Marion E Currier Read online

  "Natalia Jagua Ruíz Díaz," he read, "born in 1832 and died in 1867."

  I stopped midway between two tombstones. "What was her name?"

  "Natalia Jagua Ruíz Díaz," he repeated as I walked over to where he stood.

  "Jagua," I said, staring at the letters emblazoned on the grandiose headstone.

  "Probably some Taíno word," Valentín said, surprise etched into his face as I nodded eagerly.

  "It means black ink," I replied

  "Must have been a popular name," he said. "How come you know what it means?"

  "I saw it in a Taíno dictionary online."

  He chuckled. "While you were doing your rather strange vacation research, I presume."

  I nodded again while pulling out my notebook and pen. "Why would you think it was a popular name?"

  "Because there were at least two more headstones with it."

  My heart beat faster. 1863, I reminded myself, the cemetery wasn't built until 1863. And yet I was anxious to see the other headstones. "Show them to me, please.

  The detective let out a low breath, turning back and forth on his heel as he scanned the tombs. "Wish I would've known that just because you saw the word online, you'd be all hot to trot to find it again." He stopped his turning, looking at me with narrowed eyes. "That is the only reason why you want to see them, right?"

  "Um." I slowly lowered my pen and notebook. "I…wouldn't you think they might be related?"

  He still held his gaze firmly upon me, and I tried hard not to squirm. "You do understand they are middle names, not last names," he finally said.

  Without blurting out that they were possibly given because the bearer inherited very extraordinary eyes from a woman named Guey, I was at a bit of a loss, nodding a few times while searching my brain for a logical answer. "True." The word stretched suspiciously long. "But it could still be a family thing."

  "Any relation to you?"

  I mauled my bottom lip, shaking my head. "No, not really. I just find it interesting. I mean I know a family in Florida who gave all fourteen of their children Karl as a middle name. Why couldn't it be a generational passing down of a name in the same family?" I managed a smile despite my tingling lip. "That's what you get for taking me to an old cemetery. Now my mind is contemplating the lives of deceased people and what connection they might have had. Humor me," I said. "You already figured out I'm not your average tourist. What's the harm in jotting down a few names at a cemetery?"

  I returned to writing down today's date and the information from the first grave when Valentín came up behind me, wrapping his arm around my shoulders. His warm breath felt disconcerting on my skin. "I don't know what's scarier," he said, "that you know a family with 14 children or that all of those poor kids are named Karl." His amused laugh rang in my ear. "Let's see if I can find the other two tombs again."

  As much darting in and out between gravesites as we had done, it took us a while before he shouted that he'd found one. "Rodolfo Jagua Ruíz Hernández, born in 1776, died in 1863. That makes me the winner," Valentín said triumphantly, "because this guy was buried here the year they built the cemetery. You're not going to find anyone older than that."

  That last sentence caused me a brief jab, although I knew he was right. But seeing the names of people who shared something with Rafael propelled me on, and I hungered for more pieces of the chain. "You are the winner," I agreed. "But will you still help me find the other headstone with Jagua on it?"

  Although Valentín still didn't fully appreciate my new-found obsession, he continued to look with me. In the end, I was the one who found it. "Julián Jagua Guardán Loreto," I read out loud. "Born in 1936 and died in 2005." Goosebumps formed on my arms. Maybe I was being silly, but seeing the unusual name link all of these people, at least on the pages of my notebook, it somehow pushed Rafael closer to me.

  "If they're related, then you're still missing a few inbetween those dates." I jumped at Valentín's voice by my side.

  "I guess we could keep searching," I said, hopeful, but the look in his eyes said that he had humored me long enough.

  "We could also assume that not every family member is buried in this cemetery. People do actually live all over the island, not to mention in various cities and even countries away from here, and we do have more than one spot for the dead in Puerto Rico."

  Subtle he wasn't, although unfortunately correct once again. I closed the notebook and returned it to my purse before sitting down at the foot of Julián Jagua's grave. "Well, if they are buried elsewhere," I said, "then they're missing out on the most beautiful resting place I've ever seen."

