Faith in You

by Pineiro, Charity

  Smiling, he trailed his hand down her arm and took hold of her hand. “I got set free at nine, and hoped you’d still be up. I got lucky.”

  Carmen laughed and joked, “Not yet and not tonight. My parents are home.” She inclined her head in the direction of her parents’ bedroom.

  Paul glanced in that direction and shrugged. “That’s cool. I just wanted to see you. I’ve missed you,” he admitted and drew her near, wrapped her in his embrace.

  Hugging her arms around his waist, she buried her head against his broad chest, taking comfort from his nearness. “I missed you too, mi amor.” Beneath her head, his body relaxed, and when she looked up, she saw the brilliant smile on his face.

  “Have I told you how much I like it when you call me that, mi amor?”

  Rising on her tip toes, she brushed a kiss across his lips. “Have I told you how much I like calling you that?”

  Paul laughed, and cupped her head, kissing the laughter that fell from her lips, taking it inside of him to ease the ache he had felt for the two weeks they had been apart. “Mi amor,” he said huskily, but the moment was interrupted by the growl of his stomach.

  “Missed dinner?” she asked, rubbing a hand across his midsection.

  He nodded, and she pulled away, grabbed hold of his hand and led him to the sofa in the living room. “Sit and I’ll get you something to eat.”

  Paul plopped down onto the sofa and picked up the case for the DVD. “We can finish the movie, if you’d like.”

  Carmen smiled, grabbed the box from him, and went to pop the DVD out of the player. “It’s a chick flick.”

  He looked at her quizzically. “A chick flick? You mean, a just for girls kind of movie?”

  She shrugged. “Some men might think so.”

  He nodded, shifted away from the back of the sofa, and slipped of his jacket, tossing it over the arm of the sofa. “Maybe I’d surprise you. Maybe I’d like to see this ‘chick flick’ you were interested in.”

  Carmen considered him for a moment and closed the door on the DVD player. “Okay, Mr. Sensitive,” she said, her tones lighthearted. “I am going to bring you some food and afterwards, you and I will finish this movie.”

  “Sounds good,” he agreed and she watched for a moment as he rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, exposing the curling, sun-bleached hairs on his forearms. She remembered those hairs brushing against her bare body, the muscles of those arms hard and tense beneath her hands as they made love. She shook off the thoughts, knowing nothing could come of it tonight, and walked away into the kitchen to fix him a quick meal.

  Her mother had again made roast beef for dinner that night, so Carmen took it out, thinly sliced off an amount she thought might be enough for a sandwich for Paul. She grabbed the remainder of that night’s loaf of Cuban bread from the bread box, and piled on the roast beef. Then she cut up some onions into paper-thin slices and spread them on the meat. She finished off the sandwich with a drizzle of extra virgin olive oil, and thinking that the plate looked a little empty, tossed on some potato chips to finish the meal.

  Grabbing a beer from the fridge, she picked up the plate, and went back into the living room where Paul had sprawled his big body across the length of the sofa. His tie was off, laid over his jacket, and the top few buttons of his shirt were open, again exposing the soft curls of hair on his chest. He sat up as she entered and shifted to one edge of the sofa to give her room.

  She handed him the plate and a napkin, and waited for him to settle the plate on his lap before handing him the beer, which he placed on the end table by the sofa. “This looks great,” he said and picked up the sandwich. He took a big bite, moaned, and closed his eyes. “It tastes great as well.”

  Carmen chuckled and settled back into the cushions of the couch while he ate. “I’m glad you like it.”

  Paul nodded, continued eating and in short time, the sandwich and chips were gone, the beer half-drained. He set the plate onto the coffee table, and leaned against the arm of the sofa. “Ready to watch the movie?” he asked, leaned back and opened his legs slightly, making room for her.

  Grabbing the remote, she shimmied into the gap between his legs, lay her back against his chest and he wrapped his arms around her waist, drew her closer still. “Tell me a little something about what’s happened so far,” he said softly against her ear, nuzzling the side of her neck as he did so.

