.”
After the surgery to remove the bullet from my shoulder-blade, I spent a month wearing a tight bandage from my neck to my elbow, while the bullet wound in my shoulder blade healed. Since graduating from that, I’ve been doing physical therapy, but I still have to work on the muscles of my right side.
Deacon frowns, shifting his position so he’s behind me, cradling my upper body in his arms with his palms never leaving my stomach.
It’s like since almost losing us, he never wants to be far away. He even complained about returning to Plano for two days while he discussed his plans with Winnie then completed the transaction with my brother.
I give him another nudge with my elbow. “Tell me what happened.”
“Winnie thought it was overkill. She actually surprised me—she took her father’s side, like he was the victim and what he did was justifiable.”
“That is unexpected.” We’re quiet while I consider this angle. “I’d think the woman who charged out of her house brandishing a double-barrel shotgun and ordering my brother off her property would be a bit more understanding of her mother’s predicament.”
“Tell me about it.” He kisses the top of my shoulder, and I melt into his firm chest. “I guess she knew her father better. We had that in common—her mother died when she was young.”
“I never knew that.” Tracing my finger along Deacon’s forearm, I can’t help thinking if what happened to me could possibly fuel his over-possessiveness now. “We all lost our mothers young.”
His arms tighten around me, and his voice has an edge. “We’re breaking that chain.”
Turning my head, I kiss him slow. I don’t want him worrying about me. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“No, you’re not.”
Our eyes meet, and our love burns so strong.
“Tell me about my brother.”
“He’s alone in that big house.” Deacon exhales heavily. “I felt kind of bad for him.”
“You’re kidding.” I twist around to look at him again, and his eyebrows quirk.
“I did.”
“I hope you told him it’s his own damn fault.”
He pulls me into his embrace again, positioning me so his hands can slide over the baby. “I told him we should get together sometime for a drink. He suggested a party for the whole family at his place in March.”
My brow furrows. “March?”
“I suggested March—nine months from now.”
“Oh…” I shake my head. “I’ll probably need an extra month to be on my feet again.”
“We’ll change it to April.”
We’re quiet, looking out the arched windows, listening to the hum of insects in the night, the croak of frogs. I’m thinking about being here, in my favorite place with him. It’s what I’ve always wanted.
“You fixed it.”
“Hm?” Sleepiness has entered his tone. “What’s that?”
“You said you’d fix it. I said some things couldn’t be fixed. But you said they could, and you did.”
His face moves into my hair, and he inhales deeply. “We fixed it. We all gave a little.”
“But you gave the most.”
“And I got the most in return.”
Reaching over my shoulder, I cup his cheek, holding our faces together as I close my eyes.
Once I thought being in Deacon’s arms was like diving off a cliff into a pool of wonder and happiness. Now I realize those were little girl fantasies, and while they’re still true, it’s so much more than that.
Being in Deacon’s arms means being supported by a partner who will fight for me, who will hold my hand when I have to fight, who will wait for me when I need some space, and who won’t give up until I’ve slain my monsters.
Together, our love is healing. Our love is creative and pure. Our kisses are reckless, but they’re not irresponsible. We’re wild and free, like the horse in my painting. Our spirit is groundbreaking and revolutionary, brave enough to heal the wounds of the past and forge a future of unity.
My hand is over his on my belly as I drift to sleep with these visions in my mind, as I plan my next painting, as I take my next step into a new world.
The peaks of the Sierra Madre are tipped in golden light, and a mist surrounds the mountain tops. I slipped out of bed at the break of dawn with my camera to capt
ure the light streaking the ripples of mountains, the gleaming off the sunrise on the colorful houses dotting the foothills.
It’s a warm morning, and I’m in a thin cotton dress, barefoot as I walk along the stone pavement leading up the hill from our house into the scrub bushes and banana trees.
A month has passed since Deacon returned. The workers have finished updating and basically transforming my mother’s house into a modern villa. Deacon took the lead in making sure we could divide our time here and not lose contact with our family and business back home, but he allowed me to maintain the elements I loved so much growing up—the rustic décor and open-air patio, the large porch where we can sit and listen to the children playing or the birds singing. The vivid colors, open windows, stone floors, and twinkle lights tracing the arches of the high ceilings.