  We sat side by side looking out over the ocean. The constant crashing of the waves below had a hypnotic effect that took the painful loneliness of death out of this place and made it feel oddly alive, as if everyone around us was simply resting, away from the busyness of life on the other side of the city walls.

  "Now you understand why I wanted to bring you here," Valentín asked, and I nodded. "Not to burst your bubble about the beauty of this place, but it is rather dangerous once it gets dark."

  "Dangerous?"

  "We wouldn't be the first people here to end up with a cut throat," he said, pulling me up. I couldn't really fathom it, but he looked serious enough, and I followed him without argument to the chapel to retrieve the cooler.

  We were both pretty quiet on the way back. I'm not sure if in Valentín's case the somewhat abbreviated night was now showing its consequences, but he appeared lost in thought, and I didn't attempt to pull him back from wherever he was.

  Instead, I used the silence to try and figure out what to make of our time together. It felt very natural hanging out with him, although I doubted that he was looking for a buddy. Most men wouldn't go through the effort of arranging a picnic if they didn't have a romantic interest. I hadn't been in a steady relationship in a very long time. It was nice to have someone make the effort to want to spend time with me, and having him wrap his arms around me like he'd done at the cemetery felt nice. But even without a relationship, I didn't really feel alone. And kissing Valentín felt…wrong. Like I was cheating on Rafael. My man, five hundred years removed. I pressed my lips together to keep a sigh buried inside. Life would be so much easier if I could just let him go. But I didn't seem to have much choice in the matter. Because most nights he was simply there, whether I wanted him to be or not. And coming here made him more three-dimensional than he'd ever been. I could feel Rafael as I walked along the old streets of San Juan, breathing the same island air.

  A humorless smile slipped across my face. Perhaps I shouldn't worry so much about a possible relationship with a living man so much as I should be concerned about the one I had with a dead one. Only to me, Rafael wasn't dead. The sigh slipped out after all as I admitted that I wanted him to be here. More rather than less. So much so that it hurt physically if I thought too long about everything that spoke against the possibility. I had to keep looking. There was no way around it. If I could figure out the why, then there also had to be a way to figure out the how.

  "Here we are." Valentín tapped against the hotel's side gate. "You got the key?"

  I pulled it out, but hesitated before opening the entrance. "I had a really nice time today," I said. "Thanks for everything."

  He studied my face for an unnervingly long time, and I was already mulling over every possible explanation I could give of why I didn't want him to walk me up to my room. Much to my surprise, he didn't insist.

  "I had a good time, too," he said, kissing me lightly. "Good night, Melissa." He smiled that dimple-deepening smile of his, and the evening breeze sent a fading wave of his cologne my way. "You'll call?"

  I nodded, returning his smile. "Of course," I promised.

  And with that he turned and walked away, leaving me unsure whether I should be insulted or relieved that he didn't even try to walk me up to my room. Maybe my less-than-one-hundred-percent willingness to commit to anything romantic with him oozed out of my po
res and there was no need to say anything. Or possibly I was just a tad too full of myself thinking his reaction had anything to do with me at all. There seemed to be plenty of other stuff on his mind tonight that did not have Melissa Ricada emblazoned all over it. So I should probably just get over myself.

  "Right." I opened the gate. It had been a nice day and I should leave it at that.

  Chapter 10

  The moon was full in a cloudless sky as I sat by Rafael's side and watched him sleep. He and his father had been working all day cutting timber and clearing the last of the debris from their destroyed home. Both were sprawled across hammocks they had hung on beams below the temporary palm frond roof. Manuel was snoring in patches, but I barely noticed. I kept my eyes on Rafael's sleeping figure until I had every sinewy run of his ribs memorized. His mouth was relaxed, his hair draped partially over his cheek and straddling his shoulder. How wrong would it be if I traced the line of his clavicles or explored the perfect curve of his cheek? I didn't answer the question as I knew I really shouldn't even be here. There was nothing for me to do, nothing to say to him. Everything was calm and I should let him sleep. He'd been working hard all day and there was more of that waiting for him tomorrow. Yet I didn't move from my spot. My silly little act of love. I remained right where I was. Until the rising sun slipping through the cracked blinds made Rafael fade into the brightness of another day.

