Anchored Hearts

by Priscilla Oliveras

  His father’s footsteps slowed in front of the Operación Pedro Pan cluster before he crossed to the group commemorating their familia’s ties to the beloved island many had fled.

  Alejandro’s heart hammered in his chest. His papi had accused him of turning his back on his familia, the legacy his abuelo had sacrificed so much for. Would his father view Alejandro’s photographs as irreverent? Or as the homage a grateful grandson intended them to be?

  Apprehension tightening his gut, Alejandro waited respectfully for his father to take the lead. Seconds ticked by like a bomb counting down to detonation.

  “I have not seen this building since I was four years old,” his father said in a gruff whisper. He cleared his throat before continuing. “The night before your tío Juan and I had to leave.”

  “I know.” Alejandro had heard the story countless times over the years. It’d been a gauntlet thrown at his feet during their epic fight. Foolishly, Alejandro had reacted by cursing the restaurant, goading his father, who responded by ordering him to leave and never come back.

  The bitter taste of shame rose in Alejandro’s throat at the memory.

  “These photographs.” His papi’s work-roughened hand pointed toward the original Miranda’s, then looped in a circle indicating the smaller images surrounding it. “Todas son—”

  His deep, gravelly voice shook, then cracked before he broke off, leaving Alejandro wondering, They are all what?

  Not within his right to claim as part of his history? Not after disavowing it?

  Regret burned in a hot flush down the back of Alejandro’s neck as the words he’d yelled at his father all those years ago played through his head, ringing a death knell for their relationship.

  I want more than this place!

  Dios, if he could only take back those words.

  Exert his independence without demeaning those who had sacrificed for him to have the very options laid out before him.

  His father stared at their familia photographs, shoulders slack, his throat working to swallow words or emotions Alejandro could only guess his papi didn’t want to share. That left it up to him to take the first steps to bridge the distance between them. He had to try because whether he succeeded or not, he wasn’t leaving again. At least not for good.

  “My presence has caused problems for you and Mami. For that, I am truly sorry, Papi. That has never been my intent.” Standing shoulder to shoulder, he caught his father’s shift and interested glance his way. Bolstered, Alejandro continued. “What you two have together, it’s beautiful. I admire and, hell, even envy, your relationship. I don’t want to be a problem for you two, but Papi, I can’t stay away anymore. I don’t want to.”

  “I don’t want that, either. None of us do, hijo,” his father said, his voice thick with emotion. Turning back to the photographs, his chest rose and fell on a shuddering breath. His fingers shook as they hovered inches away from the protective glass covering the portrait of the original Miranda’s.

  The blend of nostalgia and longing stamping his jowled face looked similar to the throat-clogging, chest-tightening ache Alejandro had always felt, but rarely admitted, in those rare moments over the years when he had allowed himself to think about home, his familia. Anamaría.

  “What you have done here, hijo. These pieces of us,” his father said. “Of nuestra historía.”

  Our history.

  Not my, but ours.

  Hope sprouted a tiny bud in a dark corner of Alejandro’s soul.

  “And here. The way you honor those of us whose parents sent us with little more than faith and dreams and determination.” His papi ambled over to the images of Pedro Pan children, all now adults. He pointed at the photograph of Alejandro’s uncle, his father’s older brother, tall palms and verdant bushes surrounding him in his backyard in Miami. Tío Juan clutched an old yellowed photograph of the two brothers taken moments after they had landed in Miami. Scared. Uncertain. Already missing their parents and abuelos.

  “When did you visit your tío Juan?” his father asked. “Él no me dijo nada.”

  “He didn’t say anything to you because we both felt you didn’t care to know,” Alejandro answered truthfully. Though the words hurt him to admit. “I mean, my work, even a passion project like this one, has never been of much interest to you.”

  His father’s broad shoulders sagged on a heavy exhalation. He hung his head, reaching up to rub at his nape as if the same tension gripping Alejandro held him in its clutches, too. “I have not made it easy for you, hijo.”

