I explained the situation with my rental car cancelation and how I was just on my way to get a taxi.
“No way,” he said. “We’ll give you a lift. We still live in Caparica too. My wife, Mariana, will be happy to see you. Do you remember her?”
“Oh my God, you married Mariana? I still remember when you pulled her pigtails in year four, and she said she hated you forever.” We laughed about that all the way to the minivan.
Mariana hadn’t changed a bit. Yes, she was now an adult mother of two—three if you included Chico—but she still had the same bouncy brown curly hair and freckles across her nose. She’d always reminded me of a doll.
Chico and Mariana’s little twin girls, Tatiana and Cátia, were adorable. As soon as we pulled out of the airport, they wouldn’t stop asking questions about where I was from and if I’d been on the airplane with their dad. Adorable.
Ten minutes into the journey, the girls decided I was no longer interesting and started chatting with one another in whispers.
We hit the IP7 freeway heading southwest away from Lisbon and toward Caparica, and I took in the view of the river as we approached the bridge. With the windows down, my sunglasses on, and the wind blowing around me, I was finally beginning to relax.
It was only a thirty-minute drive from the airport to Caparica, where my family lived, but I asked them if they would mind taking me the further fifteen minutes south to my favorite beach, to which they said they were happy to do.
Fonte de Telha was the furthest beach David and I could get on the train, and I couldn't recall if we used to go there because of the beach itself or for the adventure of going as far away from home as we could on our own.
Chico and Mariana dropped me off at the beach and then kindly offered to drop my bags off at my grandparents’ house.
“Thank you so much for the lift and dropping my bags off. I hope we can meet up for a meal while I’m here so we can catch up.” I gave Chico a hug and my phone number and then turned to Mariana. “You, beautiful lady, will have to tell me how you ended up with the kid who put a stink bomb in your school bag.”
Mariana smiled at me and then exchanged a look with her husband. A single look that shouted love, intimacy, and a load of fun.
After we said our goodbyes, I waved at the kids who waved right back at me the entire way up the dirt road until the minivan was out of sight.
The first thing I did was turn to look out at the ocean and take a deep breath to inhale the salty air, then I took my shoes off, rolled the legs of my jeans up a bit, and walked toward the sandy beach. The feel of the warm sand between my toes was magnificent, especially after a seven-hour flight and the rental car debacle.
I walked as close to the water as I could while still on dry sand so I could sit without getting wet.
I drank the coffee on the drive over, but the custard tart was calling my name. The smell of the cinnamon and the feel of the flaky pastry in my hands had my taste buds watering.
That first bite was heavenly. The custard filling with a hint of cinnamon almost melted in my mouth. There was no easy way to eat one of these delightful pastries other than by shoving it all into my mouth once I enjoyed the first bite.
When I was young and custard tarts were more readily available, I loved eating the custard filling first using one of the tiny spoons my parents used to stir their coffee. Then, once the custard was gone, I would fold the pastry on itself and eat it in one bite. My heart ached, but I couldn't help smiling as that memory hit me and thought back to my mom's words.
"Joel, look at that mess!"
"But, Mom, there is officially no easy way to eat one of these."
I’ve always loved the ocean. Looking out at the reflection of the sun on the water was almost hypnotizing. It was the same ocean I swam in every summer when I spent time with Grandma Jojo in the Hamptons, but it felt so different when I looked at it from this side. The waves were gentle, massaging the sand in a rhythm that said, “Welcome home.”
Was I home?
With my feet buried in the sand and my gaze fixed on the horizon, I thought about the time when I was ten years old and my mom broke the news that would change our lives.
"Joel," Mommy called. "Sweetheart, we have to talk about something very important."
I put my book down and went out to the living room where my mom was sitting on the couch. Her face was serious, and I wondered if I forgot to do any of the chores before sitting on my bed to read my adventure book. I could pinky swear I tidied my room and even made sure all the socks in the drawer matched.
"Honey, I have some news to tell you, so I am going to need you to listen very carefully, okay? Do you remember Grandma Jojo, Daddy’s mom?"
I nodded. "Yes, we met her last year when we went to visit America. She has white hair and smells nice. She said I looked like Daddy when he was my age." Mommy smiled, but her eyes were shiny like she wanted to cry.
"Joel, Grandma Jojo has lived on her own since Granddad Bill went to heaven. She's been a little bit unwell recently, and she needs some help. Mommy and Daddy thought it would be fun for all of us to go to America and stay near Grandma Jojo for a while. Do you understand what that means?"
I took a moment to think and then asked, "Am I going to school in America? Is David coming with us too?"
Mommy looked down as though she was thinking of what to say and then looked at me with a sad smile. "Well, David's home is here with his mommy, so he can't come with us."
