Made In Portugal

by Ana Newfolk

  Made in Portugal

  Ana Newfolk

  Ana Newfolk

  Contents

  Copyright

  Trademark Acknowledgements

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Epilogue

  Also by Ana Newfolk

  About the Author

  Made In Portugal © 2018 by Ana Newfolk

  First Edition: June 2018

  Cover design by: Jay Aheer, Simply Defined Art

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopy, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  Made In Portugal is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places events and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Trademark Acknowledgements

  The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following trademarks mentioned in this work of fiction:

  Citroen

  Facebook

  Instagram

  Superman

  To my family and friends, you are the best cheerleaders I could have asked for.

  To my beta readers, thank you so much for your support.

  Fernanda, you are the best!

  Antonio, I’m sure you have a lot more white hairs since you met me. I can’t thank you enough for all your support, advice, friendship and your amazing editing. Made In Portugal would not be the same without you.

  Frog, you know what.

  Prologue

  David

  Portugal, August 2003

  All I could see from my position, lying on the beach towel, on my back, with my eyes closed was bright orange. I moved my eyes around under my eyelids, but it was the same all around, then a darker orange and brown for a moment until it was bright orange again.

  The sun was warm on my face, and I could feel the skin on my arms and legs tingling from the heat. Maybe we should go for a swim to cool down. While my tanned skin was used to the sun, I didn’t want to burn.

  My best friend Joel and I have spent most of the last six weeks on the beach. This particular spot was our favorite since it was the furthest away we could get from home on our own. In the last two summers, our moms have allowed us to take the small train that transported people along the thirty kilometers of continuous beach. These beaches were always a favorite with locals and tourists since it was just south of Lisbon, on the other side of the river Tagus.

  We always chose the last stop, thinking it was unlikely we’d run into anyone we knew. Not that we did anything other than sunbathing and swimming.

  Joel lives in America so at the beginning of his holidays here we always met up with friends from school and others who lived near us but after a while we just ended up doing stuff on our own. By the end of his visits we were virtually inseparable. It was as though we wanted to make as many memories to last the year until he would come back again.

  I opened my eyes only a little bit, the bright sunlight making my eyes water until I focused on the blue of the sky. There were no clouds, just blue, and all I could hear around us were the seagulls squawking in the distance and a soft giggle right next to me.

  A face appeared in my line of sight, slightly blurry at first until my eyesight adjusted and zoned in on the blue eyes hovering over me. The same face, the same eyes, that beginning tomorrow I would no longer see every day, at least for another year.

  “Não the mexas!” Joel cried, putting a hand on my shoulder so I wouldn’t move. His blonde hair flopped all over his eyes, sun-bleached and stuck together from the salt water.

  “Porquê?” I asked why.

  “Because I’m building a shell made of shells on you,” he said as though it was an entirely natural thing to do. I must have been asleep because I don’t remember feeling him placing the shells on me, and we both knew there wasn’t a chance of me staying still long enough for that to happen.

  I lifted my head slightly to see all over my flat stomach the shape of a seashell made out from the little shells collected from the sand around us. The individual rings were made out of shells from different colors and to make them distinct from each other. I was impressed.

  “Joel, I need to move. I’m burning.” I said trying to keep still, so the shells didn’t fall off.

  “But I haven’t finished yet,” Joel pouted his lips like he used to do when we were little. His shiny blue eyes looked at the shells and then at me and a small smile appeared on his lips.

  I knew what he was thinking, and he would have to catch me first. In a split second the shells were falling off me as I got up to escape the tickling attack I knew he was planning. Joel got up after me and chased me in circles on the sand, trying to catch me.

  We were both out of breath and giggling as I held my hands in front of me, and suggested we go for a swim.

  “Ok,” Joel agreed, “How long do we have until we have to get back?” he asked looking in the direction of the bag where we kept our phones.

  “I think there’s enough time for a swim. We can walk for a bit while our shorts dry out and take the train back home at the next stop.”

  Joel

  New York, Present Day

  The summer afternoon sun was shining brightly through my kitchen window, bringing out the colors of the drawings I had stuck on the fridge door. I found myself standing there remembering the class earlier this week when I told my students about where I come from, that small country on the southwest of Europe that everybody likes to confuse with Spain, Portugal.

  "Mr. Peterson, what color is the sand in Portugal?"

  "Have they got palm trees?"