  Carmen shivered, inclining her head away. “Behave,” she warned and gave him a run down on the first half of the movie she had seen, explaining that it was about four Chinese friends and their daughters. The stories of the mother’s lives and the relationships with their daughters.

  “Sounds … interesting,” he said wryly and she reached down, pinched the skin on his forearm. “You said you would give this a shot,” she reminded and relaxed more fully against him, enjoying the feel of his arms around her, of his chest warming the length of her back.

  He relaxed as well, and as he watched the movie, he caressed her, moving his hands back and forth slowly across her arms as they draped over his. Across the gap of bare midriff exposed by her short T-shirt. “Stop,” she warned again. “You’re distracting me,” she said, and it was the truth. His hands and body so close and yet untouchable due to her parents’ presence nearby was torture and the movie, intricate in language and feeling, required her full attention.

  He stopped, encircled her waist tightly with his arms and whispered in her ear, “I’ll try, darlin’, but you are just too tempting.”

  She sighed and turned her attention over to the movie and as he promised, he resisted her temptation, as he put it, and watched. The tape ran for close to another hour and by the time it was done, tears streamed down her face and it was all she could do not to start bawling in front of him.

  Carmen excused herself to go to the bathroom, her voice tight and hoarse, but he grabbed her hand and stopped her, his face showing such concern that it was her undoing. She buried her face against his chest and cried in earnest, her hands holding onto him, his arms wrapped around her back, cradling her and soothing with soft light touches.

  “Carmen, please explain,” Paul asked gently, wanting to understand what it was about the movie that had moved her so, convinced that it had been a “chick flick” after all, for the movie had failed to move him in the way it had her.

  “Everything,” she bawled and her tears soaked his shirt. “The moms, all of them with their own problems and hang-ups, wanting so much more for their daughters here in America.”

  He began to see the connection then, the universal link that translated from the story of the women who had left their homeland to Carmen and her own mother.

  “What will I leave my daughter, Paul? What wisdom, what piece of my heritage that they will treasure and pass on?” she wailed, clearly upset.

  “Oh, Carmen, you have so much to give,” he assured her, knowing that if she was as generous with a child of theirs as she was with him, they would be very lucky children indeed. With that realization, he felt reborn with her love. She would always give him whatever she had to give. She would give their child that and he could picture her, round with his baby. He could picture the family he would have with her, one filled with the kind of love he had found in this humble home. One where his kids would be waiting for him every night, their arms open. One where she would be waiting for him, ready to soothe his heartache and to love him with all of herself.

  He lifted her into his arms, kissed the tears that streaked down her face, and licked away the salt that lingered on her lips. “You are so special, with so much to offer any man. Any child.”

  “But there’s so much, so many things --”

  “That you’ll be able to tell them and show them,” he reassured and cupped her face, wiping the trails of tears from her eyes.

  She looked at him then, her eyes dark, almost black with her emotion. “But it’s so hard. I see my mom and how hard she tries to understand us, but how we want to be so different from he
r. More American --”

  “Like the girls in the movie?” He understood the analogy, but having always been an American, it was hard for him to understand that difficulty. “Is it hard for you, being a Cuban here?”

  She shrugged and lay down against his chest. “When I first came here, I felt out of place, even among fellow Cubans. We had escaped on a raft and that meant we were suspect. Not as good as those Cubans who came before us in the sixties. So we struggled, and eventually, I started to feel at home here in Miami. I started to feel comfortable.”

  Despite her words, he sensed the uncertainty. “But?” he prompted, wanting her to go on.

  “But I started feeling at odds with my parents. They were real Cuban, different than my sister and I who had started to assimilate. Even different from my Cuban friends’ parents who had been here for a while. But I love them, and I try to understand and respect their ways, even though they’re contrary to so much around me,” she admitted and looked up at him to see if he understood.

