She slowly opened her eyes and stretched. “Did I fall asleep?”
He nodded.
“What time is it?”
“After midnight.”
She sat up. “I didn’t see the end of the movie.”
He raised his eyebrows in mock outrage. “You fell asleep on John McClane?”
“Yes.”
“That’s it! We can no longer be friends.”
Carly sat up, put her hand on his arm. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.” She was genuinely concerned.
“I was kidding.” He kissed her lightly. “Come on, let’s go to bed.”
He helped her up, flicked off the television, and followed her to his bedroom.
What kind of life had Carly led that she couldn’t recognize his joke?
Probably a lonely one. He should be more careful with her.
***
Evan’s stomach was imitating a washing machine as he and Carly walked with McClane over to her mother’s house on Sunday. It would not stop churning. This was a family event and not just some random lunch. He was going as Carly’s partner, not Zita’s friend, and that made it seem serious. He didn’t do well with family stuff.
They strolled up the drive and Zita’s two dogs raced out to greet them. McClane wagged his tail and soon all three of them were running around the front yard together.
“I give McClane about five minutes before he’s run himself ragged,” Evan said.
Sure enough, by the time they walked up the steps of the house, McClane was lying panting under a tree.
“Is he going to be all right?” Carly asked.
“Yeah. I’ll get a bowl of water from Z and he’ll be fine.”
Carly opened the door and called, “Mama, we’re here.”
Her mother appeared wearing a traditional bright red skirt and a white shirt, her hair loose. “Hola, mi niñita! Evan, how are you?”
“Great, Carmen. Thanks for having me.”
“You are practically family,” she said, kissing both his cheeks.
He froze. Did she really think that? He and Carly had only been on a couple of dates. The mantle of belonging tried to settle on his shoulders, but he shrugged it off. He knew better than that. Carmen was just being polite.
“How is the painting?” Carmen asked.
He blinked. He wasn’t sure if she was referring to his painting of her garden, or painting in general, so he simply said, “Fine.”
He was relieved to find Zita in the kitchen. After greeting her with a kiss on the cheek, he got the bowl of water for McClane and called him around to the backyard. By the time his dog was settled with Zita’s two, Bridget and Jack had arrived, and there were also a dozen or so young women chatting excitedly, mostly in Spanish. He made his way over to Jack, who also appeared completely adrift.
“You understand any of this?” Evan asked.
“I catch the occasional word is all,” Jack replied. “They talk so fast.”
Carmen clapped her hands together and called, “It is time.” She took a large basket from the bench and walked outside. The others filed after her, also picking up bags or baskets to take with them.
Evan fell in next to Carly. “Where are we going?”
“To the altars.”
She took his hand and they wound their way through the garden to the back of the property and a large clearing surrounded by big, shady trees. There were over twenty white crosses set up around the clearing, each with a name on it. It was almost like a graveyard.
Carmen stopped in front of the cross in the center and everyone encircled it. Carly squeezed his hand and he looked at her, but she was staring at the cross. It had the name Brendan Flanagan on it. It must be for her father.
Carmen made the sign of the cross, and took a deep breath. “My husband, Brendan, the father of my three girls, taken from us too soon.” She placed a small bottle of whiskey beneath the cross. “You always loved a drink, always ready with a story or to help others. You appeared in my life like a comet, bright and mystical, and swept me off my feet. You gave me three beautiful daughters, who you loved with all your heart.” She knelt and placed a harmonica and a packet of cards on the altar. “To keep you entertained like you always entertained us.” She turned to face the group. “The day I met Brendan was Semana Santa. We were going house to house with the priest and this tall, pale man caught my eye. He was ever so handsome.” She put a hand to her chest and sighed. “He joined the procession and walked next to me, not saying anything. I felt him there every step of the way. By the time the ceremony was over, I had to speak with him.”
Some of the girls smiled.
“He spoke only a few words of Spanish but it did not matter. Our hearts spoke to each other. From that day on we were inseparable.”
Carmen stepped back. Carly let go of Evan’s hand and moved forward.
“It is usually so difficult to decide which story to tell about Papa, but recently I saw a painting of the beach and I knew.”
Was she talking about his painting? Bridget was smiling and nodding, Zita just looked sad.
“It was a hot summer and we lived inland, far from the ocean. One day, Papa said he’d had enough of the heat, so he packed us all into the pickup and drove almost two hours to the beach. None of us had seen the ocean before, and it was like he’d taken us to another world. We splashed in the water, built sandcastles and chased birds. I must have fallen asleep in the car on the way home because when I woke up I was in bed, and wondered whether it had all been a lovely dream.” She stepped back, her eyes glistening.
Evan squeezed her hand. This was why she’d been so sad when she’d seen his painting. It had reminded her of a happier time when her father had been alive. Bridget stepped forward to tell her story, but he wasn’t listening. He put his arm around Carly and pulled her close to him. A single tear ran down her face and she brushed it off.
It had been over twenty years since her father had died and still it brought her to tears. He didn’t know what to say. He’d never lost anyone close to him.
