by Lisa Samson
“I love oysters,” said Nina.
Eduardo reached for a bowl and handed it to Veronica. “One time I dove into this river on our ranch in Mexico.”
How I miss that ranch!” said Manuel. “
José clenched his fist. They’d given up so much for his career.
Eduardo was on a roll, however. He loved to spin a story, and this he did while they passed around the bowls and platters and filled up their plates. “When I dove in, my legs were sticking out of the water and my whole head was stuck in mud. I found out the river was only three feet deep.” He nodded, earnest. “Manny had to come to my rescue and pull me out by the legs. When he pulled me out, an oyster shell cut my arm.” He pulled up the sleeve on his shirt to expose a thick white snake of a scar that traveled from his wrist to his elbow. “Seventy-seven stitches. If I would have moved my arm inches to the right, this scar would have been on my face. And beautiful Veronica wouldn’t be here.”
“Why wouldn’t I be here?” she said.
“Because . . . I wouldn’t be as handsome.”
Laughter rose up to bounce off the ceiling, descending back down upon them.
Manuel turned to Maria. “At this pace, I’ll never be a grandfather.”
Eduardo seemed bent on controlling the conversation. José knew there wasn’t much he could do about it, so he relaxed and ate his family’s good cooking.
“Anyways, Nina,” Eduardo said. “I heard Manny fired you because you were late.”
“Eduardo,” José said. So much for relaxing.
“And you!” Eduardo pointed at José. “You walked out on him today?”
Manuel turned to Maria. “What’s he talking about?”
“How Manny fired the girl.”
Manuel’s voice dropped and he focused on his youngest son. “Don’t start . . .”
But Eduardo was still in charge of the show. “He fi red me too! Before I even started working.”
Maria wiped her mouth. “You never showed up to work.”
Eduardo waved a hand. “Manny needs to learn how to cook anyway. He’s too busy cracking the whip like El Jeneral . . . El Jeneral . . . up on his fine horse . . . There should be a statue of him up in front of the restaurant!”
Maria shot him a warning look. “You should take Manny as an example. He’s worked hard all his life. He started from zero and look where he is now . . . unlike you.”
Now, maybe that would put the little man in his place. José didn’t dare to break into the grin he felt.
The food and the wine did their job as everyone ate the sizzling oysters and rice and fresh salads of mango and avocado and jicama. And José felt a pride in being a part of this family, these people gathered around. True, they were no longer in their homeland, but they were connected to it enough to bring pieces of it along.
Maria set down her fork and dabbed at her lips with a napkin. “I normally don’t share this, but in the early years of our marriage we couldn’t have children. We tried . . . we tried hard. We tried everything, but—”
“Mama,” Eduardo broke in as expected. “Don’t mention such things in front of the children.”
José’s heart hurt for him a little as the joke fell fl at, and in front of the fair Veronica.
Maria continued. “And then, when we were about to give up, one of Manuel’s cousins back in Puerto Rico, a social worker, called us, and before we knew it, we had adopted this beautiful baby. He was not even three years old . . . a really precious boy.” She smiled at Nina, her eyes locking into the gaze of the young woman. “I think the only difference between my three sons is the way Manny came to us.”
Nina looked at José as if to ask if he’d planned this.
No. No, he did not.
But he would have if he had that kind of power. And he had a feeling his mother would speak the words he could not.
Nina walked around the perimeter of the room, mouth open. She’d never guessed this about José. How did he keep this from the staff ? And Manny? Obviously the man could keep a secret as well.
Nina had never seen so much soccer paraphernalia gathered in one place. Framed photos inched out almost all the wall space in Manuel’s study; they served as a timeline of José’s career from boyhood teams all the way up to pro. And trophies, and ribbons, and plaques. Almost too many to count. Now, she didn’t have this many trophies in her room at home, but she was no sloucher in the dance competitions. She had done all right.
Truth was, she barely recognized José in those shots. Truth also was, if it had been that José who cooked in the kitchen at El Callejon, she’d have gone after him well before Pieter. No beard. A visible confidence exuding in every shot.
She hugged her arms and had to chuckle. What was she thinking? A professional soccer player interested in the daughter of a school uniform salesman from Philadelphia?
Even now, bushy bearded and haunted, José had no eyes for her whatsoever. She didn’t need the complication in her life to be sure, but it would have been nice to think he at least found her attractive.
Like she needed that kind of baggage right now along with her own two-ton suitcase. No thanks.
Still, the exhilaration on José’s face as he was captured midkick by a photographer brought a smile to Nina’s lips. She’d like to see him look like that again, and in that moment, she somewhat understood the sadness his parents must have felt at the change in the son they loved so much.
Perhaps there wouldn’t be a return to that carefree José of years ago, but couldn’t someone help him break free from his chains?
Nina felt for Lucinda’s mother, but the fact remained, she’d let her three-year-old daughter out of her sight. Yes, José was partly to blame, and yes, a mother will make mistakes, some with ramifications to last a lifetime. But a mother was always responsible for her flesh and blood.
Nina realized her hands were pressed protectively across her abdomen.
Manuel walked into the room.
