“Hey—do you want to visit your aunt while you are here?” he asked right as a seagull flew by and landed on the nearby railing. “That’s why this part of town is called Bird Rock.”
Carolina laughed. “That’s so cool. As for my aunt, I’d love to see her.”
He leaned forward, enjoying the smile that lit her face. “I love talking things out with you about the future—but sometimes family can help you see things clearly, too. And she obviously knows your parents better than I do.”
Carolina grabbed his arm and held it tightly. “You’re the best.”
She reached for her phone and called. “Tía Luísa? It’s Carolina—your niece. I’m in town. Can I come see you?”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Enrique drove her down to Barrio Logan.
“This place is really special to me.” He pulled the car adjacent to Chicano Park. “Let me show you the murals.”
He opened the door for her and led her around the glorious art. Carolina loved seeing all the historical Mexican heroes bigger than life and getting the recognition they deserved. But one stopped her cold.
It was a massive multipart mural on a large column. There was a quote from Emiliano Zapata painted up top.
La tierra es de quién la trabaja con sus propias manos.
The land belongs to those who work it with their own hands.
Carolina’s breath hitched.
The work was astounding. It depicted a farmworker on the left side pulling a cog with a man in a black suit with a metal claw for a hand also grabbing it. There were farmworkers striking underneath, one of whom was dead. The bottom two sections showed migrants working in a field and then two boxes of produce.
It had a plaque describing the piece.
Death of a Farmworker.
In memory of all the farmworkers who have struggled for a better life—the artists.
Carolina was speechless.
She looked up at Enrique, who was watching her look at the mural.
He reached down and squeezed her hand. “Powerful.”
“Sure is.”
He turned to her, and now took her other hand. “We can make a difference. As a team. My company has the funds to invest in making farmworkers’ lives better. Effect real change. We’re unstoppable together.”
She kissed him passionately in the park.
He was right. They could be great together.
And she could live here.
She could move to San Diego with Enrique.
She wanted to so very badly—but what if she was simply moving out of the control of one man to fall into the sway of another? Enrique wasn’t forcing her to do anything, but he also always had an answer for everything—and that felt dangerous. She was adrift, and he could sway her far too easily.
And then there’s the fact he wants children.
Then they walked over to the public garden. Emotions washed over her. For a community so entrenched in farming not to have outdoor space to grow their own herbs was unfathomable to her. Her head filled with the possibilities of other ways she could give back to her community.
He finally pulled up to a small house a block away from the bridge. “Do you want me to come in?” he asked as he idled at the curb.
