It was now three weeks late.
Chapter 16
Marisol Cruz
2007
Mari opened the front door, slipping off one wedge heel and then the other. The house was quiet, except for the hum of the television in the living room. She wiped underneath her eyes to dry the last remnants of her tears.
Jason had been wonderful, assuring her that it was okay to cry, and then walking her the rest of the way home. But her emotional outburst had been mortifying, mostly because it was so unexpected. Mari wasn’t someone who cried in public. Travis making plans to destroy the gazebo had reopened an old wound.
“Mija,” Paulina said, rounding the corner with a dish towel in hand. “How did it go tonight?”
Seeing her mother’s concerned face, Mari burst into fresh tears, and rushed into her outstretched arms. “I ruined everything.”
“Shhh,” Paulina said, stroking her daughter’s hair. “Come into the kitchen. I’ll make you some hot chocolate the way Abuela used to.”
Mari nodded. She loved her grandmother’s traditional Mexican hot chocolate with vanilla, cinnamon and cayenne pepper. “Is Lily asleep?”
Paulina turned on the gas to heat a pan of milk. “She went to bed about an hour ago. Now tell me, what happened?”
Once Mari had a warm mug of hot chocolate in her hands, she took a deep breath in and let it out. “The date started off great. We had a nice dinner at the Italian restaurant, and then Jason offered to walk me home. But instead he took me to the gazebo so that we could dance, just like Abuelo and Abuela did.”
Paulina smiled, sipping from her mug. “Sounds romantic.”
“It was. But then . . .”
“What?”
“Ugh, it’s so embarrassing. I thought about Lily’s father, and I got angry, and then I got really sad and started crying.”
Paulina reached for Mari’s hand. “I’m sorry, mi amor.”
Mari remembered the June day four years ago, the spring quarter of her final year. It was final-exam time, and Mari had been so stressed about maintaining her 4.0 grade point average, and worrying whether she’d get accepted into Berkeley’s graduate program, that she’d been focused solely on schoolwork. But she couldn’t help noticing how cute Travis was every time he showed up late for lecture, his skin tanned and hair disheveled from water polo practice. Sometimes she caught him staring at her from across the room.
The night of her last final, there was nothing left to do except celebrate. Normally she didn’t go to house parties, but the weather was warm and she got swept up in the excitement. It was okay to let loose for one night. Mari and her friends had gone to a house on West Cliff Drive, overlooking the ocean. Whoever rented it had rich parents, because it was nicer than any student house she’d ever been to. There were sweeping views of the Pacific Ocean from the balcony, where a keg sat in a bucket of ice.
She’d been pouring beer into a plastic red cup, when Travis had sidled up next to her. “Hey! You’re in my history seminar, right?”
“Yeah,” she’d said, her heart beating a little faster. “How did you do on the final? It was kind of tough, wasn’t it?”
He shrugged. “I’m sure I passed, I’m not worried. Come do a tequila shot with me inside. We’ve got to celebrate!”
“Okay,” she said, tingling as he threw his arm around her shoulder. Her secret crush was acting like they were old friends.
“This place is gorgeous,” Mari said, looking around the state-of-the-art kitchen with chrome appliances and granite countertops. “Do you know who lives here?”
Travis smiled. “I live here. My dad bought it for me and the water polo team.”
“He bought it?”
Travis chuckled, his green eyes and white teeth bright against his summery tan. “We’ve been here four years. All my teammates pay rent, so it’s a good real estate investment. He’ll sell it once we leave.”
Mari frowned as he poured her a shot. “I guess you have a point. But still, a house like this doesn’t come cheap.”
Travis pushed the tequila shot toward her. “Lime?”
“Yes, please,” she said. “I can’t do tequila straight.”
He gave her a slice, and passed her the salt. “You don’t know who my dad is, do you?”
She licked her palm and sprinkled some salt on it. “Should I?”
Travis chuckled. “Never mind. Bottoms up.”
