Up Too Close

by Stein, Andrea K.

  “We all hate our families until we love them. And so it goes, around and around. You will learn that. Even with your own child.”

  CeCe touched her stomach and sighed. Would she?

  She threw off the duvet, pulled on a pair of sweats, and threaded her way through the narrow aisle to confront her father, standing on the deck of the sailboat, dripping wet. He’d swum to her, and the air wasn’t warm, not at all on an early Sunday morning.

  She found a musty towel and threw it to him. “Pai, you’ll catch your death of cold.”

  Zarco struck his belly making the flab shake. “I am a whale now, so I will be okay. In my prime, I was lean as a snake. Now, not so much. It all changes. Change is at the very heart of life.”

  “And I’ve changed,” CeCe said. She threw on one of her mother’s old wool coats over her T-shirt and sweats. “I don’t go to church anymore.”

  “But it’s Festa do Divino Espirito Santo. And you have to go to church. You are Catholic. Once Catholic, always Catholic.”

  CeCe threw her hands over her head. “Change is at the heart of the world or whatever. I’m not going.”

  “Please,” her father said gently, his eyes begging. “Please do it for your old Pai. I won’t be around forever, you know.”

  “Unfair.” CeCe closed her hands over her face. “Once Catholic guilt works, it always seems to work.”

  Her father drew her into a damp hug and she let him hold her for a long time. Unfair or not, guilt or not, this was her father, who had become quite a man. The old Zarco would never have swum over to talk his daughter into going to church. He’d have sent a son, or a servant, and he would’ve yelled at her and told her how ungrateful she was. But the new Zarco? He came himself, and yes, he was using guilt as a weapon, but in the end, he was only telling her the truth. He wouldn’t be around forever.

  And a part of her missed René. Another part wanted to eat the soup and sweet bread of the feast day and be a little girl again, caught up in the bright lights and loud music, the drama and dancing of Festa do Divino Espirito Santo.

  “Who is going to be crowned as royalty this year?” CeCe asked, stepping back.

  Zarco finished drying off his head. “I don’t know, but your man is choosing. Mika and those troublesome “B” girls thought it would be funny to drag René into the festivities.”

  The “B” girls. The Horta Whores. Bibiana, Branca, and Britesia.

  CeCe felt her jaws clench. She wasn’t sure who she hated more: Mika for introducing them, the three women, or René, who had admitted he could resist the temptation of two women, but maybe not three.

  “He is not my man.” CeCe was adamant.

  “He could be, though,” Zarco said. “He does not know what he did so wrong to upset you. It couldn’t just be the football game, could it?”

  “Yes!” CeCe shouted.

  Zarco’s gaze didn’t change.

  “Maybe,” she said, softer.

  Still, his gaze bore into her.

  “Fine, no. Not really. It’s just that the timing of all this is horrible. I didn’t want to meet someone who was serious. I wanted to just …you know …to just …” She realized too late she was discussing casual sex with her father. No, this wasn’t happening.

  “You just wanted to be free,” her father said. “Is that right?”

  “Yes,” CeCe admitted.

  “Freedom, maybe, is a lonely thing,” Zarco said. “When we are together as a family, we might lose some of our freedom, but what we gain is precious. I think your man is learning that. It is good he learns such a lesson when he’s young. It took me far too many years.”

  “Not my man,” CeCe insisted in an exasperated shout. Now, she would change the subject. “Okay, I’ll motor you and Chienne to the pier. And okay, I’ll go to church.”

  “Good. We can pray for your little baby,” Zarco said.

  “About that,” CeCe said. “What do you think René would do if he knew the truth?”

  Zarco shrugged. “If he knows how precious you are, it won’t make a difference to him.”

  CeCe couldn’t believe that. René would want to raise his own children, not someone else’s. And certainly not the offspring of someone like Carrothers.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Day Thirty-Three, May 15

  Festa do Divino Espirito Santo

  Horta, Island of Faial

  CeCe relented and instead of showing up in jeans and the same shirt she’d slept in, she allowed Teresa to give her a bright red dress with yellow and orange embroidery. She even fixed her hair and added a little make-up, more out of politeness than vanity. She didn’t care how she looked. She’d stick by her father and let René do whatever he wanted with the three “B’s.”