Bridget finished her story and Zita stepped forward. “I remember him putting me to bed, kissing me goodnight.” She stepped back.
If Carly had been about eight when her father died, it meant Zita was only three. Perhaps she had few memories of the man who fathered her.
Carmen was finishing her prayers for her husband when Bridget spoke.
“Mama, will you tell us how Papa died?”
Her mother put a hand to her chest. “Today is not the time for such stories.”
“Please, Mama. I always thought he died at work, but Carly told me recently I was wrong.”
By his side, Carly stiffened and then sighed.
“No. Today is for happy memories,” said Carmen.
“Mama, the girls are old enough to know the truth,” Carly said, moving over to put a hand on her shoulder.
Carmen looked at her daughter. “What do you know of it?”
“I was awake when the soldiers brought the news.”
She shook her head, sorrow on her face. “No. Not now. We must honor the others first.” She moved on to the next altar.
Evan wanted to ask what that was all about, but Carmen had already begun to speak, in Spanish this time.
“The rest will be in Spanish,” Carly whispered. “The others we are honoring do not speak English.”
Evan nodded. He was happy to stand and listen. There was a lot he could tell from the tone of someone’s voice and the way they stood. He didn’t need the exact words.
They moved from altar to altar; each time the person who spoke would leave gifts for the deceased and tell a story. When it came time for the foster girls to speak about their families, they often stood alone, or if they were upset, one of the other girls would comfort and support them.
It was a lovely tradition, so far removed from the cheap, commercial Halloween celebrated in the United States. It would be far nicer to celebrate all those people who had passed out of your
life, to remember what they had meant to you.
When they were finished, Carmen said something in Spanish and the foster girls all moved back toward the house. Carmen went to join them, but Carly stopped her.
“Mama, it’s time.”
Carmen hesitated.
“Please Mama,” Carly said. The older woman sighed. She walked over to a shady spot and sat under the tree. Her daughters followed, and when Carly glanced over her shoulder and indicated he should come, Evan joined them with Jack at his side.
“Your father was a good man,” Carmen insisted. “He helped everyone he came in contact with, whether it was carrying a heavy bag for an old woman, or helping to harvest the fields. Everyone loved him.” She took a breath. “The civil war was difficult. Salvadorans were fighting Salvadorans and each side believed they were right. Your father supported the rebels against the government whenever he could.” Tears welled in her eyes. “The government was corrupt, and your father always supported the weak. When the war officially ended, I thanked God he hadn’t been found, that he hadn’t been killed. But then rumors began to circulate that supporters of the government were still searching for people who had helped the rebels, and the tension in our village was awful. We had all secretly supported the rebels. We decided to leave, to go to the United States.” Her hands scrunched up in her skirt. “Your father was such a good man, he kept helping the people rebuild. He stopped at one of the rebel leaders’ houses after work one day. There was an incident, no one could tell me exactly what happened, but shots were fired and your father was killed.”
Evan sucked in a breath. How horrific for the whole family. It was no wonder Carmen hadn’t told the truth to her young girls.
“Did they ever catch who did it?” Bridget asked.
“Again, there are rumors, but no one was punished.”
Evan glanced around the circle. Carly was calm, but she’d already known the story.
Zita gaped at her mother. “Papa was murdered?” she asked as tears ran down her face.
Carmen nodded and stroked her daughter’s back. Zita shook her off and stood.
“How could you lie to us like that? How could you leave without finding the culprit?” She whirled around and strode into the garden.
“Zita, wait,” Carmen called after her.
“Let her go, Mama,” Carly said. “It’s a shock. I’ll follow her.”
Carmen turned to Carly. “This is why I never said anything.” She sighed, getting to her feet. “I must see to the others.” She walked out of the clearing.
Bridget groaned. “I shouldn’t have brought it up today.”
Jack hugged her. “You had a right to know.”
Carly nodded. “It’s best everyone knows. Why don’t you go and talk with her and I’ll find Zita?”
“All right.” Both Bridget and Jack got to their feet and left.
Carly stood. “I’d better go talk with Zita. Will you be all right on your own?”
“Sure.” Evan could take care of himself. “Good luck.”
Chapter 13
Carly followed the path her younger sister had taken. There was one spot Zita always ran to when she was upset.
Sure enough, Zita was sitting, her knees pulled up to her chest, on the lower branches of the big oak tree on the boundary of the property.
“How are you feeling, ZZ?” Carly called.
“Go away.”
Carly sighed. She recognized the tone. Zita was angry and upset. Bracing herself for the abuse that was bound to follow, she said, “I’m sorry you’re upset.”
“Of course I’m feckin’ upset. It’s bad enough I don’t remember my father, now it turns out I don’t even know how he died!” Her eyes widened and she slapped her hand over her mouth.
Carly took a step back. Zita didn’t remember him? But she always had a story to tell on the Day of the Dead. “What do you mean you don’t remember him?”
“I was three, Carolina. How much do you remember from that age?” The anger was clear, and she wrapped her arms around herself again.
Carly had never considered it from Zita’s point of view before, she’d assumed because Zita had always said something, that she could remember him. Sadness swept through her. “I’m so sorry, niñita. I never realized.”