  The gruff admission was a gross understatement. And yet Alejandro had to accept his own fault in their rift. Guilt weighed on him as he hobbled closer to his father. “I gave you good reason to be angry . . . worse, disappointed . . . in me.”

  “You were—”

  “Immature. Full of youthful ego and ignorance.” A mistake he had recently come to realize would only be rectified if he stopped acting like a child, blaming others and taking the easy route by running away. Never turning around to follow that route home.

  “Bueno, I will not argue that.” His papi turned to face him, his expression inscrutable under the muted gallery lighting. “But your work. In your own way, hijo, you honor us, our familia. The legacy my papi wanted for us.”

  That tiny bud of hope grew bigger, gaining strength in the sunlight of his father’s praise.

  Gripping his shoulder, his father pulled Alejandro closer, wrapping him in a tight bear hug.

  “Gracias, hijo. Your work brings my papi and what we left behind to life in a way I never expected. Me da tanto orgullo,” his father rasped.

  Stunned by his father’s admission of pride in his work, it took Alejandro a moment to return the unexpected, long-awaited paternal embrace. Relief flooded him, elation dragging pent-up words from his lips as he hugged his father.

  “Perdóname, papá,” he apologized. “I didn’t mean it. I’ve only ever wanted to make you proud, in my own way.”

  “Lo sé. I know that now.” His large hand pounded on Alejandro’s back, a reassuring weight that knocked away the guilt and self-reproach. “I should have tried to understand, instead of pushing you away. But you are home now, hijo, where you belong.”

  Tears pricked Alejandro’s eyes, and he squeezed them shut, overwhelmed with gratitude.

  A shocked gasp had him and his father turning to find Alejandro’s mother standing in the curtained entry. Señora Navarro stood at her side, an equally astounded expression on her lightly lined face.

  Tears pooled in his mami’s eyes, spilling down her round cheeks. She hurried into the small space, her low heels tapping against the faux-hardwood flooring. Arms wide, she wrapped her husband and son in a hug as a sob tore from her lips.

  They held each other for several moments. Then his mother cupped her husband’s face, rising up on her toes as he bent to brush his lips against hers. They murmured apologies and shared another soft kiss while Alejandro looked on with relief.

  She spun to Alejandro, cupping his face like she’d done with her husband, whispering prayers of thanks as she pressed her cheek to his.

  When she finally released him, Alejandro couldn’t help but peer past her toward the entrance, searching for the one person who would understand better than anyone else what this moment meant to him.

  Disappointment soured his mouth when Anamaría didn’t appear behind her mother, who still hovered near the curtain.

  As if she read his intent, Señora Navarro shook her head with a sad frown.

  “She hasn’t come back yet?” he asked, having touched base with Señora Navarro earlier while skirting the crowd looking for her daughter.

  “No, mijo, I’m sorry.”

  He dug his phone out of his pants pocket. A growl of frustration rumbled up his throat at the blank screen. No text message replies. No returned phone calls.

  “Enrique?” he asked.

  His best friend’s mother shook her head again.

  “¡Coño! I don’t under
stand what happened?” Frustrated, Alejandro drove his fingers through his hair. “I have no idea why she left or where she went. Or how to find her.”

  “I do.” A hand on her elbow, Señor Navarro guided his wife into the now-crowded viewing area. “Elena, saca tu teléfono, por favor.”

  His wife unzipped the black purse hanging at her left hip. Dipping her hand inside, she extracted her phone as he had requested.

  “I am assuming you still make the kids share their location, ha?” the Navarro patriarch asked.

  Both mamis exchanged knowing grins.

  Understanding dawned in Alejandro like the bright orange sun peeking over the Atlantic horizon at Higgs Beach.

  Impatience clawed at him while Señora Navarro tapped at her cell screen. Her red nail skimmed over the surface before she tapped one final time. Her head slowly rose, her gaze meeting his. Trust . . . and a clear warning . . . flashed in the hazel eyes her only daughter had inherited.