  Zarco drove her and Teresa in one of the many trucks they owned, but they had to park in a field and walk to the Church of Santa Barbara. The area overflowed with people, cars, motorbikes, and bicycles. It took some time, but soon all three stood in the crowd waiting for the parade to pass by. The cloudy sky tried to drizzle but couldn’t get serious about any real moisture.

  Hélder and Augie found them. CeCe was surprised Hélder had taken the day off. Augie hugged her stiffly, and it was clear, though he was ever the sullen teenager, he was glad his sister had come.

  The mob let out a roar. The crowned royalty of the Feast Day drove slowly to the front of the church, the head of a grand parade of fancy cars and decorated motorcycles.

  The entire Cabeleireiro family had been chosen as royalty. Generally, only one financially-struggling person was crowned empress or emperor of Festa do Divino Espirito Santo.

  Augie elbowed CeCe none too gently. “It was René. He insisted they all were chosen. It will be the best day for them all.”

  The lean father and ragged mother waved awkwardly. Their toddler and school-age children smiled and danced around, but their teenagers looked like they all wanted to dissolve in the light rain.

  Once the Cabeleireiro family was escorted into the church, the entire town followed. Zarco’s family had a pew near the front, where they all piled in: first CeCe, then Zarco, his three sons, and René, sitting next to the “B” girls, Bibiana, Branca, and Britesia.

  CeCe leaned forward and gave René a nasty look.

  He shook his head, eyes wide, feigning innocence. Or maybe he was innocent.

  René turned to remove Bibiana’s hands from his thigh. Bibiana was the horny one, Branca the loud-mouth, and Britesia liked to fight. But they were all trouble.

  “I’m sorry,” René mouthed.

  CeCe leaned back to hide her red face.

  And then they stood to sing and welcome Father Lusco and his entourage of priests and servers.

  During Mass, CeCe couldn’t help reflect on the state of her life. And René. And the baby.

  She inhaled deeply. Yes, the stupid soccer game didn’t mean much, and she’d been unfair.

  Still, she’d stick to her plan. She had no plans to bring him permanently into her life, but that didn’t mean she had to be cruel to him.

  She’d try to enjoy his company until they parted, and he would never know about her secret pregnancy.

  * * *

  René didn’t take communion. It had been too many years and too many women since he’d last been to confession and he wasn’t about to dive back into any kind of religion. However, he couldn’t help but think about what kind of wedding he and CeCe would have. Was she Catholic? She had taken communion. Actually, Zarco had insisted on it, so he wasn’t sure where she stood.

  Then again, if he couldn’t fix things between them, it wouldn’t matter. None of it.

  After the last song, the crowd lifted up the entire Cabeleireiro family and carried them out into a hall decorated with lights and streamers and every kind of flower. A live band packed a small stage with way too many people and instruments. The minute they saw the royalty of the day, the band launched into a Portuguese song that ignited singing from everyone.

  A
huge, chipped mug was forced into René’s hand, and he took a sip. Poncha again, or something stronger. He had to pace himself. It was only two in the afternoon and everyone was drinking and getting ready for a long day of partying.

  Of course, the festivities would last into the night if not the whole week. For a minute, the Horta Whores weren’t around, so René made a run for CeCe.

  As soon as her cool eyes touched him, he caught her hand.

  “Look, I’m sorry.”

  “Why are you sorry?” she asked.

  “Uh,” René mumbled. “For the thing about the football and the thing that made you so mad.”

  “Very specific.” Finally, a smile cracked her face.

  “Will you forgive me about the thing?” he asked

  “The thing about the football and the thing? Yes. For now.” CeCe drew him back into a crowd of dancers and once again they danced to the loud music as they had on the first night.

  René’s head swam. They seemed okay now, but he wasn’t sure.

  She moved her mouth close to his ear.

