Marion E Currier Read online

  "A clue, a clue, a clue," I hummed to myself as I sat down. One would think that with so many years of having Rafael be part of my life, I would have every little detail memorized. The problem was that there was such an enormous amount of detail and it all was scrambled together.

  I'd start backwards, I decided, from last night's dream, which was still fresh in my mind. Although I knew the idea was to figure out a place, I felt that putting Guey's name up on the screen was important. Just to keep the family intact, I added Manuel and Rafael Jagua's names by her side. Then there was the city. Well, that was a mighty big word for it, actually. A group of houses with water views in at least three directions. We had looked at arriving ships on occasion and as I added this to my list, I recalled them being sailing vessels. More like something I'd seen in pirate movies, but not exactly in the Port of Miami. Instinctively, I turned my head and peered over the top of Bayside Park, straight at the port. Confirmation of facts was taking on an unexpected importance as I realized that everything in the dreams was always in the present for me. The fact that a lot didn't jive with what I could see from the window had never been important before.

  I added the word forest to my list. And hammocks. I made a note that there was a most magical, soothing sound that accompanied us every time we ventured inland. Sometimes softer, at other times amplified, but always somewhere high above us, from an unseen source.

  Jewelry made it into my document. Because Manuel crafted the most beautiful pieces and Rafael had learned the art from his father. A smile slipped across my face as I tried to calculate the endless hours I'd watched them work. Enough to almost feel capable of designing such stunning and intricate adornments myself. Almost. Rafael's hands were so steady, they made mine seem to be afflicted with Parkinson's by comparison.

  I typed in coffee beans, yucca roots and sugar cane. My head began to swim as I jotted down snippets from three decades' worth of quasi memories. I finally stopped, staring at the non-cohesive list of words forming rows that made no sense to anyone but me. Some evoked very strong emotions. Others a smile or sadness, like the one about Dog dying. Guey never liked him. Actually, she seemed downright afraid of him, but Manuel felt that it was good to have him to keep watch when he wasn't there. She could never muster enough love or even tolerance for the animal to give him a name other than calling him Dog, and it was Rafael who shed tears when the four-legged security guard overshot the edge of town, tumbling down the cliffs without managing to break.

  "Water on the left and right," I muttered to myself. "An island?" Quite possibly, because ships seemed to be the major purveyor of goods. And what about Guey's native tongue?

  I googled the word Jagua. Nothing useful pulled up. I entered Guey and the word translation, staring mesmerized as a single line entry stated that Guey meant sun in the Taíno language. I kept checking, adding to my notes that the Taíno Indians lived on the Bahamas, Cuba, the Greater and Lesser Antilles, Hispanola – now Haiti and the Dominican Repulic – and Puerto Rico, known to the Taínos as Borinquen.

  My heart sank. "Fabulous," I mumbled. "All islands. How many plane tickets am I going to have to buy for this?"

  A gentle knock at my door made me look up. I waved Elena in.

  "How's the hunt going?" She came behind my desk, glancing at the jumble of words I had collected on the page.

  "It looks like Rafael's mother had a Taíno Indian name, Guey. The sun. Very pretty. And appropriate. I don't recall meeting anyone warmer than her."

  Elena cleared her throat. "You haven't actually met her," she whispered into my ear, followed by an amused chuckle.

  "She hasn't made it onto my birthday card list," I acknowledged, "but I do feel I know her." I pointed to all of the possible islands. "Problem is I'm not sure which of these islands is the right one."

  "Are you sure she's a Taíno Indian?" Elena wandered to the other side of my desk, making herself comfortable in her usual spot.

  "I'm not sure of anything, but she looks like she could be," I said, smiling. "She has a round face, sort of definition-less, with the same eyes as Rafael. Her hair is usually pulled back in a ponytail, straight and thick." I nodded, more to convince myself than Elena. "Yes, I think she very well could be." My fingers began moving again on the keyboard as I typed in Taíno dictionary. "Huh!"

  "Care to share why you're looking rather dumbfounded?" Elena asked.

  "There actually is a dictionary of their language online," I replied.

