“No, no, I won’t worry. Edward is suffering. Whatever he needs to ease his pain, we must do.”
“This man, Miguel,” Emilio said. “If he’s Abuela’s son, then he’s your brother, right, Tía ’Nica?”
“Yes, darling. He’s my brother, and I haven’t seen him in quite some time. You can meet him soon.”
Satisfied with an explanation of someone he didn’t know, Emilio finished his cereal.
The next hour passed in a whirlwind. By ten o’clock, the little cinder-block house was a cool seventy-five degrees. The toys had disappeared from the living-room floor. Rosa was wearing one of her Sunday dresses, and her hair was pulled back into a neat bun.
Miguel arrived a few minutes past ten in an old pickup truck whose engine could have woken the neighborhood. Rosa was at the front door, waiting.
“Mui hijo,” she said as she went down the steps and met him by his truck. “How I have missed you.”
“Hello, Mama. I’ve missed you, too.”
“You could have come. We haven’t seen you since your father...” Her words trailed off, and Monica joined her.
“I know, Mama. And you know why I haven’t come.” He stared at Monica as if she was primarily responsible for sending him to prison.
He looked good. He wore a pair of jeans, a plaid shirt and boat shoes with no socks. He was tanned, no doubt due to his love of fishing.
There was no sentimental embrace between brother and sister. “Hello, Miguel. You seem well,” Monica said.
And then his gaze wandered to the door of the house, where Emilio stood. “So, there he is,” he said. “A fine boy.”
“Yes, he is,” Monica said. “But Miguel, I hope you won’t tell him just yet that you are his father. I hope you’ll let me lead into that conversation.”
“Whatever you say.” Miguel passed her on the driveway and walked to the house. “Come here, Emilio. Let me see you.” He lifted the boy in the air and spun in a circle. “A strong, sturdy little man you are. It’s about time we met.”
“You’re my uncle, right?”
Miguel set Emilio down carefully. “We are all related here, querido,” Miguel said. “We all have the name Cortez.”
“I didn’t go to camp today so that I could meet you.”
“I hope you won’t be disappointed,” Miguel said, passing a glance at his sister. “I hope Tía ’Nica told you good things about me. I feel like we already know each other since ’Nica tells me a lot about you.”
“She doesn’t tell me much about you,” Emilio said.
“Maybe that will change now that we know each other,” Miguel said.
Rosa beamed. “Let’s all go inside,” she said. She came to Miguel’s side and took his arm. “Maybe we can talk about you coming back to Sweet Pine more often. It could be a fresh start. Nothing would make me happier.”
“We’ll see, Mama.” She walked him inside the house with Emilio trailing behind, but Monica could still hear her chatting. “You can get a job here, hijo. Now that you have skills. We would be a family again.”
Please, no, Mama, Monica silently wished. He’ll bring trouble with him. She entered the house prepared to talk Miguel out of such a foolish move. But he had already crushed their mother’s dream for the future.
“Ah, no, Mama.” He put his arm around Rosa’s shoulder. “I won’t come back here permanently. You know I wouldn’t be here today if ’Nica hadn’t set up this meeting. I had nothing to do with what happened to the judge, Mama. You believe me, don’t you?”
“Of course, hijo, and so does ’Nica. She told me so.” She gave Monica a look of such longing that Monica almost wished that happy family her mother dreamed of could be a reality. But she knew better.
“Isn’t that right, ’Nica?” Rosa said.
“Yes, Mama.”
They all sat at the table with platters of eggs and pork sausage. Miguel ate heartily while Rosa kept offering him more. Miguel teased Emilio, who laughed at his funny stories.
When the meal was complete, Miguel asked to see Monica outside. They went into the backyard, while Rosa cleared the table and Emilio sat at the window waiting for more time with his new relative.
“He likes me,” Miguel said. “He’s probably the only good thing besides Ellie that ever came into my life. I now regret not being with him.”