  “Will you forgive me?” she asked.

  “And why are you sorry?” he asked, echoing her.

  “For the thing and maybe overreacting about the thing.”

  He drew her close. “All is forgiven. I’ve missed you so much.”

  She pulled his head to her mouth and kissed him, loving his soft lips on her own. Then she slid her face back to his ear. “Don’t waste all your energy on dancing and don’t get too drunk. I want you in me before the sun rises. I want to come on you before you come in me.”

  René gulped.

  “Oui, Mademoiselle. I am your man. Definitely. Definitely.” God, he loved this sexy woman.

  An hour passed, and the entire city of Horta packed the hall, or at least it seemed that way. Women carted out trays of food and vats of “Holy Ghost” soup along with a sweet bread. Men brought out pots of Cozido Das Furnas, meats and vegetables simmered in an underground pot close to volcanic hot spots.

  René cocked his head. “Cooking by volcano?”

  CeCe laughed. “Yes. Maybe the French aren’t so brave in their cooking after all.”

  The food was delicious and soon the lights sparkled even brighter as night fell. Midnight came and went. Everyone got a little drunker, a little louder, and far more dancier. Even the old men and women, who had spent the day off to the side, talking and gossiping, took to the dance floor.

  René couldn’t remember a better party. He kissed CeCe in the early morning. “I have to use the facilities. I’ll be back.”

  He left and navigated the back corridors of the church, recalling his days when his parents would drag him to services. Why did all churches smelled dusty and musty? How come the back halls always seemed so dark and foreboding?

  He found the men’s room, and when he was walking out, three warm bodies pushed him into a dark room. The Horta whores.

  “We have you now!” Branca said.

  Bibiana didn’t speak. She unzipped his pants and took him in one of her hands.

  Britesia grabbed him and stuck her tongue into his mouth.

  “We’ve done this before for special men,” Branca said. “And we have condoms. At least three. If you can understand me.”

  He could. And for one mad moment, he thought about going with it—letting all three ravish him and fucking each one soundly.

  A sudden vision of CeCe brought him to his senses. He didn’t want these women. He wanted CeCe.

  René pushed Bibiana off him. “No,” he said. “I won’t. Not three. Not three hundred. That part of my life is over.”

  A camera flashed, blinding him. A male voice said something in Portuguese and then ran off down the hall.

  René pulled himself out of the tangle of perfumed limbs.

  “Mika!” he roared, and sped out. He stumbled into a wall and cursed how much he’d drunk.

  But then, he’d been having so much fun. He’d let down his guard. He’d forgotten he couldn’t trust everyone.

  The three women behind him laughed. They’d been in on the plan.

  Of course. The whole day had been a trap, and René had walked right into the middle of it.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Day Thirty-Three, May 15

  Festa do Divino Espirito Santo

  Church of Santa Barbara

  CeCe was so tired of everyone offering her drinks. She’d eventually started shaking her head and saying “no” and not giving any excuse.

  And she’d stopped smiling a long time ago. She would have left, but that meant someone else would have to drive her home and no one was in any condition to drive. She missed Chienne and the quiet of her mother’s boat. At least dancing with René had been fun, and she loved how he felt next to her. She wanted to get out of there and get naked with him.

  But there had always been one more song, one more friend, one more relative.

  At well past three in the morning, the party was finally winding down. She could leave soon, thank God. She’d survived the night, but more than that, she was coping with being back home though it hadn’t been easy. Unexpectedly, the Zarco had been the best part. Mika, though …

  Speak of the Devil, Mika burst out of a corridor holding up his phone, a triumphant look on his face. René had disappeared into that same hallway.

  Her brother swaggered through the last of the dancers and thrust his phone into her face. “And here is proof. You’re boyfriend is a cheater!”

  There on the screen was a blurry picture, blown out from the flash. René lay on the ground with his pants unzipped, surrounded by the Horta whores. Bibiana leaned in, her head filling most of the photo.

  “Mika!” René stormed into the room. “CeCe, it’s a frame-up. They pulled me into the room. I told them I was not interested.”