She winced at the burn of the tequila going down her throat, and quickly bit into the lime wedge. Once the gross taste was gone, she felt pleasantly warm and relaxed.
They took a few more tequila shots, and then someone turned down the lights and turned up the music. She and Travis started grinding against each other on the dance floor. For a white guy, he had serious moves. She told him this, and he laughed. He was cocky, just shy of being obnoxious, but she liked it. In between drinks he told her about his plans to backpack through Europe with his friends that summer, and his internship at a tech company in Silicon Valley that he’d be starting in the fall.
“To the future!” she’d cried, laughing as he wrapped his arms around her waist. She was drunk. And then they were making out in the middle of the dance floor. “Come to my room,” Travis whispered against her hair. “It has a killer view of the ocean.”
“Okay,” she said and giggled, aware of what might happen. It was kind of thrilling, the thought of a one-night stand. She’d never had one before. The last guy she’d dated had been the opposite of Travis: dorky and quiet Marcus, who always asked her if it was okay to touch her breasts. She liked Travis’s take-charge attitude.
The sex itself was somewhat of a blur, though she remembered him whispering, “You’re so hot,” over and over again, and feeling a surge of pride at the compliment. His room did have an amazing view of the ocean, and his king-size bed with soft, clean sheets was nicer than anything she expected a guy her age to sleep in.
It wasn’t until she excused herself to the en suite bathroom to pee that panic set in. She saw a condom floating in the bowl. How on earth had it gotten there? But in her tequila haze and embarrassment, she’d quickly flushed the toilet.
When the next day arrived, along with a blinding hangover, Mari wasn’t sure she’d seen the condom after all. Perhaps she’d imagined it? Or maybe it had belonged to Travis, and he’d thrown it in there from a separate hookup?
Four weeks later, she got her answer when a digital pregnancy test clearly read “pregnant.” She crumpled in a heap on the bathroom floor, berating herself for her stupidity. She hadn’t talked to Travis since that night, and he was probably in the Swiss Alps at the moment on his grand European adventure.
But she had his email address, and hadn’t he said he was starting an internship in Silicon Valley in the fall? That wasn’t too far away from Santa Cruz. The timing couldn’t have been worse, but like Abuela used to say, sometimes God worked in mysterious ways. Travis needed to know he was going to be a dad.
Her heart was pounding when she finally got ahold of him by phone.
“Hey,” he said, the friendliness he’d shown that night of the party replaced by suspicion. “What is it? You said it was really important.”
Mari fidgeted with her necklace. There was no easy way to impart the news. “I’m pregnant. The baby is yours. I’m a few months along now, and I’m going to keep it.”
Silence.
“Travis?”
“I’m sorry—you’re going to keep it?”
“Yeah,” she said, placing a hand protectively over her stomach. “Look, I know it’s a shock. And I’m not asking you to marry me, or anything crazy like that. But you’re going to be a dad, and I want you to be a part of this baby’s life.”
“No way,” Travis said, his voice taking on a hard edge. “Are you crazy? Fuck—I’m in France right now. I’m twenty-two. You’re not going to ruin my life. How do you even know it’s mine?”
Mari’s throat tightened. “Because you’re the only person I’ve slept with th
is year. Travis, please. I think if—”
“Get an abortion and I’ll pay for it.”
“No,” Mari said, the burn of anger creeping up her skin. “That’s not my plan. Look, we can work something out. Maybe you see the baby only on weekends. I know it’s a lot to take in but I really think—”
But he’d already hung up the phone. She waited for him to process the shock. She’d reach out again when he came home from Europe. Except her emails went unanswered. A couple of times she worked up the courage to go to the house on West Cliff Drive, taking a deep breath as she rang the doorbell. But no one ever answered.
When Lily came into the world, red-faced and screaming, Mari cried tears of joy at the miracle of her perfect baby girl. This time Travis would come around. She sent him pictures of Lily swaddled in her little blanket from the hospital, covered in tiny footprints. She had a shock of dark hair, Travis’s straight nose and full lips.