  "What about ice cream? Do they eat ice cream? Ice cream is my favorite. My mommy takes me to Dairy Queen and gets me a chocolate dipped cone when I do all my homework."

  I’d asked my young students to draw a picture of something they like about Portugal based on the photos I showed them in class. What I got was an array of weird and wonderful that only the imagination of six-year-olds can conjure. Sandy beaches, castles, palm trees, sharks and even pirates.

  I loved teaching; it was a passion I knew I’d inherited from my dad, and looking at the work of my students made my heart swell with pride.

  The intercom buzzed, bringing me back to the present.

  What was I going to the fridge for? Oh yeah, food!

  Max was coming over to get the spare key to the apartment, and I was sure he’d be hungry after his shift at the hospital.

  "Time to get the coffee brewing”, I muttered to myself as I buzzed Max into the building.

  Max has been my best friend from the moment we met at school after literally bumping into each other on my first week in the new American school that was so different from th
e school I was used to in Portugal.

  Max's home life wasn't all that great, so he spent a lot of time at my house becoming more of a family member than a friend. The only difference between us was that I loved reading and had a passion for languages, something I got from my dad, while Max felt a pull towards medicine and helping people. When I started my Early Childhood studies, Max went to nursing college.

  Our made-up family of four was pretty much perfect in my eyes all the way up to the day of the tragic accident that took both my parents last Christmas. Six months later it still hits me hard in the chest every time I think of the day I found out I would never see my parents again, and more than anything wouldn't be able to hug them and feel like I belonged somewhere.

  "Hey Joebug, what's up?" Max said coming in, dropping his backpack in the hallway.

  I got stuff out of the fridge to make a couple of sandwiches and ignored his use of the nickname he gave me in high school.

  "Ooh, is that chorizo in your hand or are you happy to see me?" Max asked with a smirk and his eyebrows motioning up and down.

  "Do you want coffee?" I asked ignoring him. Max lived to get a rise out of me, and I was determined to keep my reactions neutral.

  "Hell yeah, I feel like I've been put on the spin cycle of a washing machine and still came out dripping. I love working in the ER but man it’s hard work."

  "Any interesting patients today?" My mom had worked in the Emergency Room in the same hospital with Max, and she always used to share her funniest patient stories. It became a tradition on our weekly catch-ups and something I always looked forward to.

  "This hot guy came in today with a kid that needed some stitches on his little finger. He looked very nervous, and I thought he was going to faint at the sight of blood. Unfortunately, there was no need for mouth-to-mouth resuscitation." Max chuckled but then looked down and frowned.

  “You ok?” I asked, “Have you been on any dates recently?”

  “Of course I have.” The indignation in his voice was clear. “I’m young, good looking and smart. I can get all the ass I want.”

  “You forgot modest, too.”

  I finished making up the sandwiches as the coffee maker was spewing its last drops of coffee into the pot. I loved the smell of coffee; it always reminded me of my grandmother’s house in Portugal.

  I used to joke with my mom that the blood on her side of the family was fifty percent coffee. Of course, it had been a while since I’d walked into a house that had that familiar smell of a freshly made brew.

  "Are you all set for the trip?" Max asked before taking a bite of his sandwich and bringing us back to the reason for his visit.

  "Nearly, I'm all packed, and I've got the ashes with all the documentation," I looked down at my sandwich, well aware that wasn't what Max meant, but was trying to avoid overthinking the reason for my trip.

  "Joel,” he said making me look straight at him, “How do you feel about going back? I know you're trying to avoid talking about it, but I'm worried about you."

  "I'm not sure," I admitted, "I have amazing memories of my holidays in Portugal, and I'm looking forward to seeing my grandparents and my great grandma again. I'm just nervous, I guess. What if they’re disappointed?"

  "What makes you think that? Joebug, you are the best person I know. You are fun, caring and the kids at school idolize you. I'm sure your family will love you too."

  I sighed, almost convinced but still apprehensive. I hadn’t been back for so long.

  “I don’t know, I just never thought the next time I'd see my family would be to scatter the ashes of both my parents. Before school started last year, mom and I had spoken about going back together and make a family holiday out of it. Now it'll be just me."

  "Have you got any plans while you're out there and until the fun party arrives?" Max asked with a wink. Trust him to change the subject to get me out of my mood.

  "Nah, I am sure stuff will happen, though.” I looked at the wall next to the fridge once again where there was a photo of my parents and I at Westhampton Beach; taken when I was only fifteen.