  All the dancers and townspeople froze. The band put down their instruments and feedback shook the hall. The whole place vibrated with anticipation of drama.

  CeCe’s heart crumbled into sand. Seeing René with the women hurt more than she could have ever imagined.

  Mika grinned. “See, I caught him. He’s bad, CeCe.”

  René punched her brother, right in the eye. A good knuckle-laden blow. Mika went down, clutching his face.

  “He set me out!” René shouted. “It was his plan all along!”

  “He set you up,” CeCe whispered. “‘Set you out’ isn’t the right idiom.”

  René burst into a stream of Franglish. CeCe knew it was the wrong time to correct him, but she was feeling torn, hurt, and doubtful.

  Branca ambled into the room, followed by her two slutty friends. Branca smiled. Britesia glared. And Bibiana was adjusting her boobs in her tight blouse, several sizes too small.

  In a heartbeat, CeCe knew the truth. René had a past, yes, but so did she. And CeCe didn’t buy that he would risk everything to roll around with three women. What had he said? He wasn’t much of a multi-tasker.

  CeCe glanced over to see her father, patiently surveying the chaos. Unlike his old self, he wouldn’t step in. This was her life, and he was letting her sort it out.

  He nodded at her, giving her permission she didn’t need.

  The Zarco’s weekly conversations with Father Lusco apparently had brought about a miracle.

  When Mika got to his feet, CeCe punched him in his other eye. “No, Mika, I’m siding with René on this. It’s very clear you’ve had it in for him all along.”

  René let out a sigh.

  Mika reeled back against the stage. He then pulled down the mic stand from the lead singer and grabbed the microphone.

  “Okay, CeCe.” Mika’s voice echoed through the hall. “What about the baby? Did you tell him about the baby?”

  Ice stabbed into CeCe’s gut. Here was her secret, not only let out into the open, but broadcast over huge speakers. Mika must have eavesdropped on her conversation with Zarco that first morning.

  All the color drained from René’s face.

 
; * * *

  A single thought flashed through René’s mind. Leave it to a hidden pregnancy to completely sober me up. He’d never felt less drunk than he did right then.

  His conversation with Mika came back to him. What’s the opposite of a woman’s monthlies? Pregnancy.

  “Bread in the oven,” René whispered. He’d been so stupid.

  “Bun,” CeCe corrected, standing there, wide-eyed.

  The entire room had fallen into a hush, eyes moving from CeCe to René and back again. The Horta whores had fled out a side-door. Good riddance.

  Mika, though, still held court, gripping the microphone like a weapon. “Yes, our CeCe is pregnant, but not married. Father Lusco, what do you think of that?”

  Father Lusco, a lean man, clearly very drunk, stood up. “I have never heard of such a thing. Oh, wait, I’ve heard such things a million times. But what you are doing, Mika, that is the greater sin.”

  “Agreed!” Zarco thundered. He pressed forward.

  Mika thrust the microphone into CeCe’s hands. “Tell us who the father is because it’s not René, is it?”

  Zarco tore his son away and pushed him into the waiting hands of a crowd of older men who pulled him back.

  CeCe turned, microphone to her lips.

  René waited, a sick feeling in his gut. Yes, they should’ve taken the whole conversation to a more private place but it was like they were locked into revealing their private affair to the entire town.

  And René didn’t care.

  “René,” CeCe started. “I didn’t think …I didn’t want …” she closed her eyes. When she opened them, her voice was steady. “Yes, I’m pregnant. And the baby belongs to Jerome Carrothers.”

  René had to swallow several times to get enough breath to ask, “How long have you known?”

  “We can’t hear!” someone in the back protested. A brave older teen girl scurried forward and handed a guitarist’s microphone to René.

  René cleared his throat. “How long have you known?” Then he answered his own question. “Ah yes, the throwing up and the tears. You knew when you agreed to be my first mate, didn’t you?”

  “No,” CeCe said. “It was your grand-mere who put it together. She somehow knew. But it wasn’t any of your business—”