Monica wondered if that was really true. “How could you have been with him?” she said. “You couldn’t be a father while you’re in jail.”
“I’m not in jail anymore, ’Nica. Emilio is five years old. He should know the truth.”
“Why? So you can take him to Miami, where he’ll live how? And who knows where?” Panic began to increase Monica’s heartbeat. The erratic thumping sounded in her ears. This couldn’t be happening.
“You brought him to me when he was only a few days old, Miguel. You wouldn’t even look at him. You asked me to raise him, and I have.”
“And you’ve obviously done a wonderful job...”
“I’ve been there for him every day. Looked after him every day through good times and bad. What have you ever done for him?”
“Not much, I know. And I’m grateful to you.”
“I don’t want your gratitude, Miguel. I just want you to stay out of Emilio’s life. He’s happy and healthy, and in a good place. You’re still unreliable, untrustworthy. What kind of existence will that be for him?”
Miguel chuckled, but it was not a happy sound. “He’s my son, ’Nica. Mine. I can take him to the far corners of the earth if I want to.”
“You wouldn’t do that. You know you’re not equipped to raise this child. You also know...” Her voice cracked as a sob tore from her throat.
“Know what, ’Nica?”
“That in just a few weeks, the novelty of having a son will wear off and you’ll see him as a constant reminder of your past. You’ll be miserable and sorry for having taken him from Mama and me. In this house, he feels safe and knows love, and that he can count on us.”
Monica worried. Had she gone too far?
Instead, Miguel merely chuckled, as if this were all a joke. “You’re getting worked up over nothing, ’Nica. I never said I would take him. I only said I could. You’re probably right. I would screw up his life just like I have my own.”
She closed her eyes, blocking her view of Miguel’s face for a calming moment.
“But I want him to know I am his father. I want to be able to see him. What’s so wrong with him knowing? It’s the truth, and haven’t you always been about the truth? Isn’t that why I’m here today? So your friend can know the truth about what happened to his father?”
He was right. She had always put truth above nearly everything else in life. And she hadn’t lied to Emilio. She told him his mother died and his father lived away from Sweet Pine. Emilio had never asked much more, and she had been grateful he was a happy child and they maintained their family, the three of them. Miguel was right again that she had agreed to him coming to town so that Edward could get to the truth—either the one he needed to believe, or the one he eventually must believe.
Yes, she wanted Emilio to share her same values about the truth. “Never lie, chico,” she’d said to him. “The truth is always better than a lie. Nothing is so bad that the truth can’t fix your problems.”
Here she was, now faced with a truth she had avoided, thinking she would not have to confront it until Emilio was much older and better able to accept who his father was. Miguel was right about another thing, too. Emilio did seem to like him, but what could a child understand after knowing a person for a few minutes? All these thoughts ran through her head, but maybe Miguel had listened to her. Maybe his years in prison had changed him so he could finally think of someone besides himself.
She could tell Emilio the truth, though maybe not the part about his father being a criminal.
>
“All right, Miguel,” she said. “Give me a few minutes to talk to Emilio. I’ll tell him you’re his father.” Monica grasped his arm. “But you must leave him here. You can see him from time to time, but this is Emilio’s home. This is where he belongs.”
“Look, ’Nica. I just told you. I admit I’d be lousy at raising this kid. But it can’t hurt for him to know that there’s someone else in his life that cares about him. You always say there is nothing more important than family. The more, the merrier, right?”
“But Miguel, you can’t be his father just for today. That would be cruel. You must maintain contact with him. And with Mama. You can’t walk out of their lives again.”
“Okay, I get it. If you can’t tell by now that I’ve changed, I don’t know what else to say to you. Now go in and tell him. I’m supposed to meet with your cop friend in fifteen minutes.”
She started toward the house, but stopped and turned back. “Just so you know, Miguel, Edward is not a cop. I told you that before. Why didn’t you believe me?”