  Straightening his shoulders, he faced Anamaría’s parents—humble, hopeful, determined.

  “La quiero,” he said, going on to repeat the words he hadn’t allowed himself to think, much less say out loud, in over a decade. “I love her. I’ve never stopped.”

  Her lips curving in a gracious smile, Señora Navarro handed her phone to him.

  Chapter 20

  Anamaría kicked the sandy playground dirt, grimacing when tiny grains dusted over the front of her sandaled stilettos, wedging uncomfortably between her toes.

  She should have driven home after dropping Enrique off at his place like she had promised when he balked at her leaving in his car, alone and upset. The detour to Higgs Beach and Astro City Park had been unintentional.

  Her mind . . . her memories . . . her heart had led her back to where it had all begun.

  Where she and Alejandro had taken that first step. Dios, back then it had felt like such a huge leap. A heady, scary, titillating first kiss that moved them out of the friend zone.

  Appropriately, it’d been July Fourth weekend, too.

  Perhaps this was a natural place for her to snip the frayed threads of their relationship and begin anew.

  Closing her eyes, she gripped the cool metal chains pressing against her shoulders and pushed off the sandy dirt. The flexible rubber seat swung back, then forward, her loose hair and the skirt of her chiffon dress fluttering in the breeze. Legs pumping, arms extended, she leaned backward, willing the swing’s rhythmic motion to calm her roiling thoughts. Dull her misery. The ocean’s familiar, salty-sulfur smell filled her lungs as she compelled herself to finally . . . finally . . . let go.

  Of her adolescent dreams. Of her longing for a relationship with Alejandro that simply could not exist. Of the self-inflicted chains that shackled her dreams. Of him.

  Sure, she’d have to face Alejandro again before she left for the fitness expo on Wednesday. She owed herself, and him, the chance to say a proper good-bye. Achieve the closure they had promised each other. It’s what she needed to move on with her life, whether her heart agreed or not.

  By the time she returned from her trip, Alejandro should be gone, back to Atlanta or wherever his agent booked for him, given his doctor’s okay.

  She and Brandon would be full steam ahead planning for their first Key West retreat, looking forward to the fall and scheduling another. With more AllFit events on her calendar and an uptick in online-training clients, she’d focus on all the new opportunities. No longer tied to the past.

  Tire’s squealed nearby and she glanced over her shoulder to see a gray sedan speeding around the curve between the Casa Marina and the public tennis courts. The car veered sharply toward the parking lot in front of Astro City, screeching to a halt at an odd angle that took up two spaces alongside Enrique’s SUV.

  She scowled at the darkened vehicle, annoyed by the driver’s carelessness. Sure, the park was empty except for her. At 8:30 P.M., the families with young children were long gone and the teens who would hang out until the park and beach closed and the cops kicked them out hadn’t finished their primping at home. Their arrival would be her cue to leave.

  Now she hoped the reckless driver would take the cue that a single car in the parking lot probably meant its occupant wanted to be alone.

  Instead, the driver’s door opened. A dome light flickered on inside the vehicle, illuminating the occupant. Anamaría’s hands tightened around the swing chains, the curved ridges digging into her palms, when she recognized Alejandro.

  What was he doing here?

  Momentum carried her swing forward and she stabbed at the ground with her feet to stop herself. Her right ankle twisted on a rock, and she winced at the sharp twinge. Hobbling to a stand, she tucked her hair behind her ears, then squared her shoulders to face him.

  Alejandro exited the car and craned his neck over the sedan’s roof to peer inside her brother’s vehicle. He jabbed a hand through his hair and turned toward the park, spotting her immediately.

  The air crackled between them. One of the streetlights flickered high above the sidewalk, its yellowish light trembling around them.

  Even fifty or so feet away from him, the intensity of his gaze made Anamaría’s stomach clench. Anger, disappointment, and resolve swirled inside her. She grasped on to the resolve, straightening her spine.

