I hated myself without her.
Surely, church or no church, that accounted for something.
And it was with those thoughts in my head that I set off down the dusty road a week later, walking the short distance to Carmelita’s house.
By the time I’d arrived a few minutes later, I knew something was amiss.
Santiago sat on the brightly painted porch, head in his hands, puppy between his knees.
“Padre Juan is sick,” he said dejectedly upon my approach.
“Is he inside?”
Santiago shook his head, tears welling. “Mamá took him to the hospital this morning. She says it’s not so good if Padre Juan has to go to the hospital.”
I frowned, setting the basket of items on the porch and then taking Santiago by the hand. “What do you say we pay the hospital a visit and see what we can find out?”
His dark chestnut eyes rounded as he popped up, tucking his hand in mine with a smile. “And can we stop for ice cream too? The last time Mamá took me to the hospital was when Abuela was there. She got me an ice cream cone after to cheer me up.”
I nodded, chest aching. I thought of this little boy living the rest of his life without his father, even if he hadn’t known it was him to begin with.
With the scent of bougainvillea surrounding us, I replied, “Sure thing, kiddo.”
THIRTY
Bastien
Two mornings later, we were walking the same route. Only this time, Carmelita was on my arm, sniffling into a tissue as she mourned the death of her companion, Padre Juan Martin.
Tressa walked just behind us, tiny Santiago’s hand wrapped in hers, head bent as she silently mourned the passing of her father. I hadn’t even expected to tackle this hurdle, most especially not in quite this way, but here we were. Within weeks of her arrival to my island, Tressa had both found her father and lost him to this life.
All of his secrets, destined to die with him.
“Come. Let me bless you, child. I see many babies in the future for you. A woman must protect her fertility.” Carmelita waggled her thick eyebrows at Tressa a few hours after the funeral.
We were surrounded by the infectious Martinez family, and while they were gathered to honor the passing of a man so well loved in this community, he meant something extra special to this one.
I’d once wondered if the rest of Carmelita’s children were Padre Juan’s, but no longer did I have to. Just as Tressa had known, it became clearer to me too after spending the last few days with the extended family, very often assisting them into the wee hours, Tressa at my side, tucking children into bed and feeding babies with a bottle.
It struck me two days in that, while Tressa may not have had much of a family life growing up, she settled into it with great ease. A complete natural.
“I don’t think there are kids in my future,” Tressa finally replied. “I have my godson, Luca. Hopefully, I can bring him down to meet Santiago someday.” She ruffled the little boy’s wavy hair with a smile.
“Does he speak Spanish?” the little boy inquired.
“Nope, he doesn’t yet, but I bet you’d be great at teaching him.” She spoke to Santiago in her own softly accented Spanish, something she’d obviously picked up since I’d last seen her. She’d had a passable understanding as I recalled, but since she’d set foot on this island, she’d slipped into my native tongue almost flawlessly. The way her tongue wrapped around some of the words made my dick throb. She was a gust of fresh air, the thought of living even a minute without her by my side already unbearable.
“Nonsense! You’ll have many, many good Catholic babies.” Carmelita worked an herb paste of lord knows what into a shallow dish and mixed it with some various ground powders before taking one spoonful and dumping it into a glass of red juice. “A little rain and tobacco water, a few herbs and ground plantain leaves, the white of one small egg from my prized Cubalaya chicken, and just a drop of holy water. Drink up. This helps awaken up the womb.”
Tressa’s eyes nearly burst out of her head as Carmelita pushed the concoction up to her lips, forcing Tressa to drink.
She did, swallowing it all as I watched from across the room, stifling my laugh.
“Ai, Mamá. Enough with that voodoo shit. She’ll be able to fly back to Santa Maria’s for as long as you steep that tobacco water. Leave Padre and Tressa alone.” Margarita swept through the room, backpack on her shoulder as she kissed her mother on both cheeks. “Tressa is coming to Havana to see me soon. I’m going to give her the real Cuban experience.” Margarita winked at Tressa. “How can I show her all the wonderful rum-soaked ways of our people if she’s growing one anyway?”
“The ways of our people.” Carmelita tapped Margarita on the cheek. “You’re too much for me.”
I stifled a laugh, wondering just when Tressa had planned on telling me she was hitting the streets of Havana with Margarita.