  Too many thoughts of what if, how, why, when, where, why, why, why, how, when and what if again were swirling through my head. It was too early in the morning for this much thinking, although I had the sneaking suspicion that my head had been at this all through the night. Since my body didn't feel as though it had enjoyed eight hours of sleep either, I was completely convinced my too-independent-for-its-own-good-noggin was to blame. A noisy and long yawn broke the quiet in my room.

  After a hearty breakfast I sat out to find the location the girl at the internet café had scribbled on the napkin for me. I had to admit, I was rather excited about the exhibit, trying not to think too much about the word sale that went in connection with it. My bank account could only handle so much. Jewelry had always been my weakness, and I'd never been one to discriminate. From costume jewelry in the latest fashion colors to exquisitely set precious stones, from hand-hammered silver to finely worked gold, I loved it all. And as I entered the large exhibit space in a hotel on the Condado's Ashford Avenue, I knew I wasn't going to be disappointed. The colorful fashion pieces were nearest the doors, and as I meandered deeper and deeper into the venue, value and quality increased dramatically. Perhaps it was safer to keep the more expensive jewelry farther inside, I mused as I scanned delicate pearl and diamond confections. If someone tried to steal anything, it would give the security guards a good stretch of floor space to try and tackle down any thieves before they'd reach the exit.

  I moved away from the diamonds in platinum settings to a table that held beautifully crafted jewelry in wooden display cases.

  "All of these pieces are hand-made," a woman, perhaps in her mid-sixties, said. She sat behind the table with the four cases.

  "They're beautiful," I said, studying the intricate work. It wasn't lost on me that these pieces were antique in their design, with a Spanish flair and closures that were made of narrow pins inserted in slender, miniscule tubes, thin chains securing the pins to the bracelets and necklaces. "These designs…they're quite different from anything else I have seen here."

  "You have a very good eye," the woman replied, scooting closer to the box I was reviewing. "Most of these pieces are based on Spanish and early Puerto Rican designs, dating as far back as the 1500s." She handed me a business card. "It's been a family business for generations. Of course, we also use motifs that are not from back then, not recycled, so to speak, but they still reflect the essence of the original work that started the business."

  I nodded, unable to take a closer look at the business card as my eyes were fixed on a silver bracelet with raised links that sported interchanging Xs and square patterns. "I believe I have seen this piece before," I finally managed to squeeze out, my voice almost drowned out by the uncontrollable drumming of my heartbeat. While I was still transfixed by the bracelet, a strong pair of hands came down on my shoulders and I snapped up. Spinning around, I found myself staring at a heartily-laughing Valentín, who threw his hands up in the air after my reaction to his touch.

  "Sorry," he said, impeding my labored breathing with a kiss. "I didn't realize you were that engrossed in the display."

  "What are you doing here?" This was an instance where I neither wanted nor needed Valentín to appear.

  He raised his eyebrows. "I'm working the show as security.

  Almost protectively, I placed myself between the case with the bracelet and the detective, dredging up a smile as I felt the sales woman's eyes upon us. This isn't about you, Mel. He's not spying on you. This is just one of those extra jobs he does, nothing more, nothing less.

  "I was so concentrated on the jewelry, you spooked me when you put your hands on my shoulders," I said.

  He relaxed his tight jaw line, dimpling his cheek. "You did look pretty intense. What were you looking at?"

  Inwardly, I groaned at having to move aside and allowing Valentín a view of the bracelet. He wasn't part of this. He hadn't been there when Rafael showed this very piece to his father, and he wasn't supposed to be here right now. My pulse beat faster as I looked at the bracelet again.

  "She's got good taste, doesn't she," Valentín said to the woman behind the table. "It's an antique, I presume?"