“I figured because you’re a cop, that you uniforms stick together.”
“Well, he’s not one. He’s just a son wanting to know what happened to his father,” she said.
* * *
“SIT DOWN, EMILIO. I have to talk to you.”
The boy sat at the kitchen table. Rosa stared wide-eyed at the two of them and leaned against the sink.
“Miguel will be leaving soon,” Monica said. “And it’s important that you know the truth about him.”
“He’s nice,” Emilio said. “And funny. He knows lots of funny stories.”
“Yes, he can be funny,” Monica said. “But he is much more to you than just an uncle who teases you and makes you laugh.”
“What do you mean?” asked Emilio.
Monica took a deep breath and glanced at her mother, whose mouth had dropped open. “Remember, chico, when I said you had a father, but he lives some distance away?”
Emilio nodded and sat forward in his chair. He seemed so small and innocent, so incapable of understanding what she had to tell him. Monica prayed she would say the right words.
“The truth is, Emilio, Miguel is your papa.”
“My papa?”
“Yes, sweetheart. Your mommy died soon after you were born, and Miguel asked Grandma and me to raise you.”
“My papa didn’t want me?” Emilio asked.
“It wasn’t like that, Emi. Your father was very sad because your mommy had died. He loved both of you, but he couldn’t forget the sadness enough to give you all the love a papa should give to his son. So he did a wise thing. He gave you to two people who could love you night and day with their whole hearts.”
“Then why is Papa here today?” Emilio asked the question with an innocent skepticism in his voice. He wanted to believe, but he couldn’t quite make himself yet.
“He’s here on business,” Monica said. “But also to see you. He wants you to know that he’s your papa and he didn’t mean to hurt you in any way. He was just so sad.” She lifted Emilio’s hand and held it tightly. “He couldn’t be your papa then, and Grandma and I wanted you so badly. We still do.”
“I’m not sure I want him for a papa now,” Emilio said. “I could have made him not so sad. I could have made him happy again.”
Monica smiled. “Yes, perhaps you could have. You certainly make Grandma and me happy every day. But now maybe you have a chance to help your papa.”
“Is he going away again, after his meeting?”
“Yes, but he’ll be back. And you can talk on the phone and maybe use the computer sometimes to talk to each other. I’ll show you how.”
Emilio thought for a moment and chewed on his bottom lip. “So, I’m staying here, just like always?”
“Yes, chico, you’re staying right here.”
“That’s good. It’s okay that I know something about my papa, but I don’t want you and Grandma to be sad.”
Monica stood, came over to Emilio and gave him a strong, secure hug. “I love you, Emi. So much.”
She called Miguel inside the house and met him at the back door.
“Did you tell him?” Miguel asked.
“Yes, he knows,” she whispered. “But Miguel, you must remember your responsibility to Emilio from now on. You must promise to call and visit sometimes, and you have to keep those promises. Emilio is a sweet, sensitive boy. If you want to be in his life, you have to accept what it is to be a papa. Remember what our father was like, how giving of himself.”
Miguel nodded. “All right, ’Nica. You can quit lecturing me. Can I have a minute to say something to Emilio now?”
“Of course.” She watched Miguel walk into the front room, where he asked Emilio to sit with him. They talked a few minutes, and then Miguel said he had to leave. Monica came into the room and sat next to Emilio.
“When will you be back, Papa?” Emilio asked him.
“Soon. I will see you soon.” He ruffled the boy’s hair and kissed him on top of his head. “Be a good muchacho, Emilio.”
“I will.”
Miguel said goodbye to Rosa and Monica. “I hope your friend appreciates that I came all this way,” he said as he left the house.
When he’d pulled out of the driveway, Monica dialed Edward’s number. He answered quickly. “Monica, hello. How’s everything going? Has Miguel upset you?”
More than you can ever know. But to Edward she said, “All’s well. Miguel’s on his way. I hope you won’t push him too hard, Edward. He made a few giant steps forward today, but I’m still uncomfortable with how he’ll react if you accuse him of something.”