My mother’s spirit is alive in this place, and I’ve hung her pictures alongside my paintings throughout. Satisfaction warms my chest when I see their complimentary nature. She was one end of the spectrum, and I am the other.
A flutter in my stomach draws my attention, and I slide my palm along my stomach. “I hear you, little one.” I whisper. “You’re a part of this. You’re going to make your mark in this world.”
“Talking to yourself already?” The deep voice draws my attention, and I look up to see my brother standing at the top of the path.
His arms are crossed. He’s dressed in dark jeans and a short-sleeved shirt, but he does something wholly new. He smiles as he walks to where I’m standing, and when he reaches me, he pulls me in for a hug.
“You’re early. Are you by yourself?” I hug him sideways.
“I don’t like those little planes.” He puts his arm across my shoulder, and we walk slowly towards the house. “How are you feeling, mija?”
Exhaling softly, I look over the garden, where an arch has been assembled on a rise with the mountains in the distance. “Ready to be a bride.”
“It’s a good day for a wedding.” His voice is warm, calm, and I think my brother is on a journey to peace.
I think it started the night I was shot, and we decided the violence had to end.
“Your cousin’s worrying herself sick.” He shakes his head, reaching for the door to let me in the kitchen. Valeria and the rest of them are flying in this afternoon. “Not enough time to decorate the house, the dress won’t fit, the cake won’t be right…”
“She might be right about the dress.” I laugh, holding my stomach. “Every time I try it on, it gets a little tighter.”
“La Sierra Madre.” My brother muses, looking out the open window.
Holding out my hand, I clasp his. “I’m glad you’re here. She would have wanted you to be here.”
He gives me a tight smile. “I want to believe that.”
“Then do.”
Hours later, I’m surrounded by family. “Wait! I missed a spot.” Lourdes is behind me with a large curling iron attempting to coax my hair into a smooth cascade of curls.
We’re in a large suite preparing for the ceremony—on the opposite end of the U-shaped house from the men. When it’s time to emerge, we’ll meet in the middle and file down the walk together to the top of the little hill where the priest will be waiting.
“My head’s too tight.” Sofia tugs on the garland arranged around a braid on her head.
“Stop it, Soph!” Lourdes catches her little hand, moving it away. “I’ll fix it in just a minute. Let me finish with Carmie.”
Valeria charges in the room dressed in a flowing, pale green dress. She has an envelope in her hand, and she’s squinting as she reads the address.
“Deacon said I had to give this to you right now.” Looking up, she freezes, clutching her hand to her chest, her eyes filling with tears. “Oh, Carmie! You are so beautiful!”
My eyes heat at the sight of her unshed tears, and Lourdes shoves a tissue in my hand.
“Stop!” she cries. “No tears until the ceremony.”
“I’m not crying.” Sofia tugs on her garland. “My head hurts.”
“Come here.” Lourdes lifts her onto a chair and starts rebraiding her hair.
“What’s in the envelope, Ma?” Lola sits on the purple chaise at the foot of the guest bed.
“Oh!” Valeria, takes the business-sized envelope from her chest and holds it to me. “I don’t know. Deacon saw it and said it couldn’t wait. He wanted to give it to you himself, but—”
“It’s from the Palladium gallery!” My hand goes to my chest as my breath disappears.
“What’s that?” Valeria watches me worried as I sink to the bed in my strapless ivory gown. “Careful with your skirt.”
She arranges the full chiffon skirt around me, but my entire focus is on the thin envelope in my trembling hand. “They award the Arthaus residency…”
“Oh shit!” Lourdes cries, and Valeria pinches her arm.
“Language!”
“Sorry! Sorry, Sofia.” My bestie dashes to my side, watching me with huge eyes. “Do you need me to open it?”
“What’s the Arthaus residency?” Lola tugs the skirt of her pink chiffon gown higher so she can scoot to where I’m sitting—where I’m having a mini panic attack.
The baby moves in my stomach, and I slide my hand over her in a soothing way. “It doesn’t matter…” I say softly, doing my best to calm my racing heart. “Whether I got it or not, it doesn’t matter.”
