Emma recalibrated, forcing her focus back to familiar territory. She’d conducted hundreds of interviews. Thousands might be more accurate. This was what she did—read people, found the threads that connected competence to culture, skill to team dynamics.
She tapped her tablet, pulling up her notes. “So, you’ve been caring for the village children for—” She glanced at thepreliminary information Liz had gathered for her. “—fifteen years?”
“And before,” Ana-Luz said simply. “All my life.”
“At a formal school, or?—?”
“At the village.”
Technically, an answer. Emma made a note:
Childcare: extensive village experience.
“You are comfortable with children of different ages? We’re expecting staff families with kids ranging from toddlers to teenagers.”
“Children are children.” Ana-Luz tilted her head, causing the beautiful red beads adorning her braids to clink. “They need the same things, no matter their age. To be safe. To be seen. To know the land beneath their feet.”
The phrasing caught Emma’s attention—‘to know the land beneath their feet’—but she filed it under poetic. Local flavor that would charm the resort families.
“That’s a lovely way to put it,” Emma said, and meant it. “We want to make sure the resort respects local traditions. We don't want to impose ourselves on the island without consideration for those who live here.” She paused, choosing her words carefully. “What should we know? About the community here, cultural expectations, that sort of thing?”
Ana-Luz’s gaze didn’t waver. “The island remembers who respects it, and who does not.”
Emma blinked and waited for elaboration.
None came.
She wrote:
Strong local knowledge. Community ties.
“I imagine the families here have deep roots. Generations, probably?”
“Some places know who belongs to them,” Ana-Luz said, “and who doesn’t.” As if this explained everything.
A metaphor. Had to be. Emma nodded slowly, the way she did when interviewees gave philosophical answers that didn’t quite fit the question. “So, in terms of programming—we’re thinking cultural activities for the kids. Maybe storytelling? Local history? We’ll have a tutor to handle the actual lessons.”
“There have always been watchers. Long before your families.”
The words landed differently. Not poetic. Just… certain. And not at all an answer to her question. Ana-Luz seemed to be holding a different conversation than she was.
“Watchers?” Emma echoed.
“Those who keep balance.” Ana-Luz’s fingers brushed along the edge of her shawl, tracing patterns Emma couldn’t see.
A chill kissed the back of Emma’s neck despite the humid warmth. She told herself it was the breeze from the ocean, the way it funneled through the colonnade.
“That’s fascinating,” she said, her voice steady, professional. “Do you mean… like guardians? Caretakers of the land?”
Ana-Luz cocked her head, studying Emma with renewed intensity. “You have walked the northern cliffs?”
The shift in topic appeared deliberate, though Emma couldn’t trace the logic. “Yes,” she admitted. “A few days after I arrived. The view was incredible.”
“The wind speaks loudly there.”
Emma waited for more, examining Ana-Luz’s face for context—a smile, a knowing look, something to anchor the statement to reality.
Nothing.