He pointed to the picture Nina was looking at. “This is Francisco. He used to be José’s manager when he played fútbol.”
“Soccer?” Nina asked, clueing herself in to the word fútbol.
“Soccer, sí. You like soccer?”
“I don’t play soccer. Do you play?”
“Sure I do. Every Thursday and Saturday. They call me the old man, but I can keep up with all the kids.”
Now, that one Nina couldn’t translate at all, so she just grinned that didn’t-understand-a-word-but-I’m-smiling because-I-like-you-and-don’t-wish-to-offend-you smile. He pointed to another picture, apparently not offended.
“José—that was his professional debut.”
“I’m sorry.” That one she could figure out.
Manuel sat down on a leather chair. “He never played again after the accident. No more soccer. Sit.”
He held out a hand, and Nina sat beside him on a matching seat. “The accident cost him his passion, and without it you can’t play soccer.”
Nina only understood a few words: “soccer,” “accidente,” and “passion.” Add two and two together and she could figure it out.
Maria entered the room and sat on the arm of her husband’s chair. Nina couldn’t imagine such an intimate relationship. If she felt that way about Pieter, there’d be no decision to make. She’d be an idiot not to have the baby.
Maria took her husband’s hand. “He’s saying you can’t play soccer without passion.” She smiled at Manuel. “This man never wanted to learn English in his whole life, have you?”
“Noooo . . .”
Nina nodded. “I understand what he’s saying.”
Maria said, “He understands a lot more than you think.” She caressed him with her gaze. “Don’t you?”
“What are you saying?”
You don’t like to speak English, but you understand “everything.”
“My family speaks Spanish.” He shrugged. “If you want to speak to me, speak Spanish.” He smiled; clearly he was speaking ton
gue in cheek.
Nina stood up. “Well, it’s getting late. I need to get back to the city.”
Manuel said, “No, you, José, stay here.”
“You see how he speaks English?” Maria said. “He doesn’t because he’s lazy! But he’s right. You should stay here and rest.”
“Thank you, but I really can’t.”
Manuel nodded. “It’s been a pleasure. This is your home.” He stood up and kissed Nina on the cheek. Tears filled her eyes. She knew he meant what he said.
“Gracias,” she said.
“Take care.” Maria hugged her, a warm, mother’s hug.
Eighteen
Eduardo and Veronica were staring at each other on the couch when Nina walked into the room.
“Are you looking for José?” Eduardo asked, refusing to remove his gaze from Veronica.
“Yes.”
“In the carport.”
“Thank you.”
She headed through the kitchen where Juanita loaded up the dishwasher. Juanita smiled and nodded, and Nina wondered how long she’d been working for the Suvirans.
Out the back door, past the wheelbarrow and gardening tools, Nina already felt at home, as if this was something she’d been waiting for. She was smart enough to realize everyone felt that way entering this home, but the biggest question remained as to why Manny and José ever wanted to leave it.
Eduardo was smarter than they were giving him credit for, obviously.
She remembered talking with her dad one day about leaving home, asking him why children, if they loved their fathers as much she loved hers, ever left home?
“Because good parents teach their children how to stand on their own two feet, and they tell their children they love them so much and prove it, the children know no matter how far they wander, they will always have a place to come back to, a place to be loved and accepted.”
She’d hugged him then and said, “I’m never going to leave you anyway, even if you are a good father.”
And she never did. His death made sure of that.
She stepped into the carport.
José leaned against the hood of the old car and stared at the beat-up soccer ball. That little boy, David, never got it back. So much for my promises.
And yet. He’d eaten with his family, spent the day with Nina, even stood up to Manny not just for his own sake but for the sake of the entire kitchen staff.
That wasn’t so bad, was it? That was something, yes?
It seemed a little crazy, perhaps. But his grandmother used to tell him, quoting her favorite person, Mother Teresa, “It’s not that we must do great things, but that we do small things with great love.”
Nina’s shadow fell across the cement floor, the sinking sun low behind her. He couldn’t see her face against the golden backlight, but he could hear her voice. “I need to go home.”
He just couldn’t bring himself to end the day. His vision caught two lanterns his father made for walking the beach. “Let’s go to the beach and then we can go from there.”
He tossed Nina the ball, and in that motion, he felt like he was letting something go. Yes, Nina needed a friend, but he needed to trust her too. Maybe he needed a friend even more than she did. Heaven knew he’d been alone for so long.
“Sure,” she said.
A few minutes later, carrying lanterns that looked like illuminated boxes, one white, one red, they made their way into the grapy dusk.
Nina held up her lantern. “I never saw anything like this before.”
“My father made them. They say he has too much time on his hands. But after he sold the ranch”—José shrugged—“he needed something to do, and Mama wanted him out of her way around the house.”
“I just adore him. He is so great. Is he from Mexico?”
The wind blew over them as they stepped onto the creamy sand.
“No. My father’s from Puerto Rico and my mother’s from Mexico. So I’m . . . eh . . . RicoMex.”
She laughed.
“It means half Puerto Rican, half Mexican.”
“It’s all the same to me.”
