She hurried straight to Cassie, hugging her. “Mi preciosa!” Kissing her on both cheeks, holding her hands.
Cassie pushed her towards Damian and Gabe, and gestured towards her father. “My father… mi padre…”
The old woman looked at him, still holding Cassie’s hand, her dark eyes on Damian.Those eyes…he had to force himself not to look away, and she just nodded. Looking at Gabe then. “Y él?”
Gabe reached his hand out. “Soy Gabriel. El marido de Damian.”
There was a breath of a pause there from that old woman, but she just nodded again, her face a bit grim. She pulled Cassie with her, and they followed, up that creaking porch to a semi-dark living room. Candles glowing on a shelf, Maria’s portrait in the middle of flowers, her smile flickering in that red and orange glow. The old woman shuffled there and took an unlit candle. Gesturing Damian close with her hand, her eyes. He stepped to her, a bit moved. She pushed the candle in his hand and gave him a lighter. Waiting. Damian lit it and placed it next to her portrait. Making the sign of the cross, even if it didn’t mean anything to him. His eyes on the portrait, on those dark eyes filled with pain above that wide smile. That woman he had known, aged by grief and her craze.
He had to turn away to breathe, almost rushing to Gabe, but the old woman had grabbed his hand. “Venga.”
She tugged him to another room, the only other room in that small house. A little boy was playing with cars on a blue rug, next to a big bed. He turned to them, his eyes a bit wide, and Damian’s breath caught as he stopped, rooted to the ground. Feeling Gabe and Cassie stand close. The old woman went to the boy and pulled him up, holding him by his shoulders so he wouldn’t bolt. A delicate face, dark hair in lush waves around his face, left a bit long, down to his ears. Dark eyes, wide, on the invaders. They stayed a bit longer on Cassie as he scanned them. Frozen like a rabbit when his gaze settled on Damian.
His grandmother’s voice as she nudged him gently in the back. “El es tu padre. Papà.”
He knew, but wouldn’t move. Mama had told him many times. That Papà was dead. But Abuela said he had not died. He had survived on an island. And he would come. Torn between his dread and that artificially grown affection he should have felt, he stayed against Abuela, waiting.
Damian crouched down, putting a small smile on. “It’s ok to be scared. I’m scared, too.” Hoping that the kid knew some English. Waiting, not leaving his eyes.
Cassie crouched down next to him and opened her arms. “Come here, Armando. It’s our Daddy, ok?” He smiled at her and edged himself closer, rushing then into her arms. Hugging her neck, his silent eyes going to Damian. But he wouldn’t touch him, just watched him, even if he was so close, he could have touched him if he reached his arm out. His eyes went to something poking out of his pocket, a slight curiosity in him seeing that golden light.
Damian followed his gaze. He took that plastic marketing pen out of his pocket, almost laughing out loud, but he tamed it into a smile and handed it to him. “You like this?”
Armando just nodded and snatched the pen out of his hand. Looking it over like a treasure, that brown and golden pen. Looking up at his voice.
“You like drawing?”
He wiggled out of Cassie’s arms and went to a small table to pick up a piece of paper. He put it on the floor and went to his knees. Clicking on the pen, he drew a house, his tongue poking out of his mouth. A large wobbly circle above that crooked house. He showed his drawing to Cassie, glancing at Damian.
She smiled. “Wow! A house? Nice!”
“La abuela dice que me voy… a una casa grande.” His voice filled the room, those words blurted out as if fearing that he had been told a lie.
Damian shot a questioning look at Cassie, who just looked back at Gabe.
“He says his grandma told him he’s going to a big house.”
Damian smiled. “A big hotel first, ok? We’ll see about the house later.”
He had understood but refused to speak, holding that pen and paper tight.
“You can keep the pen, ok? It’s yours.”
A small light in his eyes at his words. He gave the drawing to Cassie and went to the cars on the rug, picking one up. He handed it to Damian, quickly, almost already gone when he had taken it. But he stopped, waiting.
Damian looked that battered blue car over. “Very nice. You like cars?”
He just nodded and went to get another one, bringing it back. Damian had sat on the carpet, cross-legged, and the little boy just raced that small car on his thigh, down his leg to the carpet and back. Up his other leg, his thigh, his chest, his shoulders as he walked around him, tracing that foreign body. Facing him again, that face familiar, but older somehow.
He rushed back to his grandmother, who had sat in an armchair, her eyes in tears. Words whispered in her ear, and she answered something, nodding.
He ran back to Cassie. “Voy contigo?”
Gabe answered. “Si. Con Cassie, Papà y yo.”
Armando looked at him, curious. His language easing his caution. “Y tú ? Quién eres tú ?”
“Gabe.”
