I bite my lip and close my eyes for a second, letting the news wash away every fear and ache from my soul, bringing back only relief and happiness.
When I open them again, Diego’s gaze searches mine with the spark I fell for. I gently push a few strands of his hair, tucking them in behind his ear, then I lean in and brush my lips against his. His response is soft, gentle. My eyes close while he caresses my mouth with small, tender kisses as he traces my cheeks with his thumb.
We don’t have to rush this anymore. There’s no fight to win, no struggle to overcome, no goal to fulfill. Only our lips to enjoy.
“We’re back!”
I pull out of the kiss, turning my head at the sound of Juanita’s voice. Heart racing, I look at Diego.
He smiles. “It’s okay. Go to her.”
My hands shake, my heart threatening to burst out of my chest, as I step back into the kitchen area.
While Juanita stirs the beans with a wooden spoon, my mother sits by the kitchen table, watching the nurse cook with a tired smile. Her clothes are loose, her shoulder blades protruding because she’s so thin. Her wrists are wrapped in bandages, and her eyelids are half-open, but she’s right here, sitting in front of me. Alive. Normal. Safe. Cured.
“What do you think, Lucia? Did I follow your instructions right?” Juanita asks while taking a spoonful of beans and slowly offering it to my mother to taste.
As my mother swallows the beans, the nurse looks up and finally notices me. With a subtle shake of her head, she encourages me to step closer.
“It needs…” Mother coughs, and then blinks while trying to conjure up the right word. Her voice is rougher than I remember. Perhaps it’s the lack of use. “It needs more garlic.”
Juanita nods fervently and focuses on the steaming pot again.
Finally, I reach for Mother’s shoulder with a trembling hand. She raises her head, and our eyes meet.
Lips quivering and tears about to fall, I can only stare at her. Amazed at every breath she takes, every tiny movement of her eyes—alert and responsive, and back to their proper color.
“Isabel…?” She touches the side of my face with bony fingers, eyes racing over my face, no doubt to confirm I’m not a hallucination. “Is that you, hija? My eyes are blurry.”
I place my hand over hers. “Yes, Mom. It’s me.”
Tears run freely from my cheeks as I choke the words out. “I’m … I’m so sorry … I … I missed you so much.”
She pulls me in for a hug, holding me tight.
“Ssh. It’s okay,” she repeats, over and over as I let out all the tears I held in for so long.
Her whispers soothe me. Suddenly, I’m back to our little rundown apartment as a ten-year-old girl, scared, moody, wanting nothing more but to be embraced by her mother. To be comforted by her arms and know everything is going to okay.
We stay like this for a long, long time, laughing and crying all at the same time. Her every movement demands a lot of effort, but at her own pace, she kisses my forehead and cheeks. Slowly and with measured words, she asks me questions about our life since her bite. I assure her she didn’t hurt me or anyone else, that I made sure she was safe, and the fear and hurt in her eyes disappears. Finally, she apologizes. My mother, the cold woman who never admitted she was wrong, apologizes to me for leaving me behind, leaving me alone to deal with everything on my own.
I don’t think I ever cried as much as I did while in her arms. Relief, joy, and love all mix together in a bundle of messy, but wonderful emotions.
Our reunion is only interrupted by Alex and Rico’s arrival. We form a strange family, all of us sitting at the same table, but it feels right.
And, just like that, as Diego and I hold hands and my mother puts rice and beans on my plate with a gentle smile, my heart starts to beat again. Stronger, more alive than ever before. For so long, it had settled on misery, using it as the only fuel to keep beating, but no more. There’s room for happiness too, even in this broken world of ours.
Diego plants a kiss on my cheek and leans in to whisper, “I love you.”
Without fear or reluctance, I smile. “I love you too.”
***
Three Months Later
Liam
***
I walk in circles, a hand on the back of my neck while we wait on the docks of Bonita. Isidor stands beside me, fists closed. The small dots on the horizon slowly grow until we can see the shapes of multiple boats coming toward the island at full speed.
I’m not nervous. I’m excited. For the first time in a long time, I’m not dreading what’s to come.
Without Ezequiel or Ortiz, most survivors were happy to let the medical staff take over leadership of the island. And, after a year of ignoring our pleas, of shady deals with Zeke, the Army finally climbed down their wall and started helping people. The remnants of Zeke’s gang have gone quiet, perhaps relieved they don’t have to act like savages anymore, or maybe just afraid of the consequences of disobeying Diego Vargas.
More importantly, with the help of the soldiers and a large shipment of sedatives and drugs from the Vargas cartel, we have now safely contained most of the infected.
It has been a crazy three months. Exhausting, but incredibly rewarding too. And now, we’re ready for the cure.
I only know what Isabel told me in a letter, but it seems that, for once, Diego used his influence and power for a good cause. Thanks to his connections in the black market, the cartel made contact with the outside world. More specifically, with what’s left of the American Army. Seems North America was also hit badly by the disease, but things are improving slowly … all in thanks to the cure. I can only hope Canada is also on the mend.
Since the war on drugs isn’t a priority anymore, the Americans were more concerned with establishing a trade route. So Diego will provide them with whatever supplies they need, and we will receive crates of the cure. Guavina can start to heal along with the rest of the world.
I woke up today thinking Isabel’s letter was a dream, but the motor boat docking in our harbor is proof this is truly happening.
We help tie the boat safely, and its passengers hop onto land. I offer a hand to Isabel, wanting to help her out, but Vargas has his hands on her waist, generously supporting her before moving to touch her ass as she jumps, and I remind myself that she’s with him now.
Isabel seems happy, her smile somehow lighter and stronger than I’ve ever seen. Not even my best jokes elicited that kind of reaction. I’m not jealous. I’m happy for her, but apparently, I need new material. Or a date.
Thoughts of my broken heart dissipate as the third passenger plants his heavy combat boots on the docks. He’s military, no doubt about it, and the kind who has seen war. Big as an ox with broad shoulders and a sharp jaw, he’s also a blond gringo, which brings me some comfort.
His uniform is pristine, adorned by multiple badges and a pin of the American flag.
“Liam, this is Major Nelson Tigh. The man I told you about in the letter. He’s responsible for this operation,” Isabel says.
He extends his hand in my direction. I shake it. His grip is firm and painful. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Doctor Brown. I understand you helped hundreds here, despite the danger.”
“I did what any doctor would do.”
Tigh nods, a rueful smile on his thin lips. “Yes, I know. Doctors tend to that, don’t they? Shall we start curing these people, Doc?”
I smile.
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Deadly Hearts: A Post Apocalyptic Romance Novel Page 22
