Just as her arm was beginning to feel the stretch, Carolyn managed to snag an open cab. She clambered into the backseat as the driver made eye contact with her in the rearview mirror and asked something in Spanish.
“Do you speak English?” Carolyn asked.
The driver replied in Spanish. Not English.
“I’d like to go to Las Canteras.” Carolyn knew that if the driver dropped her off anywhere along the memory-laden beach, she could find her way to the restaurant at the end of the bay. La Marinera had been her mother’s favorite restaurant years ago, and it made sense that it was her choice for her seventieth birthday celebration.
Without a reply, the driver flipped on the meter. With an unflinching jerk of the steering wheel, he merged into the flow of traffic. As the taxi sped downhill with all the windows open, she took a look at the surroundings that had been cloaked in dusk last night. Some areas were run-down and not at all appealing. Then a block later a modern building built of gray stucco with a red tile roof would appear.
Aunt Frieda often said that going “home” to the Canaries was like traveling back in time. Carolyn remembered that on her last visit most of the cars were older styles and none of the buildings had air-conditioning. The women still wore dresses whenever they were out in public and kept their shoulders covered the way good conservative women did in the United States during World War II. From what she was observing this time around, Las Palmas, Spain’s ninth-largest city, was making hearty efforts toward expansion, development, and a more open dress code.
Leaning back and taking in the soft breeze on her face, Carolyn silently congratulated herself. She had made it all the way to the islands and even had managed to grab a taxi in spite of her limited Spanish. Tikki probably wouldn’t agree that these minor accomplishments qualified as Carolyn’s “getting a life,” but as the taxi made its way to the old part of Las Palmas, Carolyn felt satisfied.
At home her life was insulated and familiar. Where she lived and worked hadn’t changed for decades. Aside from a cruise to Mexico that she and Marilyn went on soon after Marilyn’s divorce, Carolyn had done little traveling.
This was good. She felt strong.
The cabdriver slowly curved his way through the old part of the city, which seemed not to have changed much. The same shops were open for business, their narrow doorways displaying wares hung from the doorjamb and stacked on racks that held open the door. A Chinese restaurant had strung large, faded photos of the house specialties across the front window on a wire and held them in place with clothespins.
Carolyn remembered shopping with her mother for a new watch in one of the jewelry stores that displayed its name in cursive letters carved in wood over the door. She looked up and down the narrow streets as they drove past, certain she would recognize the shop if she saw it.
The driver pulled up to an open plaza area. Carolyn paid more than the amount showing on the meter since she wasn’t sure if tipping was expected. By the quickly masked expression on his face, Carolyn guessed it wasn’t. Next time she would know.
Heading for the beach, Carolyn stopped as soon as she came into view of the wide, sandy bay and drew in the scent of the sea. She was ready to retract her earlier assumptions that Las Palmas had changed. Here, at the Las Canteras beach, time had stood still. Everything was exactly as she remembered. Rows of neatly lined-up lounge chairs awaited customers within a roped-off section in front of a blue-and-white-striped cabana. A gathering of palm trees clustered beside the boardwalk and seemed to sigh with their own memories as the breeze rose to ruffle them.
Carolyn slipped off her sandals and buried her bare feet in the warm sand. She smiled at the way the sunlight sparkled on the clear, green water with an ageless verve. Along the shoreline, the Atlantic calmly curled and receded like a curtsy, leaving a fine white line of foamy petticoat lace on the tawny sand.
A vivid memory of her first visit to this beach rose to the surface of her thoughts. She was lying on her stomach beside her mother pretending to nap. In actuality she was peeking through the narrow gap between her raised arm and the beach towel. The object of her attention was the same as it was for all the other girls on the beach: bronzed, brazen, blond Bryan Spencer. He was playing soccer along the shore with a tribe of little pros. They were his lost boys, and he was their Peter Pan. Carolyn knew she wasn’t the only girl who was willing to be his Wendy.