  Another chuckle escaped Elena. "What isn't there online these days? What other words you have that you think are Taíno?"

  "Just one," I said as I clicked on the letter J, holding my breath. There it was. Jagua. I stared transfixed at the word. "Rafael's middle name is in here," I said, unable to resist a smile. "She said it meant black ink. Here it says it's used to dye cotton fabric or paint the body."

  "Judging by your cheesy grin, I'd think you just found the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow," Elena replied. "You never mentioned before that he's an Indian."

  "I didn't?" My cheeks felt warm as I admitted to myself that quite possibly I had shared a lot less of my dreams with Elena than I was willing to confess. "He is on Guey's side. Manuel is…he is…" I didn't really know what he was. "Well, depending on which island they live on, I should be able to narrow it down. Spanish, I guess. Manuel Baluarte. Doesn't sound Dutch or French or British to me."

  "How many island options are there again?" My friend rose, checking her watch. "If we want to grab a bite to eat, we'd better get going."

  To avoid anyone getting a closer look at the wild notes of my important project, I closed down the internet and my document, opening up a few reports instead. "The Bahamas, Cuba, Haiti, Puerto Rico, the Dominican Republic, the Antilles, you know, all Caribbean places. At least nothing too far away."

  Elena looked doubtful. "I didn't realize there are Indian tribes alive and well on any of these."

  Avoiding Elena's eyes, I fished for my purse. "Not exactly whole tribes," I said. "You know they're all mixed together these days."

  The truth was that between the brutalities of the Spanish Conquerors and the wildly savage Caribs, pure Taínos ceased to exist almost 500 years ago. Maybe Guey wasn't a purebred one either, I reasoned. After all, I really didn't know much about her other than that she had an incredible love for her son and husband.

  Elena and I drove to a nearby Cuban restaurant, ordering fried yucca and thin churrasco steaks, which we proceeded to slather with garlic-rich chimichurri sauce.

  "You know," I said inbetween bites, "if we assume that most likely someone named Manuel Baluarte is Spanish, then that at least cuts the possible islands down." I paused, taking a quick revision of my dream memory inventory. "Actually, you know what, he is Spanish. Definitely."

  Elena nodded. "That leaves Cuba, Puerto Rico, Haiti and the Dominican Republic."

  "Not Haiti." I reached for another piece of yucca.

  "And if it's Cuba, too bad," Elena added. "You're a U.S. citizen without relatives there, so no-go on the travel."

  "Which leaves me with Dom Rep and PR," I said.

  Back at the office, I searched for photos of both islands, Elena looking expectantly over my shoulder. "Does anything look familiar?" she asked.

  It didn't really, but I was not ready to admit defeat this easily. After scrolling through a variety of photos showing a good quantity of Dominican resorts and then San Juan's casino hotels and brilliant beaches, a beautiful water view caught my attention. It was taken from an outcropping in Old San Juan with the slightly curved point of yet another promontory taking up half the frame and the Atlantic Ocean the other. My heart and hands paused as I looked past the fortress gracing the vantage point from which the shot was taken as well as the one on the island's point reaching into the foaming waves. That view…

  "This is it," I said to Elena. "I've got to go to Puerto Rico." The goose bumps on my arms remained as my friend rested her hands on my shoulders.

  "Are you
sure?" Elena stared more closely at the picture.

  I nodded. My hands felt cold and I tucked them under as I crossed my arms in front of my chest, my eyes still fixed on the screen. "I'm sure. If it doesn't kill me first having to wait a month."

  Letting go of my shoulders, Elena turned around and leaned against my desk, a non-comprehending expression on her face. "Why can't you go now?"

  I opened my desk drawer and brought the report files back out. "There are five product update campaigns we're working on and two new client meetings." All of which sounded empty and unimportant at this very moment.

  "If anything happened to your father tomorrow," Elena started, "you would jet off to Las Vegas to see him without thinking twice about it."

  "Of course. But that's different."

  "Different, yes. But you still wouldn't be here for the campaigns or meetings. And neither life nor this firm would come to a screeching halt because of it."

  My face twisted with doubt as I turned toward Elena.