“Give it to me.” Lourdes holds out her hand, and I pass it to her.
She rips the flap open and takes out the ivory sheet. A rectangular scrap falls as she does, but my eyes are fixed on her expression, waiting to see if it changes.
“Dear Ms. Treviño, We’d like to thank you for applying for the annual residency offered by our gallery…” Lourdes reads in a speedy monotone, and I feel like I’m going to throw up. “We believe this was our most competitive year with the level of talented applicants being of a caliber we’ve never seen…”
“I’m going to be sick…” My voice is quiet, my mouth dry.
“Oh no!” Valeria dashes to the bathroom and grabs the small trash can. “Don’t get it on your dress.”
“After much careful consideration and two rounds of voting…”
My mind is already finishing the sentence… I didn’t get it…
“We’re delighted to offer you this year’s Arthaus residency!” Lourdes screams the final words, and I’m pretty sure my heart stops. “Please inform us whether you intend to accept this award by Monday, June…”
She continues reading, but I can’t hear for the roaring in my ears. My eyes are flooded, and Lola is bouncing on the bed with Sofia beside me.
Valeria has her hand on her heart and tears in her eyes. “Your mother would be so proud.”
Through all the commotion, I hear a soft tapping on the door, and I stand, moving my dress around my feet so I don’t trip in my haste.
Deacon is on the other side of the patio door waiting. I can see his tall form and the darkness of his suit through the sheer curtain over the glass separating us. “Did you get it?”
“I got it!” I cry, my voice wavering as Lourdes hands me a tissue.
“Yeah, you did!” He laughs, and I want to rush into his arms.
“Deacon! What on Earth?” Winnie rushes up from the patio. “Shoo! You can’t see the bride before the wedding.”
“Then tell them to start it now. I need to hug my girl.”
I’m behind the door with my eyes closed, laughing and holding my stomach, my face lifted to the ceiling in sheer gratitude. “I can’t believe it.”
“I can.” Deacon’s voice is warm. “Meet me at the arbor, and I’ll show you how proud I am.”
The music starts, and Winnie rushes into the room. She’s the only one not dressed in pastel chiffon. Her dress is a straight, navy silk. “Everyone ready?”
“One last thing.” Lourdes dots my face with powder as the other girls line up.
“My heart’s beating so fast,” I whisp
er.
Our eyes meet, and hers fill with tears. “It’s all happening.”
She gives me a quick hug then lowers my veil, arranging it around my shoulders before she goes to the door to walk down with Winnie, who we unconventionally put on Deacon’s side.
Lola walks down with Sofia, who also sprinkles petals on the stone pavers.
I touch Valeria’s arm before she steps out to meet Uncle Antonio. “See, we didn’t even need decorations.”
She gives me a squeeze. “Look what you did. You healed us.”
“I’m glad I broke my promise.”
“Me too.” Shaking her head, she steps into the courtyard as the string quartet continues with Pachelbel’s Canon.
Beto steps to the door, peeking in the room. He’s dashing in a black tuxedo, his dark hair swept back from his intense face, dark scruff on his cheeks.
“Ready?” I turn, and his expression goes from startled to proud. He exhales a soft whistle. “You look beautiful, Sis.”
Warmth settles in my chest as I reach for his arm. I’m no longer a child.
The sun is setting behind the mountains, and the sky is painted in the colors of twilight, the colors of my mother mixed with the colors of my soul.
We step out into the courtyard, and he looks up at the horizon. “Our mother’s mountains.”
“She’s here with us.” I whisper, tightening my hand in his arm as the music changes to the Bridal March.
Deacon turns to face me, and when our eyes meet, my head gets light.
He stands in front of the priest, blue eyes smoldering with love and lust and pride. My brother passes me to him, and he leans in whispering, “You take my breath away.”
My hand is on his arm, and my body vibrates with so much happiness.
The priest guides us through our vows. We discussed writing our own, but in the end, we decided to go traditional. Everything else has been so untraditional, this felt like an easy choice.
We only omitted the part where the bride is given away. As hard as we worked bringing the family together, we decided to keep it that way.
With the vows recited, the priest holds his hands over our heads and pronounces us man and wife. Only one thing is left.