Quickly shaking off the memories along with the sand from her feet, Carolyn put her shoes back on and purposefully made her way along the busy boardwalk, eager to reach the restaurant. Businessmen strode past her in trim suits, talking shop and smoking dark cigarettes. Mothers with little ones in compact umbrella strollers kept up lively conversations with one another as they pushed on at an energetic clip. A dark woman covered in flowing cloth and headdress lowered her eyes as she passed Carolyn. She looked like she belonged in a Moroccan marketplace.
This was the Canary Islands she remembered. This mix of cultures and paces. This was her mother’s home. And in a few moments she would step into La Marinera and give her mother the surprise everyone had helped to keep from their beloved matriarch, Abuela Teresa.
Carolyn felt her heart pounding with anticipation as she entered the restaurant’s open-air front. A man wearing a white shirt and black bow tie greeted her and asked something in Spanish. She gave him her mother’s name, and he responded with a smile of familiarity, nodding toward the back area where a party of at least forty of her mother’s friends and relatives was gathered.
As Carolyn approached the group, she caught Aunt Isobel’s eye, and as she did, her aunt rose from her chair, beaming and calling attention to her raised glass so that everyone would look at her. She offered a toast in honor of Abuela Teresa, as Carolyn stealthily sidled up next to her mother at the head of the table. Aunt Isobel turned to Carolyn and joyfully announced her by name.
All the guests cheered as Carolyn’s mother turned and lifted her stunned gaze to see her daughter’s face. She began to weep. Carolyn cried, too, and they embraced at last. They kissed each other’s moist cheeks, laughing and crying at the same time. Carolyn leaned in close and whispered, “Happy Birthday, Mom. I love you.”
Carolyn’s beautiful, wonderful, strong-hearted mother took Carolyn’s face in her two quivering hands. In a voice filled with wonder, she said, “Carolyn, you came all this way.”
“Yes, I did. Just to see you.”
Her mother’s gaze flitted to the left over Carolyn’s shoulder for just an instant. Carolyn recognized the instinctive glance. She knew that when a mother of twins saw one of her daughters, she always would check to see if the other one was right behind.
Carolyn shrugged slightly as if apologizing for Marilyn’s absence. “It’s just me.”
“Just you,” her mother repeated with a smile. “Just wonderful you.”
She kissed the back of Carolyn’s hand and pressed her cheek against it. “What a gift you have given me. And what a surprise!”
Aunt Isobel had moved into position beside Carolyn, and in an effort to keep the party moving along, she took Carolyn by the elbow and escorted her down the table to where an empty seat awaited her. There would be plenty of time for hugging and visiting during the week. The Birthday Queen had duties to perform. In a way, it all felt anticlimactic for Carolyn. She wished again that she had come out of hiding and joined her mother and Isobel on their stroll that morning. If she had, she wouldn’t have been late or felt so conspicuous.
Carolyn reached for the cloth napkin folded on her plate and dried her tears. Up and down the table the guests had returned to their conversations, allowing Carolyn a moment to pull herself together. Drawing in a deep breath, she looked down the table to her mother, who sat with regal posture. Her mother wagged her finger at Carolyn playfully with an “I can’t believe you did this” smile on her face.
Carolyn smiled in return and felt herself calming down. Leaning back, she placed her napkin in her lap. Then, lifting her chin, she looke
d up and for the first time noticed the guest seated across the table from her.
Time stood still. Her lips parted, and a single word escaped.
“Bryan.”
“Dios los cría, y ellos se juntan.”
“God makes them, and they find each other.”
CAROLYN’S WHISPER OF Bryan’s name had been only that, a whisper. Yet he seemed to hear her loud and clear despite the rousing conversations all around them. His expression made it evident that her immediate recognition of him and the soft echo of his name touched him deeply.
Lifting his glass to her, he smiled.