  “My parents wanted their ashes scattered around the cliff behind the church where they got married.

  I was there once, and the place is beautiful. The landscape of the cliffs is quite striking; it’s no wonder they married there and chose it as their final resting place. I wouldn't have picked a better place. Other than that it's flexible. I might rent a car. I’m thinking I might like to travel a bit, while I’m there.” I finished my sandwich and took a sip of coffee.

  "What do you think the gay scene is like out there?” he leaned closer, “Joebug, I'm counting on you to check it out before I get there. We’re both in need of a good holiday fling to relieve the stress of city life. We need walks on the beach, kisses at sunset, and lube - lots of lube.” He said punctuating each of his last words.

  I felt myself blush as a memory raced through me, and hoping Max couldn't read my expression. My apartment was close to the hospital, so Max was taking advantage of the proximity to his workplace before joining me on the last leg of the holiday. I quickly grabbed the spare keys and handed them to him.

  "Here are the keys, don't destroy this place while I'm gone," I turned to Max for a quick hug,

  "I am looking forward to spending some time with you out there, you know. It's been a while since we had time off together and I think we'll have fun."

  "We will totally rock the place, and who knows maybe even have some summer lovin' fun," Max sang with excitement heading for the door.

  Later, as I lay down on my bed, I looked at the ceiling and allowed the memories to come back to me.

  The last time I'd been to Portugal I had just turned fourteen. It was the best summer I'd ever had, and probably the best since. I had time with my grandparents and cousins, enjoyed family barbecues and spent endless days on the beach with my best friend, David.

  I hadn't thought of David for years, but the conversation with Max brought back some memories. With his brown eyes and dark hair, David was the complete opposite of my blonde hair and blue eyes, but that's where the differences ended. Just like our mothers had been best friends, David and I grew up together and were as close as two young boys could be. That is until my parents decided to live in the States because of my grandmother's failing health. The geographical distance became too much, the short time together over the summer not enough, and I wondered if one day we’d just naturally drift apart. It didn’t seem likely, especially after the day we shared our first kiss. A kiss that to this day has burned itself into my memory, if not my heart, and it had to happen twelve hours before I flew back to New York for the last time.

  With a big sigh, I prayed I’d survive this holiday, and as sleep overtook me I dreamed of sunsets on the beach, goosebumps, and dark brown eyes.

  Chapter One

  Joel

  My hands were clammy and my heart was beating off tempo, but despite my initial anxiety, I found myself looking forward to going back to Portugal. I couldn’t wait for that moment when I stepped off the plane, and the dry warmth of the summer weather to hit me. It would definitely make the long flight worthwhile.

  My family was expecting me, but I decided to make a stop before driving to my hometown so I told my grandparents I would be arriving at some point in the afternoon rather than early morning. No doubt my grandmother would gather the immediate family for a welcome dinner, and I needed some time to myself. I wasn't sure I could face the family before I had a chance to smell the ocean air and visit one of my favorite spots.

  I still remembered the semi-organized chaos of my family dinners in Portugal. I remember the long table where my great grandma sat at one end, grandma and granddad sat at the other end and everybody else randomly gathered in between.

  As a child, I liked to sit between any two of my cousins. Being an only child I wasn't used to sibling confrontation, and my placement between my cousins served a dual purpose, deflecting fights and letting myself feel as
though I also had brothers and sisters. Not that I minded being an only child. I was very close to my parents, and while the asked for sibling never materialized, I did enjoy spending time with my cousins.

  I didn't realize I'd been lost in my thoughts until the air hostess told me I could exit the aircraft.

  I never particularly enjoyed the motions of going through customs and waiting for luggage at the airport, but then again I didn't know anyone that would. I just wanted to get out of there, pick up the rental car and head off to the beach.

  As soon as I had my stuff, I navigated the crowds of newly arrived travelers in the direction of the car rental counters. I identified the correct one where a bored looking girl was staring at the computer. She looked up when I approached and immediately smiled at me. She was clearly happy to have something to do.

  “Good morning, how can I help?” She asked in strongly accented English.

  “Bom dia, I have a reservation,” I said in my best Portuguese placing the car rental confirmation on the counter with my passport and driving license.

  “Oh, you’re Portuguese.” She looked surprised.

  “Yes, I’m half Portuguese.”

  “Well, your accent is perfect.” She took my documents continuing to make polite conversation, “So, are you in Portugal on holiday? Visiting family?”