Tears poured down Zita’s face.
Carly took off her shoes. She was hopeless at physical activity and climbing a tree had to be one of the worst things she could do, but her sister needed her and wasn’t coming down on her own. Carly grabbed the trunk and then stretched out for the first branch. It was nowhere near her reach. She jumped at it and missed, stumbling a few steps past.
“What are you doing?” Zita asked, wiping her tears.
“Trying to climb up to you.” Carly grunted as she jumped toward the branch again. It was times like this her lack of height was a real problem.
Zita hiccupped, half-cough, half-laugh.
If it made her sister laugh, Carly was happy to continue making a fool of herself. She took a couple of steps back and tried a run up, smacking hard against the trunk.
“Ow.”
“Feck, Carly. Don’t hurt yourself, I’ll come down.”
Relieved, Carly held her scratched arm as her sister nimbly climb down. When she reached the bottom, Carly hugged her. Zita was much taller than she was, but she felt like a child in Carly’s arms as she started crying again.
“Hush, niñita. It’s all right. We can get out the old photos and go through them, tell you all the stories we remember of Papa.”
“No. Mama can’t know.”
“Why not?”
“Because she’s always talking about him. She expects me to know everything, and half the time what I say are things I’ve heard her repeat over the years. It would break her heart.”
She didn’t think Zita was right, but now wasn’t the time to argue. “Then we’ll have a girls’ night, just you, me and Bridget. We’ll look at photos and tell tales of Papa.”
“All right.” She sniffed.
Carly didn’t know why Zita had kept it a secret all these years. Why she hadn’t admitted she didn’t remember their father? No one would have been upset. She’d been little more than a baby when it had happened. She hugged her sister. “How are you feeling?”
“I’ll be OK.” She wiped her face with her hands.
“Why don’t you sneak upstairs and wash your face?”
Zita nodded and together they walked back to the house. At one of the forks in the path, Zita went left to avoid the party. The voices were loud and the music was happy.
Carly scanned the crowd of people who had arrived, and finally found Evan with Jack. She was pleased he had someone to talk to, because most of the people there were speaking Spanish.
Bridget moved toward her. “How is she?”
“She’s OK. I’ll talk to you about it later.” Now wasn’t the time.
Bridget nodded. “Thanks for bringing Evan. Jack doesn’t feel quite like the odd one out.”
Carly smiled. Jack was always sure of himself, so she didn’t think he would have had a problem if Evan hadn’t been there.
“So how are things with the two of you?” Bridget asked.
Carly didn’t want to talk about her love life with her sister. “He’s nice.”
Bridget raised an eyebrow. “Is that all?”
She didn’t want to tell her he was the first man to ever get her, to ever want to know who the real Carolina was. It would be admitting she already felt too much for him. “We’re having fun.”
“Well, if you ever need someone to talk to, I’m here. I appreciated your advice about Jack.”
Carly nodded. She’d helped Bridget talk through some issues she’d had with Jack, but she didn’t want to talk about her relationship with Evan. She just wanted to enjoy it. “I’ll go pass around some food,” she said and walked off.
She’d learned from an early age if she had a plate of food in her hand, she was able to go up to people she didn�
�t know. Her mother had always insisted she mingle and be a good hostess, and passing around food appeased her. Carly had hated it at first, but had adapted. Making her way through the crowd, she caught up on the latest news, fielded requests for school and university fees, which she was happy to pay, and chatted with some of her foster sisters who had moved out and were making their way in the world.
Noticing Jack was chatting with Bridget, she glanced around for Evan and found him sitting on one of the garden walls, sketching. As she walked over to him, she saw Teresa watching him.
“Pasteles?” she asked, offering him the plate.
He glanced up. “Thanks.” He took one and she sat next to him.
“What do you think?” she asked.
“It’s incredible. There’s such a community here, so much support and love. No one’s related are they?”
“There are a couple of families, but mostly we’re all migrants or refugees. We’ve become each other’s family, because it’s so difficult starting over in a new place without a support network.”
“That’s what your social media site does, doesn’t it? Brings together communities into a support network.”
“Yes.”
“Can many refugees afford a computer?”
“No. Comunidad recycles and reformats our old computers. We also take donations from the community, and then we wipe the hard drives, load the basic software, including a link to Comunidad, and teach families how to use them. It was one of the first things I set up.”
“You mentioned a while ago that some of your foster sisters hadn’t had their application approved yet, didn’t you? Have they been accepted now?”
She shook her head. “No. Teresa, Elena and Beatriz are still waiting.”
“Teresa?” He sounded surprised. “She came around with Carmen to do my garden.”
Carly smiled. “She’s part of the trial I spoke about. She’s allowed to live with us instead of in a detention center. I’m giving a talk at the refugee symposium next month, which will hopefully convince the powers that be that it’s the best option.”
“There’s nothing you can’t do.”
She shrugged and glanced down at his sketchbook. It was already a lovely snapshot of the people there. “Are you enjoying yourself?”
Change of Heart (The Flanagan Sisters, #2) Page 14