For several unflinching moments they held each other in a visual embrace, taking inventory of what the past quarter of a century had done to the two of them. Broad-shouldered Bryan still had a beachboy look about him, only much more mature and weathered, like someone who spent a lot of time outdoors. His once-blond hair was now much shorter and a less sun-bleached shade, a shorn version of the wind-tossed locks that once topped his head. He looked respectable and settled. Steady and tender. And while his face and hair had changed noticeably, his intense, blue-gray eyes hadn’t.
“What are you doing here?” Carolyn hadn’t premeditated her question. It slipped out like a sneeze.
“I came for a funeral. My stepmother passed away last week.”
“Oh. I’m sorry to hear that.” Carolyn was aware of how fast her heart was beating. She tried to come across as calm as Bryan seemed to be and repeated her sentiment. “I’m very sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you. Your mother was at the funeral. She invited me to come today.”
“Oh, I see.” Carolyn nodded, letting this all sink in. She flipped her hair behind her ear and tried to sort out the details.
My mom didn’t know I was coming. That means Bryan must not have known I was coming today either. This is all a coincidence, right? I can’t believe he’s here.
Bryan reached for a liter bottle of mineral water in the center of the table. “Would you like some?”
“Yes, thank you.”
Bryan filled her glass and she took a sip, aware that her hands were trembling.
“So, how have you been?” Bryan’s voice quavered, and for the first time he appeared as unnerved as Carolyn felt.
“Good. How about you?”
“Good.”
Just then Carolyn’s Aunt Sophie leaned over her husband on Carolyn’s right side and held out her cell phone. On the screen was a picture of Rodrigo’s newborn son. Carolyn stared at the picture without really seeing the image. Her contacts seemed to have gone blurry. Her uncle on her immediate right chatted in Spanish about the new baby.
“He’s beautiful.” Carolyn smiled at her aunt and uncle. She could feel Bryan watching her. Part of her wanted to turn her head and meet his gaze once again. Another part of her wanted to move to one of the empty seats at the far end of the table where she could watch him at a distance, as she had so many years ago. Being this close to Bryan still gave her butterflies.
Carolyn’s uncle reached for a plate in the center of the table and presented her with some sort of fish that had been brought to the table with its head still attached. Only a portion of the white meat still clung to the spine, since nearly everyone had finished eating when she arrived.
“No, thank you.” She fidgeted with the napkin in her lap and adjusted the silverware beside her plate. Narrow rivulets of perspiration zigzagged down her back, causing her blouse to cling to her skin.
Motioning for the waiter, Carolyn’s uncle proceeded to order something he apparently thought Carolyn would want. From across the table Bryan pushed a plate toward her that had three small, round slices of crusty bread and a half-empty bowl of red dipping sauce.
“Pan y mojo,” Bryan said. “You remember this.”
She did. The crusty bread with the slightly spicy sauce made from red peppers was a familiar and comforting memory of the islands. Getting something in her mouth and her nervous stomach right away seemed like a good idea.
With a cautious glance to the head of the table, Carolyn saw her mother sitting back, hands folded in her lap, contentedly taking in the moment. A soft smile clung to her lips. She motioned to Carolyn by unfolding her hands, touching her heart, and then giving her daughter a tender, wistful look of motherly affection. Carolyn offered back a smile with two unreliable, wobbly lips.
“So, how long will you be here?” Bryan broke her interlude with her mom.
Carolyn swallowed and sipped the rest of her water without looking up to meet his gaze. “Just until the twenty-first.”
Her fresh salad of mixed greens arrived then, along with a plate of grilled prawns ordered by her uncle.
“Will you be staying with your mother?”
“Yes.”
“Have you been able to get over here to see her often?”
“No.”
“When did you arrive?”
“Last night.”
“Your mother certainly looks well.”
“Yes, she does.”
“It was nice that you could surprise her this way. I remember the women in your family were especially close.”
“Yes, we still are.”
“What about you? Do you have any daughters?”
Carolyn put down her fork. It seemed an odd question for him to ask, but he might well be stretching for topics to discuss. Carolyn hadn’t exactly been helping him with the conversation.