  Paul nodded and rubbed her back. “I … I never had parents around. It’s hard for me to understand how you feel, but as an outsider looking in, what I see is a family that loves and respects each other. A family that manages to hold onto its traditions while allowing others to share in them.”

  “Thank you,” she replied huskily. Tears came to her eyes again, and he reached down, swiped his thumb across her cheek to brush them away.

  “I should be thanking you for all that you’ve given me.”

  Carmen sat up, brought her mouth to his, giving him her love again with the simple, comforting touch of her lips, of her arms coming to wrap around his shoulders to keep him close.

  Paul held her, wanting her as he never had before, in ways that went beyond the physical. Only being with her every day, during every free moment would suffice, and he knew then what he had to do.

  Chapter 11

  Connie stared at him as if he had grown two heads. “You want me to what?”

  Paul glanced away and checked the grainy monitors for signs of their suspects. There was no activity again as had been typical of the last few nights. After an initial week of everyone coming and going and dozens of tapes of conversations and transactions between the alleged suspects, it had calmed down and nothing had happened. He turned and placed his hands on the narrow workstation that separated the two monitor banks in the small confines of the surveillance van. “I want you to teach me how to really play dominoes. I want to be able to beat your sister.”

  Connie continued to stare at him, but her eyes had narrowed and the stare had grown suspicious. “I know that you and Carmen are … involved, Paul,” she began. “But she’s my sister and I want to know --”

  “What I’m up to?” He considered it the way he had all the other nights they had sat before the monitors. He had learned a lot about Connie in the year they had worked together, even more in the last week of enclosed confinement. The one thing he had no doubt about was her commitment to her family and her sister in particular. “I love your sister.”

  Connie studied him. His voice was strong and certain. His gaze as he met hers brooked no doubt in her mind. Paul loved her sister, but she wondered if that was enough. She knew little about his family other than that they were very rich and apparently, very cold. She feared for Carmen, having faced her own problems with Victor’s family. “What is it you intend with my sister?”

  Paul chuckled. “I thought this was the kind of conversation I was supposed to have with your father, not you.”

  A flush worked up over her cheeks and she hoped he couldn’t see it in the dim light cast by the monitors. “You may consider that when the time is appropriate. But for now, what do you intend?”

  “I intend to marry her,” he replied without hesitation, shocking a gasp out of Connie.

  “Have you discussed it with her?” she asked.

  Paul shook his head. “Not yet, but I plan to when the time is right. But for right now, I’d like to be able to beat her at dominoes. Will you teach me?”

  A car pulled up then, and Connie adjusted the contrast on the one monitor to get a better view. It was just the neighbors and she turned her attention back to Paul. “I will, but remember --”

  “You have a gun and you know how to use it,” he finished for her and they both laughed.

  #

  He paced along the short run of sidewalk and glanced up the street. There was no sign of her father and he wondered if Roberto had either forgotten or worse, if he had decided not to come.

  Paul walked up the steps of the restaurant, looked past the large wagon wheel that formed part of the kitschy exterior. The name of the restaurant was spelled out in lights made to look like sugar cane -- La Carreta. The wheel and shape of the restaurant mimicked the shape of a carreta, the carts used to haul the sugar cane harvest in Cuba. Carmen had explained that to him one night when they had stopped in for a snack.

  Well, it didn’t seem he’d be grabbing anything to eat today, he thought. He walked down the stairs and was about to get into his own car when Carmen’s father pulled up next to him. Paul breathed a sigh of relief and walked over to greet the man. “Roberto. I’m glad you could come,” he said and shook his hand.

  “I’m sorry I’m late. I had some errands to do for Rosa before coming.” Roberto walked up the steps of the restaurant and inside, the waitress greeted him warmly. “Mi cielito. Como estás?”

  Roberto blushed. “Por favor, Luisa. My daughter’s boyfriend will tell Rosa about your flirting.”

