“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.
I laughed, patting his head as we joined Tressa at the front door, Carmelita joining us on the doorstep, hands on her hips and wide smile plastering her full cheeks.
“Padre Castaneda’s cousin, I assume?” Her eyes danced with devious implication.
“What makes you say that?”
“Well—” she waved me away with a hand “—aren’t they always?”
Tressa tipped her head to the side, waves of dark chocolate falling over her shoulder before her grin grew wide. “As a matter of fact, I’m one of Bastien’s friends from Philadelphia, thank you for asking.”
I nearly choked on my own tongue, eyes wide as I waited for Carmelita’s reply. The old woman narrowed her eyes at Tressa, gaze crawling across her face as they watched each other. I thought I might have to step in in another moment and break the tension before it consumed Santiago and me whole.
“She’s a bold woman.” Carmelita pointed at Tressa. “So, I like her.”
Tressa’s eyebrows shot up when Carmelita scooped her by the elbow and swept her into the house.
It was exactly a moment later when I heard Padre Juan’s voice boom out of the house, “Philly, did you say?”
I stood at Tressa’s side, her eyes taking in the old man, looking as if she’d been stunned. “I…yeah, born and raised.”
Carmelita shuffled Tressa down into the nearest kitchen chair, gesturing me beside her before pouring both of us glasses of cold fruit juice. She set the pitcher between us at the table, then pulled a pocketful of seashells out of the deep pockets of her apron, letting them tinkle to life in her fleshy palms before rolling them on the table like dice. She arched an eyebrow, lips moving almost imperceptibly as she recited a string of prayers to the saints under her breath.
“You know St. Michael’s Catholic Church?” The old man finally tipped his head to one side, eyes shifting back and forth, assessing Tressa and me as Carmelita worked away with her divining shells. She’d offered to read mycaracoleson many occasions, and I’d always indulged her, the way her words whispered the prayers so reverently nothing short of mesmerizing. The way her spirits whispered sacred secrets into her ear about my life, things only I should know, uncanny solely for those unfamiliar with the mysteries of the holy spirit.
The Lord worked in mystifying ways.