José realized he knew so little about her. Obviously not Hispanic, what type of family did she come from? Irish? German? Or had they been over here so long they were simply typical Americans with nothing left of their old countries in them?
He always thought that was sad.
She took off her sandals and scooped them up to dangle from her fingers. “So, is it always like that? I mean, did you grow up with . . . that?”
“What?”
“Joy? Love?”
Her description of his family made him smile. “That’s nothing. I mean, when my whole family gets together, it’s really amazing! The talking, the food, the music, the dancing—salsa, meringue—wow. It’s beautiful.”
“I’ll bet it is.” Her voice lowered, fraying around the edges into something softer, maybe, he thought, filled with a little hope. “How does Manny feel about people knowing he’s adopted?”
“To us that doesn’t make a difference.”
“You’re seriously lucky. You have a good family.”
“Yeah. What about your family?”
“My dad passed away when I was twelve. No brothers or sisters. So that’s my family.” She rubbed her arms.
“Here.” José took off his chef ’s jacket and put it around her shoulders.
“Thank you.”
They continued down the beach, gulls circling overhead, the sun below the western horizon now.
“What about your mom?” he asked.
“After Dad died, she just kind of sat on the couch with the remote and never moved on. I raised myself . . . and her.” She pulled the jacket tightly around her. “I’m tired of always having to deal with something, José. Just once, I wanted something to work the way I planned it. Just once.”
“How was it dealing with your dad’s death?”
“I don’t know. It’s hard for me to remember what the twelve-year-old me was feeling. I think that my mom took it so hard, I didn’t get the chance to grieve in a healthy way. It was like I had to take care of her, you know? At first, it brought us closer together, but I eventually turned into the typical teenager and all that grief turned into resentment.”
“One night I got stoned out of my mind and went home. I walked into her room, and there she was, watching TV. I looked at her and started laughing at her, pointing right in her face. She just sat there, taking it all without a word, and I started to cry.”
Nina wiped the mist from her eyes, her voice beginning to shake. “I told her how much I missed my dad too; I knew she was in pain, but I was in pain too.” Tears rolled down her cheeks. “It was like, for the first time, she saw me again. She stood up and hugged me.” She paused, gathered herself, and said, “Then I got the munchies.” She exhaled a laugh. “We ate some doughnuts and talked about him all night. The next morning I woke up and felt like I had a mom again. But . . . it was too late.”
They sat down together on the sand. Nina leaned back on her hands. José, feeling the fatigue of the day and realizing that tomorrow, knowing Manny, would be even more exhausting, lay down beside her. He handed her a seashell.
“When I was about eighteen,” she continued, “my mom held out her hand and waved her wedding ring at me—this tiny stone my dad probably got at a pawn shop.”
Nina wiggled her fingers like she was showing off an engagement ring. “She said, ‘You need to get you one of these.’ ” She looked down on her hand, so devoid of a wedding ring. José had never seen something so stark. “She loved him so much she never took that ring off. That’s what I want, José. I want to bring a child into this world out of love, with a man who’s gonna take care of us. I don’t have that. I can’t have this baby and watch it suffer with me. Now you’d make a great father, José. You just need to meet a little number like your brother Eduardo has. First you need a little cleanup, though. What’s with the beard?”
José rolled his eyes. �
��We’re talking about you, Nina. You’re not being fair to yourself. You’d make a great mother.”
“Yeah, I had such a stellar example.” She picked at her skirt. “Someday . . . not now.”
She stared at the waves. “You know . . . what I’m carrying inside me is not that little girl. It’s not that little girl to be reborn.”
“I know,” he whispered.
“I don’t know what I’m doing.” She wiped her eyes. “I’m gonna need a friend next week.”
Helplessness covered José completely. So he said nothing as she sniffed back the tears, hoping that being there was enough for now.
He put an arm around her and gathered her to his side.
The sun had set hours before, and the chill of the spring evening settled in her bones, the gentle pounding of the surf caressing her ears freely, because the surf would continue to come and come and come, and she didn’t have to do a thing but enjoy it. Beside her, José breathed deeply in sleep. She didn’t want to go back to the city, not yet. The city would always be there. But today had been special. She snuggled up close to him and closed her eyes there against his warmth. He was a mystery, but he knew how to love in a way that went beyond sex and the gooey feelings of a romance book. She hadn’t felt love like this since the day her father left for work and never came home.
Maybe it was time to move beyond that.
The truth of it hit her.
Maybe this baby was a chance to do something right for a change. To stop looking for her dad and become like him instead. Not perfect, but someone who tried to do the right thing.
“But I’m not ready to be a mom,” she whispered to the waves.
Just be for now, the waves whispered back.
It did seem as if the new morning held more promise than the old one. But the waves were gone and the only rhythm she heard was that of the train clacking along the tracks back to the city. They’d caught the first train in.
José leaned in. “Look at us. In English you say we are fish out of water, eh?”
“Yes.” They couldn’t have been more disheveled, and try as they might, they couldn’t quite get all the sand out of their clothing and shoes. And José’s chef jacket and her loud waitress uniform did nothing to normalize them along the lines of their fellow travelers. Well, it was the early train. Most of them were probably too sleepy to really care.
