But even though it was much more emotional than her other stories, it needed more. She had already added a touch of her mother’s zest for life and love of song.
She leaned back in her chair and chewed on the pencil as she let her mind wander, but then the ideas began to come to her hard and fast. She rapidly jotted them down before they slid away from her.
Love lost. War and violence. A hero in jeopardy. A woman praying for his return, forced to fend for herself. Maybe giving herself to her lover before he leaves for war. Finding herself with child, alone and wondering how she will raise the child should her lover not return.
Sniffling, Josephine realized she was crying and swiped at the errant tears slipping down her cheeks.
She’d let her life bleed onto the pages, and maybe that was a good thing. Maybe she could exorcise her ghosts that way. As she committed the first scene to the page, the spirits danced around her, urging her on as the tears came again and streamed down her cheeks.
Josephine was so lost in the story that she didn’t notice her abuela’s entrance into the room until her grandmother sat beside her and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. As she had so often, Josephine turned into that embrace and finally released all the emotions that she had pent up. She cried until her body shook and there were no tears left.
“I’m sorry, Abuela,” she said, and it wasn’t just about the crying jag. They hadn’t spoken about the pregnancy—or really anything at all—since that morning. Josephine hoped this comfort was a sign that her grandmother would be able to forgive her.
“I didn’t listen to you and made a mistake,” she said, and a cascade of crushed and broken gardenias fell around them while she continued her story.
Her grandmother sighed. “Mi’ja, do you know why I told you that story?”
“Because God wants us to remain pure until we’re married?” Alberta was quite religious.
“Well, yes. But also because I saw how difficult it was for your mother. The people who judged her without knowing her, and the way some looked at you, a bastard child.”
Josephine shook her head, trying to remember, but couldn’t. “I didn’t realize it was that way.”
“We both did everything we could to shield you. And I didn’t want you to have the struggles she had, or that I did.”
Josephine frowned. “But you were married to Abuelo when you had Mami, weren’t you?”
Alberta sighed and patted Josephine’s hand. “I was, but that doesn’t mean it wasn’t very difficult. We did not have much money. Your grandfather worked very hard and very long hours, and I…well, I had to set aside my dreams.”
“You did?”
Alberta smiled wistfully. “When I was younger, I dreamed of becoming a famous dancer. But then I met Marcos, and your mother came along, and then there was the war, and the journey here…” She shrugged and sighed. “You are young. You cannot comprehend yet how fast the time goes.”
They were quiet for a moment and Josephine marveled at all she hadn’t known about her grandmother.
Her grandmother squeezed her shoulder and leaning close, she said, “Your mother told me the baby is not Martin’s, but Rake Solvino’s.”
Shamefaced, Josephine could only nod.
“How could you share such intimacy with a stranger, Josephine? And our employer at that!”
“He wasn’t a stranger, though, abuela. Not exactly.” She told her grandmother about that first kiss with Rake when she was just sixteen, and she thought she saw a small light of understanding dawn in her grandmother’s eyes. “Plus,” she added quickly, “I was upset because I’d seen Martin with another woman. And Rake was so understanding.” And charming, she thought, but wouldn’t say.
Josephine told her abuela about their meal, the gambling, and the champagne. The walk in the moonlight and carriage ride to his railway car. More of the champagne, although she knew that was neither an excuse nor a reason for what had happened. She had to acknowledge that there had been attraction there and a need she had not experienced so fiercely before.
How it had all felt like something out of a dream. A magical dream.
Her abuela was silent for a too-long moment, then she said, “But now we have no choice but to deal with reality. What will you do, mi’ja?”
“Martin is a wonderful man. I know I don’t deserve his understanding, but I hope that when I tell him—”
“He doesn’t know yet?” her abuela interjected.
Josephine shook her head and felt like she was strangling beneath the weight of the mangled flowers that were now as high as her chin. Sucking in a deep breath of air scented with the stench of rotting gardenias, she blurted out, “I will tell him. And I pray that he’ll forgive me and be willing to help me raise the baby.”
Another seemingly endless and telling pause followed her statement. “And Rake? What role will he play in the baby’s life?”
Josephine had pondered that ever since Rake had told her the day before that he intended to fight for her. That he wanted to be a part of her life and the baby’s.
“He has a right to know his child, but not to interfere in what I want for my life. I have plans for what I want, and Rake is not part of those plans.”
Her abuela dipped her head in a slow, thoughtful nod. “While we may have plans, sometimes He has other designs for us. We can fight against them and find ourselves always at odds or we can adapt and find peace.”
A harsh breath escaped her with her disbelief. “Are you saying that God thinks I should be with Rake?”
“There is a reason why he came into your life at this moment. Maybe it is a test of what you feel for Martin and Martin for you. It doesn’t mean you have to give up on your plans, only that you may have to adjust them for this gift you’ve received.”
A gift? The baby? She pondered the idea until a flutter like butterfly’s wings beat inside her. She covered her still-flat belly with her hand and imagined the flutter growing stronger. Pictured her belly growing rounder and bigger, and those visions chased away the mounds of crushed flowers.