  "Actually, I made it only about a week ago." The familiar voice behind me froze the blood in my veins, and I grasped the edge of the display to steady myself. Rafael! I would have recognized the sound among a million voices. It made my heart want to break through my chest, and it took my breath away.

  "Huh." Valentín looked from the man behind us back at the bracelet. "It looks very antique. Nice work."

  "Thank you," my Rafael said, "it's an old family design."

  I had to turn around, to look at him, to have him look at me, but my legs threatened to buckle under me, and I was afraid to let go of the table. My only fear greater was that he would disappear if I didn't turn around soon. I was barely aware of my panting, only concentrating on facing the familiar voice. Once I did, nothing else around me mattered.

  I wanted to stop time, to gaze at every detail of the face I already knew so well. The slight dip in the nose, the altitude of the cheekbones and warm cinnamon of the skin. The mouth that bent more in one direction than in the other in the smile that played around its corners. And the infinite darkness of the center of his eyes, surrounded by fading milky blue.

  After more than three decades, I was in a position to reach out and touch Rafael, to tell him that I had always loved him and still did. In the plain light of day and with my eyes wide open. Yet when his gaze met mine, neither my hand nor my tongue were able to move. I was utterly and completely immobile, staring at him for what seemed like an eternity.

  "Tee Guardán Rivera," he said, stretching out the same hand I had watched work so many times. "I'm the designer and jewelry maker."

  Valentín reached for his hand. "I'm a security guard here," he said. "Melissa is the one who's so taken with your work. Mel?"

  My jaw slacked as I was struggling to process the words that had come out of Rafael's mouth. What did he say his name was?

  "Are you alright?" The woman's voice behind me reached me in a fog. It occurred to me that I must look like a person on the verge of a stroke, clutching the display case behind me, staring open-mouthed at the person who had to be Rafael, who was Rafael. If anyone knew what he looked like, it was me. The way he moved, how he talked. I had witnessed it uncountable times. And yet, this person with the infinite eyes said a name that was jarringly incorrect.

  "Hand me one of the chairs," the jewelry maker said to the woman. "She looks like she's about to pass out."

  "I got it," Valentín s
aid, intercepting the chair in an unattractively possessive fashion that under normal circumstances would have made my alarm bells go off. But this wasn't normal by any stretch, and I just filed the action away while I remained unable to speak.

  "Guess the air conditioning here could be better," Valentín huffed.

  The sound of his voice felt like fingernails on a chalkboard to my ears. I wanted to yell at him to shut up, to take his burning hand off my arm as he grabbed me and pushed me down on the seat. But nothing came out as all of my concentration went into following every move that took place in front of me.

  "Mamá, could you get her something to drink, please?" If Valentín's sudden abrasiveness had offended my Rafael, it didn't show. His face only reflected concern as he squatted down in front of me while the woman behind the table disappeared. "Are you alright, Miss?"

  I swallowed, my mouth lacking saliva. A nod was all I could manage. There was no description to the feeling that washed over me as Rafael's eyes reflected his worry for my well-being. It was a look I had only seen directed at Luz before, while I had yearned so often that it could be meant for me. Now that it was, I relished every millisecond of it.

  It was strange to see Rafael in something other than a loose-fitting shirt with tie-string, his hair not straight and bound back in a ponytail, but in unruly curls that hung haphazardly into his forehead. In his black jeans and T-shirt, he looked more like a bouncer or salsa dancer, and my reeling mind was working overtime to reconcile the two. Did it really matter? Because everything else was exactly as I recalled it from every dream, every night I had spent walking with him, talking, laughing and crying with him, and watching him.

  The woman returned with the water glass, and Valentín shot forward to take it from her, handing it to me. I reached for it blindly, unable to draw myself away from the ink pools of Rafael's eyes.

  "You better drink something," Valentín said next to me. The gentle massage he was performing on my back was torturous, and when he leaned down to kiss my hair, I downed the water to keep from screaming.