Her name is Liliana Elena Cruz, Mari wrote. She’s 8 pounds, 2 ounces and perfectly healthy. She would love to meet you.
By this time she’d Googled Travis, and seen that his dad was a popular city council member running for mayor of Santa Cruz. In his smiling photos, Tom Harcourt seemed like the type of man who would love to be a grandpa.
Every month for the first year of Lily’s life, Mari emailed Travis photos, along with updates. She learned to sit up on her own today. She has your green eyes. She likes to babble and say “baba.” Please meet her? Travis, she’s your daughter. You’ll love her. I know it’s scary, but it’s not too late to be a part of her life.
But after an entire year of unanswered emails, Mari stopped sending them. The soft part of her heart that believed in hope and happy endings hardened. Travis had seen pictures of his beautiful daughter. He knew Mari wasn’t asking him for money, only for a father’s love—and he’d chosen to turn his back on them both.
Staring into her empty mug, hot tears slid down Mari’s cheeks.
“I haven’t seen him or spoken to him in four years. And now he’s back.”
Paulina rubbed Mari’s shoulder. “I know it’s hard.”
Mari’s jaw tightened. “And he talks about the value of family like he knows something about it. I want to punch him in the face.”
Paulina sighed. “I understand that you’re angry, but punching him isn’t going to solve anything. It will only make you look crazy.”
Mari laughed. “I’m not really going to punch him.”
Paulina smiled. “You sure? I wouldn’t be surprised if you could throw a mean right hook.” Her face grew serious. “Do you think Mayor Harcourt knows about Lily?”
“I doubt it.”
Paulina blew out a puff of air. “I would want to know if I had another grandchild. Life is too short, sabes? Maybe you should tell him.”
Mari’s stomach knotted. She gripped her empty mug, thinking about the mayor’s confused expression when he’d seen Lily at the boardwalk. Was it her responsibility to tell him? Or would it only make more of a mess of things?
“I’m tired,” Mari said. Her body felt heavy, and it was all too much to think about for one night. “Thanks for the hot chocolate. I’m going to sleep.”
Paulina stood, walked over and kissed Mari on the forehead. “Duerme bien.”
But that night Mari didn’t sleep well. She dreamed of Travis, the mayor and Jason, their faces blending together in a grotesque mask.
“DID I CATCH you at a bad time?”
Mari rubbed her forehead as she held her phone against her cheek. “No. But I wasn’t expecting to hear from you.”
“Don’t worry,” Jason said, a smile in his voice. “I make all my dates cry.”
Mari laughed. “So that’s, like, your thing?”
“Totally.” He paused. “Seriously, though, thank you for sharing your past with me. I’m sorry if I brought up old feelings by taking you to the gazebo.”
“There are no old feelings,” Mari blurted, eager to clear the air. “It was a one-night stand. I didn’t date the guy.”
“Well, that’s good,” Jason said. “From what you’ve told me, he’s gone from semi-douchebag to a douchebag of the highest degree.”
“You’re telling me.” Once again she felt that strange feeling—relief.
“The same thing happened to my older sister, you know. Some guys don’t recognize a gem when they see one.”
Mari remembered that Jason had told her his sister was a single mom. “How old was your sister when she got pregnant?”
“She was twenty-seven. She’d been dating this guy for two years and thought for sure they’d get engaged. But as soon as she told him, he split. She was devastated.”
“That’s awful,” Mari said, feeling grateful she’d had no such delusions about a future with Travis. She wished he’d wanted to be a father to Lily, but she didn’t miss him.
“It was. Thankfully my parents and I were there to take care of her during her pregnancy, to remind her how awesome she is.”
“You’re pretty good at that,” Mari said.
“I have a secret,” Jason said. “I learned that ice cream cures nearly everything. Would you like to come with me to Marini’s this week?”
“I’d love that,” Mari said.
“Nice. How about Wednesday night?”
“It’s a date,” Mari said, imagining for a brief moment bringing Lily along. No way—it was too soon. But she could picture the three of them sharing a sundae.