“I have one daughter. Tikki. She’s twenty-three.”
“Tikki? That’s a great name.”
Carolyn repeated the same explanation she had given for years. “She’s named Teresa Katharine for her two grandmothers, and ‘Tikki’ is her nickname. Her dad gave it to her when she was a baby, and it stuck.”
Bryan nodded. Lifting his glass he nonchalantly said, “You married him, then.”
Carolyn looked up. “Yes. I married Jeff.”
He nodded again. His glance went to her left hand, where she still wore her simple gold wedding band.
Carolyn tried not to be obvious as she scanned his hands and saw that he didn’t wear a ring. “And what about you?” She felt eager to move the topic along. The last thing she wanted to do was answer questions about Jeff.
Bryan leaned back and seemed a little less confident than he had come across earlier. “I’m not married. I have one son, Todd. He got married just last year to a really great girl. Woman, I guess I should say. They’re doing well.”
Just then a large cake was delivered to the table on a wheeled cart, and the conversation with Bryan came to a halt as all the attention went to the cake and Abuela Teresa. Right behind the cart Rosa appeared, waving at everyone and dispensing kisses and a dramatic explanation of why she was so late. Carolyn wondered what would have happened if she had stayed at the apartment with Rosa instead of taking the cab. Would Bryan still be at the party? What if he had left, and they hadn’t seen each other?
She stole a quick glance at him as the candles were lit. His focus was on Carolyn’s mother, who rose at the head of the table. With dignity, Abuela Teresa thanked everyone for coming, carrying on the conversation with first a sentence in Spanish and then the translation in English. She did it effortlessly as she told the guests she was a blessed woman. She didn’t need to make a wish when she blew out her candles, she said, because God already had given her all her birthday wishes by allowing her to be there with them. God had even added a beautiful surprise, she said, by sending her an extra-special gift that came on an airplane over the ocean and was there, seated at her table. She extended her hand in a graceful gesture toward Carolyn.
Everyone applauded. Carolyn put her hand on her heart and smiled at her mother the way her mother had gestured to her earlier. Even with all the relatives and friends at the table and with Bryan sitting across from her, Carolyn still felt as if she was there for her mother, and her mother knew it. The specialness she had hoped to add to this day had unfolded. That realization had a calming effect on her wil
dly tossed emotions.
As photos were being snapped, the Birthday Queen faced her many-layered cake and blew out the seven tall candles, one for each decade. The cheers around the table were followed by toasts and laughter. Generous slices of cake were passed around. From underneath the table and from out of purses and bags an unexpected flock of gifts rose and made their way to the end of the table, where they all perched in front of the guest of honor. The gifts were presented to her with a humility and eagerness Carolyn didn’t think she had ever connected with gift giving in the United States. The image that came to mind was of well-loved subjects presenting the first fruit of their harvest to their sovereign.
Carolyn had a few small gifts for her mom but had left them in her suitcase, thinking it would be nicer to give them to her in private. Now she wished she had brought them to add to the bounty.
Abuela Teresa opened each gift slowly, as had been her habit at every birthday and Christmas Carolyn remembered. Her mother made grand exclamations over each one, as if the present she just had unwrapped was the only one she had received and therefore was her favorite. Carolyn noticed the way her mother made eye contact with each gift giver and thanked them warmly. She had forgotten how much her mother relished the art of gift receiving. Carolyn never had met anyone who was as good at appreciating even the smallest gift.
The conversation went on around the table well after the cake had been served. Coffees were ordered. No one was in a hurry to go anywhere. One of the uncles was talking to Bryan in fragmented English, so Carolyn slid her chair back and decided this would be a good chance to make an exit for the restroom.
Her mother reached for her hand as she passed by. She pressed Carolyn’s hand to her cheek. “You have made me so happy today.”
“Good. That’s what I hoped for.”
“Isobel told me how she kept you hidden from me in her apartment.”
Canary Island Song Page 9