  "If you wait a month, you'll talk yourself out of it," she said. "And then you'll be miserable for the rest of your life and I'll have to listen to you mope. Trust me, I can handle the campaigns and the clients more than I can watch you be unhappy. I'll get a few others from the team to pitch in. It'll be fine. You need to go."

  "I haven't taken time off in over a year," I offered, knowing that I really didn't need to give any explanations, but feeling better doing so.

  Elena reached for the report file and dropped it onto my lap. "Finish this today because I hate this statistical stuff. Then get yourself a ticket and go. Go. All the rest of this will still be here when you get back. And all up-to-date, I promise."

  My bottom lip was starting to ache from my rapid chewing on it. Could I really do this? I looked back at the photo. Somehow I knew that the wind blew almost without pause over the steep cliffs. I knew. My mouth opened, but Elena was faster.

  "I'll take you to the airport tomorrow," she said. "You just get that report done and tell me when to come and pick you up."

  "Thanks." The word came out more choked than spoken, and I got up and threw my arms around my friend, who let me stand there and hold onto her until I could breathe normally again.

  Chapter 4

  The itinerary lay on my dining room table and even with the lights off and very little moonlight slipping through the blinds, I knew what flight number, departure time and seat number I had. I sat back on the dining chair, closing my eyes.

  "Come on Rafael," I pleaded softly. "Don't abandon me now. Not tonight."

  But sleep refused to come. Not in the bedroom, not on the sofa, not on the chair. My head felt foggy and heavy when my mobile played its wake-up beep, but an adrenaline rush and the sight of the e-ticket propelled me forward. I was washed, dressed and more than ready to go by the time Elena came to get me.

  "Call me if you need anything," she said, steering the car onto State Road 112. "And to tell me how it's going. Or if you just need to talk."

  I managed a tired smile before my mouth formed yet another yawn. "Just don't panic if I don't check in for a few days," I replied. "I'm still trying to get a grip on all of this myself. This trip into my head, it's a very bizarre thing." Not that I really felt like I was taking it alone. It was Rafael and me together. Whether he knew it or not.

  We didn't talk much the rest of the way. I wondered if Elena was repentant already. Two weeks of both of our workloads combined was enough to make anyone waiver. She brought the car to a stop by the airport's curb, wrapping her arms in a big hug around me as I stood there with my luggage.

  "I have a very busy life," she said with a big grin. "Do us proud, because I don't really have time to start squeezing psychiatry visits into my schedule." Growing serious, she rested a solemn look on me. "Whether you want to see it or not, Mel, this has been eating you up the last few months. Maybe the dreams are different now than when you were younger. You're different now. And Rafael…I know you won't admit it, but you've got very strong feelings for him. You need to figure this out once and for all."

  Swallowing hard, I wished I could think of something to say, but nothing came out. Not one word. She truly left me speechless. Discovered, embarrassed, feeling foolish and yet encouraged and relieved, knowing I wasn't the only one who knew. And as Elena smiled and wrapped me into another embrace, I knew I didn't have to say anything. I stayed on the curb and watched her drive off. This was it. No turning back. With a sigh, I made my way through the airport, grateful when I finally could sit down in my window seat.

  I barely managed to buckle up before insomnia's flipside sucked me into fitful sleep.

  Running again. Back in the forest. Wishing he would stop following her.

  "Wait," he said.

  I wanted to turn my head and avert looking at them, but I couldn't.

  "I don't think your father is going to come this deep into the woods." Rafael put his hand under her chin, but she slipped out of his hold and flowed gracefully to the ground where she pulled her legs toward her chest, hugging them with her arms.

  "If he did, you would be a dead man," she said in her lilting voice.

  Rafael huffed mockingly, easing himself onto the ground across from her. "Sacrifice his best foreman just because he is talking to his daughter? Your father is a good businessman, he wouldn't risk it this close to the yucca harvest. You he might chastise." Rafael's face split into a grin. "After all, Señorita Rincón, the son of a jewelry maker without a remarkable family history to present is probably beneath your station." He rolled forward on his knees, his lips coming dangerously close to hers.

  I jerked in my sleep, but relaxed once she evaded his advance again.