“It is a gift, abuela. Maybe it didn’t come when I expected it, but I will accept it and find a way to fulfill my dreams.”
A broad smile lit her grandmother’s face, awakening the crinkles of deep lines forged by a lifetime of joyfulness. “That’s my Josephine.”
Yes, that’s our Josephine. Smart and spunky and determined. It’s good to have her back, isn’t it? And good to have Alberta back in her corner.
Martin’s search the night before had been interrupted by the altercation with Rake. He still regretted losing his temper and, worse, letting Josephine see that dark side. It was totally unlike him, and he didn’t recognize that side of himself.
The side that was still driving him to prove that Solvino was the notorious Sin Sombra crime boss. He told himself it was all about solving the crime, but as Nita had so wisely hinted the day before, maybe there was more pushing him on this mission. Especially since they’d gotten word that morning that a murder had occurred the night before in Palm Beach. One that might be connected to the crime boss.
He returned to the hotel’s kitchen. It was closed once again and quiet. He entered and searched the room, but found nothing. Exiting the area, he went in and out of the various back rooms and caught sight of someone entering the manager’s office. Odd at this time of night. He walked down to the office and leaned his ear on the wooden door. He heard a loud scrape and thud before silence fell.
He knocked on the door, but no one answered. Entering the room, he saw that it was empty. Impossible. He’d definitely seen someone enter.
Walking around the dark office, he peered at the walls and floors, searching for a hint as to where the intruder had gone. As he neared one wall, something crunched beneath his foot.
He bent down and peered at the floor. Sand like that along the riverbank and in the Tequesta limestone caves and tunnels. Near the wall, a bright-colored bit of foliage. He picked it up and examined it. A
poinciana flower. Although there were poinciana trees all through the grounds between the Regal Sol and Royal Palm, they also lined the walk along the marina.
As he leaned closer to the wall, it became apparent there was a gap in the plaster, barely noticeable, but definitely there. He pushed on the wall and it gave a little. Standing, he pushed harder and with a click, the wall suddenly popped open to reveal the tunnel behind it. The echo of footsteps as it opened told him that the intruder he had seen earlier was not that far ahead.
He charged into the tunnel, intending to catch up to the person, but as he did so, the footsteps ahead of him changed pace. They became a run, and a second later, the shout of voices warned him that they must have heard his footsteps and realized someone else was on their trail.
Hastening his steps, he reached the end of the tunnel at a full run. But all he caught was a glimpse of a faraway man dashing into the poinciana trees while a small boat sped downstream toward Biscayne Bay.
Frustrated, he jammed his hands on his hips and paused to catch his breath. Something illegal was clearly going on at the hotel. Whether or not it was Solvino behind the deeds, he needed to warn Josephine to be careful.
With a quick glance at his watch, he confirmed that it was not too late to visit. He headed back toward the hotel and circled around to the street that led to the cottages where so many of the hotel employees lived. The small folk homes were dressed up with the elaborate gingerbread trim that graced the hotels, giving them a fancier air even though they were little more than basic shelter. For the most part the cottages were well kempt, although the Miami heat and humidity made it a challenge.
It reminded him of his first meeting with Josephine, bringing a smile to his face as he recollected the crumbling plaster ceiling landing on them, like snow falling. He’d vowed that once he and Josephine were married he’d take her somewhere that she could see real snow falling.
Armed with that happy memory, he was ready to face her after yesterday’s uncomfortable incident. He knocked on the door and a second later Josephine answered, eyes red-rimmed. The stain of tears on her cheeks still visible.
“Are you okay?” he asked, concern for her automatically overriding every other emotion.
She nodded and gestured for him to enter. “I’m glad you’re here. There’s something we have to talk about.”
He stepped through the doorway and slipped off his boater, holding it nervously as he waited, but when she hesitated, he took the lead. “I’m not happy about what happened with Rake.”
Tears shimmered in Josephine’s eyes again and with a sniffle, she said, “You have every right to be angry and to tell me you don’t want to marry me anymore.”
“I love you, but…it’s not easy to think about you and that man. He’s not a good person, Josephine. I don’t trust him.”
“I understand how you feel, and I’m not sure I trust him either. He’s a married man and didn’t tell me before we—” Color flamed across her cheeks and she covered them with her hands. “All I can say again is that I’m sorry for what happened.”
He believed her, and he wanted to try to move on from that mistake. He cared for her far too much to just walk away. She was everything to him. Martin laid his boater on a nearby chair, reached up, and took hold of her hands. Twining his fingers with hers, he smiled at her for the first time in what felt like ages and said, “Together we can find a way past this, Josephine.”
The tears in her eyes grew brighter and then spilled over, running down her cheeks copiously, confusing him because from the sadness in her gaze, they weren’t tears of joy. “Josephine?”
“There’s more, Martin. I’m—” She inhaled a hard breath. “I’m with child. Rake’s child.”