“Cool,” Jason said. “Have a great day. I’ll text you soon.”
“Bye,” Mari said. “You too.”
As she hung up the phone, it struck her that she felt like she’d just talked with an old friend. She didn’t feel wild butterflies, but she felt something better—trust.
Mari glanced at the clock. She had an hour before her shift started at Jupiter Café. She heard her dad singing in the kitchen and smelled frying eggs. She loved mornings hanging out with her family before heading over to the diner.
Opening her laptop, she quickly logged into her email account. Her heart seized when she saw the bold subject: Re: Swanson Grant Application.
For a minute, she stared at the email in her inbox, too nervous to open it. But Mari wanted to do it now, while she was alone. The sting of the rejection would hurt, but at least she’d have time to recover in the privacy of her bedroom. She wouldn’t even have to tell anyone. She’d go about her workday with a lump of disappointment—then get on with her life. It had been silly to hope she could win.
Taking a deep breath, Mari opened the email.
Dear Ms. Cruz,
Congratulations! We are honored to award you the 2007 Swanson Grant for your proposal, “A Place Beneath the Stars: Cultivating Community Among Santa Cruz’s Mexican Immigrants.” Your first check for $600 will be sent upon completion of your progress report. The next $600 will be mailed two months later, at the finalization of your project. We very much look forward to hearing from you.
Best regards,
Dr. Mina Ragolevitch,
Swanson Foundation
Mari shot upward like the house was on fire.
“Ma! Oh my God.”
Three pairs of feet thumped down the hallway. Paulina rounded the corner, Lily in tow. Suddenly Mari’s dad, Ernesto, burst in behind them, wearing her mother’s apron. “Mija, are you okay? Why are you yelling?”
Lily looked up with wide green eyes. “Mama?”
Mari laughed, placing a hand over her pounding heart. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. I have good news!”
She brought her trembling hands to her lips. “I won a grant. I applied to create a diorama of the gazebo, so it can go on display at the Centennial Celebration and people can understand its importance. They’ve awarded me twelve hundred dollars.”
Paulina’s eyes widened. “What?”
“Come here,” Mari said, wrapping all three of them in a bear hug. “I love you guys. I can’t believe this!”
“A bazillion doll
ars!” Lily cried, hugging Mari’s legs.
Mari smiled. “Not quite, honey.”
Ernesto kissed his daughter’s cheek. “Marisol, I’m so proud.”
“Yo también,” Paulina said, her eyes shining.
“Me three!” Lily chimed in.
As she hugged her family close, Mari felt like her abuelo was there with them. She could see him smiling, his brown eyes crinkling at the corners. Had he been guiding her this entire time?
A tear slipped down Paulina’s cheek. “I think Abuelo is proud too.”
Ernesto smiled. “My pops? I know he is.”
Chapter 17
Violet Harcourt
1940
My eyes darted to Roxy across the dim and noisy dance floor of Tropical Gardens Nightclub. She bent over to hand a gentleman a packet of cigarettes, her cleavage spilling out of her tight satin uniform.
I gritted my teeth as I picked up an empty glass. After my disastrous evening with Benny last night, I’d come home to find the motel room empty. Though I’d been relieved to have the room to myself, I wondered now where Roxy had spent the night. When I left the motel this afternoon to get lunch, she still hadn’t returned. Could it be true that men paid her for her company?
“Hey, beautiful! Over here.”
I turned to see an older, overweight Italian man in a booth, beckoning to me with thick fingers. My heart thumped. I didn’t want to be here, serving this man. But I had no money, and nowhere else to go. The cash tips were my only income.
Putting on a weary smile, I approached his table. “Good evening, sir. What can I get you?”
“I’ll take a slice of you,” he said, his eyes traveling up my legs and resting on my bottom. Every instinct told me to run. I wanted to place a hand protectively over my belly. This was no place for someone in my condition.
“You’re a gas,” I said, forcing a smile. “Would you like to buy a pack of Marlboros or Chesterfields?”
Boardwalk Summer Page 13