  The waitress looked at Paul and raised her eyebrows. “This is Carmencita’s boyfriend?”

  Roberto nodded and introduced Paul to the woman. Paul shook her hand and afterward, she guided them to a booth at the front of the restaurant, which was more along the lines of an upscale diner. Paul would have preferred to take Roberto to somewhere fancier for what would be such an important discussion, but the man had wanted to keep it simple and nearby since he had to go to work in a few hours. The food here was good, which he knew from his own experience, so he had agreed.

  Roberto slipped into one side of the booth and he into the other. The waitress left the menus and Paul perused his quickly, settling on one of the combination plates that contained a little bit of almost everything. He had developed a craving for things Cuban, he realized.

  When the waitress returned, they placed their orders and then Roberto sat back into the vinyl of the booth. “My son. Since you called last night, I’ve been wondering what could be so important that you’d want for the two of us to meet for lunch.”

  “Well --” Paul began, but Roberto raised his hand, asking for quiet.

  “It didn’t take me long to figure it out, although I must admit I was … surprised.” He leaned forward, grabbed the glass of ice water, and took a sip.

  “Why were you surprised?” Paul asked.

  “My daughter deserves a man who will care for her and respect her. One who will treat her the way a lady should be treated,” Roberto said seriously.

  Paul experienced a moment’s anger that Roberto should doubt him, but then if the roles were reversed, he might also be experiencing hesitation at giving up his baby daughter. “I will care for her and respect her. She means the world to me.”

  Roberto nodded, laid down the glass, and placed both hands on the edge of the table. “My wife and I have been married for thirty years. In all that time, we’ve had our share of arguments and problems. Our share of disappointments over what happened in our lives.”

  “But you still love one another. I can see that. And you’ve taught your daughters how to love in the same way,” he said and clasped his hands in his lap, afraid that he would give away his nervousness.

  Roberto leaned toward him and softly asked. “Can you love Carmen like that Paul? Can you love her no matter what may happen around you? Can you believe that your love will still be there thirty years later?”

  Paul wanted to say “yes” and allay her father’s fears a
nd his own, but he couldn’t. “Until Carmen, I didn’t know what love was. I didn’t have a family to show me how to love.”

  “I know,” her father grunted and leaned back heavily into the booth. “That is what worries me, my son. You still have so much to learn about love and maybe what you feel for my daughter isn’t what you think.”

  The waitress came over at that moment with their plates, but the food suddenly had little appeal. He only picked at a few of the items. The same couldn’t be said for Roberto, who dug into his plate with relish, stopping only to sip on his water, or grab a piece of buttered Cuban bread. Long minutes passed before Roberto finally looked up and noticed that Paul wasn’t eating. “Is something wrong?”

  “My appetite … I’m not really all that hungry anymore,” he confessed, and tossed down his napkin onto the table.

  “I didn’t mean to upset you, my son.”

  “I’m not your son, or son-in-law or anything else, at least if I think what you said before was clear,” Paul replied through clenched teeth, feeling the old familiar sense of worthlessness wash over him.

  Roberto shook his head. “You misunderstood me, Paul. I can see that you are a good man. An honorable one, who thinks he loves my daughter.”

  “I do love your daughter,” he urged the older man.

  “Will you treat her like a lady? Will you do the honorable thing by her?” Roberto asked.

  Surprise stole his breath, made it impossible for him to do anything but nod for a second or so. Then he managed to find his voice. “I asked you to lunch so that I could ask for her hand in marriage.”

  “I am very glad that you asked my opinion, although in this day and age, I am sure my daughters would think that I have no say in what they do,” Roberto replied, a tinge of sadness in his voice.

  Paul recalled then the conversation he had had with Carmen a short time ago. Her confession that at times she felt far removed from her parents. Despite that, as an outsider he could clearly see the love and respect Carmen and Connie had for their parents. “Your daughters, as modern as they are, still want your approval of what they do.”