  In the melding of the evening’s darkness and the wavering streetlights she couldn’t quite make out his expression, but she noticed that he had ditched his crutch and now wore the protective CAM boot over his left dress pants leg. He moved toward her, each step-limp matching her rapidly pounding pulse.

  The park equipment and smattering of trees cast long shadows across the patches of grass and sandy dirt, falling over him when he came into their path. He had removed his jacket at some point, and now his white button-down, the sleeves pushed up to reveal his forearms, gleamed under the glow of garish light.

  His mouth a thin line, his angular features hardened under a fierce frown, he drew closer.

  Anamaría stayed put. Not allowing herself to meet him halfway despite her concern for his injured leg. He’d been the one to leave before. He was the one intent on leaving again. Let him come to her now.

  Alejandro stopped several feet away, jaw clenched, his gaze searching hers for answers to questions she more than likely didn’t care to answer.

  “You said you’d be back. What happened?” His tone straddled the line between worry and accusation.

  “I figured you were busy.” She hitched a shoulder, pretending it was no big deal. “Natalia was selling pieces like fresh coconut water on a hellish summer day. I needed some fresh air.”

  Hands deep in his pant pockets, he eyed her intently and took a step toward her. “What’s going on? Talk to me, Princes—”

  “Stop.”

  Alejandro flinched at her brusque command. His confused gaze bounced between the open palms she held out to ward him off and her eyes.

  “You should go back to Bellísima. I’m sure your familia and friends . . . your fans . . . are wondering where you are.”

  “I don’t care about them.”

  Exactly! That was the problem. All he seemed to care about were his goals. His dreams. No matter where they took him or whom he left behind.

  Part of her knew she was being unfair. Their new relationship dynamic had been her idea. She was the one breaking the rules this time. But that didn’t make it hurt any less, and she couldn’t seem to stop herself from lashing out at him.

  “You should care about them. And I should be home packing for my trip. This—” She gestured back and forth between them. “Our friends with benefits arrangement has been . . . I don’t know, fun?” She nearly choked on the lie.

  “Don’t do that. Don’t cheapen what we have.”

  “Ha!” she scoffed, air whooshing out of her in a harsh, disbelieving breath. “What we have? And what exactly is that? Other than something whose time has come to an end.”

  Despising the weakness inside her that ached for
him to refute her words, Anamaría shifted to stare at the empty tennis courts across from the Casa Marina resort. Everywhere she looked held memories of them together. From the resort where they’d held their senior prom to the tennis courts’ tiny darkened parking lot where they’d shared their first kiss under a firework-lit sky to their picnic spot on the darkened beach across the street. Ages and heartaches and dashed dreams ago.

  She sensed him approaching, then caught his shadow spreading across the sandy ground beside hers. Doggedly she kept her gaze turned away from him, afraid he’d see the pain she wasn’t sure she could hide.

  “Our time together hasn’t been some tawdry affair. Not to me,” he said.

  Her eyes fluttered closed, her head refusing to believe what her heart wanted to easily accept.

  “Every moment we’ve shared this summer has been a thousand times better than any I’ve dreamed about over the past decade. And believe me, I’ve spent many restless nights dreaming about you. My subconscious is unable to deny how much you mean to me, even if I try.”

  “Yeah, well, maybe I didn’t have that problem.”

  Liar.

  “The selfish part of me hopes that’s not true,” he said, his voice a gravel rough. “But an even bigger part hates the thought of you having been as miserable as me.”

  His fingertips grazed her collarbone as he grasped a lock of her hair, running the pad of his thumb over the silky strands. Fissions of awareness skittered through her chest, across her breasts, and lower. Silently she cursed her body’s reaction to simple touch.

  “Look, we’re both leaving soon,” she said, gathering her hair at her nape, then twisting it and leaving it to drape over her opposite shoulder, out of his reach. “I figure, let’s end on a high note, you know? Your success tonight mere days before my first big AllFit trip seems appropriate. No need to drag out a good-bye before going our separate ways, like we agreed.”

  The words were like shards of glass forced down her throat, leaving her raw and bleeding from the lie.