THIRTY-TWO
Bastien
“What was your first thought when you found out you were going back to Cuba?” She cradled the delicate bloom of a bougainvillea flower, nestling her nose in the fuchsia petals. I’d always loved the colorful vines that crept around this island paradise, but seeing her enjoy a piece of my homeland for the first time was enchanting, to say the least.
I’d grown accustomed to a life of holy consecrated solitude, but the breath of fresh air she constantly provided was more than invigorating.
“My feelings on my home are complicated. When I was young, I couldn’t wait to escape the suffocating smallness of it, but with time away…” I plucked one of the larger flowers on the vine and tucked it behind her ear, the color shocking against her almost-black hair. “I think the timing was finally right.”
I meant that sentiment on so many levels.
We continued down the road that edged the tobacco field, giant leaves growing a little more every day and encroaching on the narrow, red-dirt path.
“The true blessing has been getting to know the families who live here. Island life isn’t for everyone, but most find a way to make it work anyway. Some of the rural communities, well…the thinking may be a little more…antiquated.”
She bumped against my shoulder playfully. “Is this a veiled warning? What exactly are we about to walk into?”
“Well…Ms. Carmelita Martinez and family are a treat, her littlest Santiago is a riot, but the more I’ve gotten to know them, well, the more I’ve gotten to know Padre Juan.”
“Padre Juan?”
“He’s a retired priest from Santa Maria’s, and he’s probably the most unholy former holy man I’ve had the pleasure of meeting.”
“Oh?” She arched an eyebrow with interest just as a warm breeze caught her dress, swirling the loose linen fabric around her thighs and teasing a glimpse of my promised land. “The good Padre sounds interesting.”
“Interesting doesn’t quite cover it. Unfiltered is just the beginning.”
“Oh, one of those stodgy old guys? Trust, I’ve gotten really good at deflecting bullshit. You don’t have to worry about me.”
I laughed loudly. “It’s not you I’m worried about.”
“Wait, shouldn’t you be concerned about protecting my honor?”
I caught her hand with mine, not even thinking twice because it felt so natural to be with her. “I have a feeling you’ve gotten good at protecting yourself.”
She winked, only acting bashful.
“I think he’s one of those guys who respects it when you can dish it out too, so feel free to aim high with that one. It’s probably worth mentioning, though.” I paused as the roofline of Carmelita’s house came into view over the rows of tobacco leaves. “Carmelita and Padre Juan are very close, and I get the sense it’s been that way for a while.” I whisked my thumb along the underside of her wrist, not sure how to explain this next part. “In fact, it would be my guess that Padre Juan is little Santiago’s father.” My revelation hung in silence. “Not just spiritually speaking, but biologically too.”
Tressa’s eyes widened with instant realization. “Oh?”
“I don’t think the little guy knows it, but Carmelita and Padre Juan seem very…settled. Quite homey, in fact.”
We continued on a few steps, Tressa’s head down as she worked over the news I’d just dropped at her feet. We were walking the last twenty yards until the turn of the little driveway, and it wasn’t until we turned the corner that Tressa paused a step and replied, “So…they’re rebel hearts too.”
I stood frozen, her perspective on this, once again, throwing me for a loop. “I…guess. It’s not uncommon through the centuries. Carmelita was the first to remind me of that fact.”
“She actually brought it up?”
I shrugged. “They seem…happy.”
“Happy, huh?” Her grin tipped up mischievously. “Who knew following your heart could do that?”
She shot me a half-cocked grin and then took off down the driveway, giant bougainvillea vines cascading over the trellis that bloomed pink between her and Carmelita’s doorstep.
My heart, beating outside of my very chest, stared back at me, shades of joy lighting up her face.
Just as Tressa reached the brightly painted aqua and green hues of Carmelita’s doorstep, Santiago barreled out of the sunshine-yellow front door, puppy fast on his heels and barking the entire way. Tressa turned, eyes dancing as the tiny wildlings sped by her at full speed, only stopping when Santiago’s arms were wrapped around my waist.