Martin shook his head to clear his hearing, unable to believe what she’d just said. He dropped her hands, turned away, and dragged a hand through his hair. When he faced her again, he said, “You’re pregnant? With his baby? Do you know who he is, Josephine? What he’s done?”
“I know you want to believe he’s this Sin Sombra—”
“I am going to prove he is, and then I’m going to make sure he’s locked up for a very long time,” he said, the tone of his voice hopefully making it clear that he would do just that.
“Martin, are you sure you’re not letting jealousy cloud your judgment?” Josephine challenged.
That red haze from the night before returned, coloring everything he saw. His fiancée, pregnant with another man’s child. A criminal’s child. Her defending that criminal.
Him raising that child if he could not only forgive her, but learn to trust her again.
“You think you know him? Know that he’s better than that?” Martin challenged.
Josephine reached out and laid a hand on his chest in a gesture so familiar, it made his heart ache at the thought of never feeling it again.
“There’s a side to him you don’t want to see. He’s not the rogue you want him to be.”
Her words shredded that heart into little pieces. “Because I’m jealous and unreasonable? I guess I know who you think is the better man then.”
Josephine shook her head vehemently and more tears came to her eyes. “That’s not what I meant, Martin. Please try to understand.”
He had been trying to understand since she’d first confessed her indiscretion. But all that he’d heard tonight had him wondering if there truly could be a future for them still. In that instant, it was obvious what he had to do.
“I have a lead about Sin Sombra that I have to follow. It’s not in town, so I’ll be going away. Maybe for a few weeks.” He paused. “Maybe more.”
Maybe when I come back, I’ll know what to do about all this. About whether you still love me, he thought.
“It’s what’s best,” Martin said, and without waiting for a reply, he turned and left the cottage, wondering if this would be the last time he saw his Josephine.
Sniff. Sniff. Sniff. Does anyone have a handkerchief? True love cannot be dead. I cannot believe that our Martin and Josephine will not have their miracle!
Chapter Eight
Rake juggled the bouquet of flowers in his hands, nervous about seeing Josephine. Slightly unsettled since he’d just had another fight with Penelope about the baby and whether or not it was really his. Penelope’s words still clung to him like an oil slick on the water.
“Do you really think it’s your child? The little gold digger just sees a way to move up in the world.”
Nothing Josephine had done before their night of passion would lead him to believe that she’d been trying to use him to improve her lot in life nor had her actions since then. If anything, she seemed determined to do it on her own. Or rather, with Martin. Even if a different Pinkerton had been working at the hotel of late. He wondered where the good detective had gone and what that meant for his relationship with Josephine. Maybe she’d broken their engagement. The thought lightened his spirit and quickened his steps.
When he passed by the concierge desk though, only Mr. Adams was present. The man told him Josephine was on a short break, so he hurried down to the small spare room where the employees sometimes gathered for rest.
The door to the room was open and when he peered inside, he realized Josephine was there, sitting at a table and sipping tea along with two other women. They jumped to their feet when they spied him.
She looks tired, he thought as he approached, the bouquet tucked behind him since he didn’t want to be too obvious in front of her friends and his other employees. It wouldn’t be good to be seen favoring one of his workers, especially not with the recent layoffs.
“Mr. Solvino,” she said, with a respectful dip of her head.
With a look at her friends, he said, “Miss Valencia. And who might these other young ladies be?”
Josephine gestured to each of them as she introduced them. “Miss Duarte and Miss Garcia.”
“Ladies, it’s a pleasure to meet you. Would you mind giving us a moment?”
Th
e two young women murmured their consent and hurried away, tittering to themselves and closing the door behind them.
Handing Josephine the flowers, he said, “I’ve missed our nighttime talks in the kitchen.”
She glanced at the bouquet, but didn’t take it. “They’ve found another employee to fill Mr. Slayton’s position, so there’s no need for me to work a double shift anymore.”
“That doesn’t mean we can’t see each other,” he urged.
She held up her hand and pointed to the pitiful little diamond ring on her finger. “This means we can’t. I’m engaged to Martin.”
“Funny, but I haven’t seen your detective around lately,” he chided, earning a glare and uplift of her chin.
“What do you want, Rake?”
Ah, there was the spunk he liked so much. Though it wasn’t quite as appealing when directed so dismissively at him. “I told you, Josephine. I want to be with you.”
Wagging her head back and forth, she said, “That’s not going to happen.”
As determined as she seemed to be, he could be just as determined. And if he couldn’t push straight through the obstacle, he certainly intended to find a way around it no matter how long it took.
“That may be, but I deserve a chance to get to know my child. Surely you don’t intend to deny me that, especially since the odds are that I can never have another.”
It was obvious his point had struck home. Pressing that point further, he cupped her cheek. Her skin was so smooth beneath his fingertips and palm. So familiar even in so short a time that if he closed his eyes, he would know her just with a simple touch.
She sensed that connection and swayed toward him, the moment shimmering between them with possibilities.
“Rake,” she said, her tone filled with want and doubt. “We can’t. This could never work between us.”
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