  "Then you shall not kiss me until it is proper for you to do so," she said with a giggle.

  Of course, Rafael was a man and that which eludes is even more appealing, worthy of pursuit. I wished so that I could look away, but my eyes were always fixed on where he was. Which is probably why I noticed the venomous Wandering Spider on the back of his shirt, its spindly legs taking a tentative step onto his neck. With a jolt I was on my feet, slapping at the fern tree behind him. The leaves moved as though stirred by a breeze that should not have been this deep in the forest's interior, but it caught Rafael by enough surprise that he moved precisely at the moment when the aggressive spider was about to bite.

  The girl let out a scream as she saw it on his shirt, giving it a reflexive flick that sent it flying into the brush. Both of them scrambled to their feet, brushing off their clothing just to be on the safe side.

  I watched him waste his grateful smile on her. It made me wish I had flung the branch harder to smack him in the face with it.

  "Luz," he mumbled, this time not meeting any coy resistance as his mouth found hers.

  "NO!" I pulled hard against my seatbelt, my eyes flinging open. I was panting. "No," I repeated in a mere whisper. "This is not supposed to happen. Not now." A touch on my arm made me shrink into my seat, and I found myself staring at the finely-creased face of the gentleman seated next to me.

  "Everything is going to be okay," he said, patting my arm again. "We're almost there. Look – he pointed past my face at the window – you can already see the island. It was just a small turbulence, nothing to be afraid of."

  All of my vocal skills were frozen in my head. The kind man might as well have spoken Chinese to me as all I could do was stare wide-eyed. I grunted something I hoped was discernable as a thank you and turned my back to him. I needed to focus on something right away because the ache in my chest was still almost unbearable. How could he do this to me? I adjusted my eyes to the bright sunlight, focusing on the island coming into view below.

  The north side was clearly being pounded by heavy waves from the Atlantic. White foam caps rode the crest straight to their death into the cliffs, only to be instantly reborn and returned to the open sea. My heart relaxed, shifting into a state I did not recognize for I had never felt anything similar to it before. I'd re
ad up on Puerto Rico, on San Juan, as much as I could in the few hours between preparing all of my quarterly reports and packing my suitcase. I easily recognized the formidable fortress of El Morro as she stuck her chin out into the ocean, daring anyone to try and get past her. The lawn's neatly combed blades of green spread like a carpet from El Morro's main entrance toward the cobble-stoned streets of Old San Juan.

  An indescribable joy seized my breast. How could I have been homesick all this time for a place where I had never been? And yet it felt like the wound of homesickness in my heart was healing as we drew closer to the island's soil.

  I smiled. Who knew my heart had been feeling this way! I took a deep breath as we swept briefly over the narrow old streets before hearing the roar of the brakes on the airport's runway. Of course, it all would have been perfect with Rafael standing by the exit and taking me into his open arms, but even in my delirious state of happiness, I was realistic enough to know that wasn't going to happen. I was just in a hurry to get out of the airport, to breathe in the windy humidity that I knew would coat my lungs. Having the air conditioning on in the taxi was almost a disappointment, but even when my surroundings felt instantly like home, I couldn't deny that a little humidity went a long way, whether carried on a breeze or not.

  The entry hall of the small hotel I had booked myself into was bright and airy. Checkered tiles covered the width and breadth of the lobby, and a few ceiling fans, wobbly like drunken birds, spun their wooden wings in lopsided circles in an attempt to wrest freshness out of the warm, moist air.

  "Welcome to the Palmera Inn." The man behind the counter smiled broadly, a single dimple pinching into his right cheek. He outmeasured me by perhaps two inches, leaving him just shy of five foot eleven. His shoulders were so straight and broad that even without a cape swooping down from them, he appeared regal and possessed of more than a healthy dose of self-confidence. His hazel eyes were scanning rather than just merely greeting me, and I got the funny feeling I was being checked out rather than checked in. The large diamond studs in his ears momentarily distracted me, but he still smiled broadly when I returned my attention to his face. The smile turned into something of a smirk, the kind of twisted expression that confirmed my feeling that I was definitely being checked out.