“Don’t worry, Monica.” Edward’s voice was soft and measured. “This is my job, remember, talking to convicted criminals like Miguel every day. I just want to get to understand what happened and who may be involved, or not. I wouldn’t do anything to hurt you or Rosa or Emilio.”
His words calmed her. She had thought of him so often since they’d almost kissed two nights ago. She remembered the feel of his hand on her cheek. It had been a sweet moment that had made her heart beat so strong. She wanted Edward to find out the truth that he was seeking. But not at the expense of her family. Even after so short a time, she believed she knew Edward. That he would handle this situation with skill and compassion, and she believed he would never purposefully upset her. Still, doubts crept into her mind. She didn’t trust Miguel. She didn’t know what he would do for sure. But she hoped that nothing would disturb the balance of her little family.
CHAPTER NINE
EDWARD WENT OUT on the porch to await Miguel’s arrival. Though he was eager to question Miguel, his thoughts were on Monica. She was worried about his speaking with Miguel, and he didn’t want to be a source of concern for her. In just a short time she had come to mean so much to him. A hardworking cop who’d studied to move herself up the ladder to become detective, she was also tender enough to love a little boy who wasn’t hers, and fair enough to consider a stranger’s needs since his father had died. He would handle this meeting today with care.
Edward had liked and respected her from the first time he’d met her. But these growing feelings he had for her were taking things to a whole new level.
A.J. sauntered up to the porch, disturbing the trail of Edward’s thoughts. Edward had agreed to open the marina again, although his heart hadn’t been in the work. Yet A.J. seemed happy. He would have a paycheck coming to him and he’d be kept occupied in a meaningful way. Edward knew A.J., albeit not well. He’d seen the disheveled young man on several weekend trips to Smitty’s, but he’d never had a real conversation with him.
Climbing the porch steps, A.J. swept a kerchief off his head and wiped the sweat on the back of his neck with it.
Edward glanced at his watch—12:15 p.m. His time with Miguel had already been cut by fifteen minutes. He di
dn’t want to be interrupted with rental customers while A.J. was out to lunch.
“Could you get your lunch and come back here to eat it?” he asked A.J. “I’m expecting someone any minute, and I really don’t want to be disturbed. I’ll be in the house if you need me, but I’d appreciate you handling things around here for the next hour or so. You can take off an hour early, and I’ll hose off the afternoon rentals when they come back.”
“No problem,” A.J. said. “Who’s coming by? Is it something to do with the judge?”
Edward certainly didn’t think his appointment with Miguel was any concern of A.J.’s, but he answered politely. “Everything I do these days is something to do with my father.”
“Yeah, I’ll bet that’s true,” A.J. said. “I’ve noticed you making piles of Smitty’s belongings. Is all that stuff going to charity?”
“Yes. I’m keeping a few things, but maybe someone can use the others I’m letting go,” he explained. “And by the way, if you see anything you like, go ahead and take it. I know my dad would have wanted you to.”
A.J. nodded and drifted off toward the marina.
Just then, a pickup truck pulled into the marina parking lot. A man got out and approached Edward. He assumed the man was Miguel: he could detect a number of features similar to Monica’s.
Miguel came onto the porch. “You Edward?”
“Yes, that’s right.” Edward held out his hand. Miguel didn’t shake it.
“I gotta leave at one o’clock,” he said. “Have stuff to do in Miami. What did you want to talk to me about?”
“I appreciate you coming all this way, Miguel. I’m trying to find some closure on my father’s death by talking to anyone who knew him.”
“People with prison records, it looks like to me,” Miguel said.
“Not at all.” He led the way down the porch steps toward the dock. “Mind walking with me?” Edward’s training had taught him that clues to a person’s guilt or innocence could often be detected at the scene of the crime. Miguel fell into step beside him.
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