32. Cruz
Chapter 32
Cruz
L eaving my backpack and sandy chanclas in the entryway, I shut the door and make a beeline for the fridge. I need water, preferably cold. And maybe a beer. Summertime in Puerto Rico is hot af. Humid, too.
Draining the water in two gulps, I set down the empty glass and sag against the counter in relief. I’ve been on the water since eight this morning. It’s three o’clock now, and I’m exhausted. Tío Mando, my mother’s oldest brother, invites me fishing whenever he goes. He’s a retired cop, too, but he worked for the Carolina Police for the full twenty-five years. He doesn’t begrudge me my early retirement, though.
“And everybody in this family calls me the unhinged one,” he’d said when I told him some of the crazier stories from the past few years. He’s seen some stuff too, but these days he lives a calm life, fishing and gardening and spoiling his second wife, Dalia. They live inland, in a rural area that allows for lots of peace and quiet.
I’m on the coast of Carolina, in a duplex belonging to my cousin. It’s a good fit for me. The beach is close and there are bars, restaurants, and stores nearby. Most of my mom’s family live around here, and the ones that don’t are in San Juan, which is maybe twenty minutes away.
I’ve been down here for almost two months now. The last time I visited I was in the eleventh grade, so it’s nice to be back as an adult. As a resident . Maybe not forever, but for right now—I’m trying not to live too far in the future. I have a lot of extended family here, so there was an automatic sense of community when I moved down. It’s always someone’s birthday or anniversary. I’m always at someone’s house for dinner, or they’re bringing it to me, leaving plastic containers full of food so good I had to start working out again to burn it off.
My shirt smells like salt and sweat, my hands calloused from holding a rod all day. I didn’t catch much—just a few small snapper to Mando’s cooler of mahi and grouper—but it was good to spend time with him.
Some of my favorite childhood memories happened within miles of here. Swimming at Playa Pinones with my grandmother and her sister, then hitting up the chinchorros until our bellies were stuffed. Long drives across the island to visit friends. Afternoons spent shooting cans and targets in the countryside with my cousins. Fishing with Tío Mando, who was working back then but still spent his days off on the boat.
I know I’m in the honeymoon stage, that life on island isn’t as idyllic as I’m making it out to be, but whatever. I’ll ride this wave until I can figure out my next step.
Heading for the shower, I strip off my clothes as I walk through the tiny living room. The duplex is modest but cozy, with comfortable, worn furniture that’s at least twenty years old and tons of family photos on the wall.
After a shower and a shave, I heat up the arroz con gandules that Dalia sent for me and settle in front of the TV to zone out. After years of hypervigilance and constant surveillance, of pretending and risking my life and then fucking falling for someone I could never have, I’m exhausted in every sense of the word. It goes bone deep. Besides family stuff, I haven’t really gone out. I have no desire to go clubbing or bar hopping. I just want to relax.
The only problem with that is the overthinking. Now that my brain doesn’t have a million things to juggle, it keeps going back to the one thing it should just leave alone: Maeve Kelly. I finally sent her a postcard a couple of weeks ago, after my cousin and I drove over that big bridge in Naranjito. I grabbed the postcard when we stopped for gas and sent it to Tristan’s gym in Boston before I could change my mind.
I still haven’t heard anything back. I hope I got the address right. Sometimes I’m tempted to write again and give her my phone number, or maybe ask for hers since the old one doesn’t work, but I don’t. I’ve made the first move, and now the ball is in her court. If she wants to connect, she will.
Waiting to hear from her sucks, but that’s what I get for waiting so long to send the damn postcard in the first place. I kept trying to move on with my life, telling myself I was giving her time to heal too, but in the end, I had to at least try. These feelings I have for her aren’t going anywhere.
I flip through channels mindlessly, not really seeing what’s on the screen. My mind keeps wandering back to Maeve, to her smile, her teasing, the way she lit up when she talked about ballet or her nephew. The way she felt when I kissed her, when I was inside her.
I have to prepare myself for the possibility that she might not want to go there with me again, though. And could I blame her? It was high drama the entire time we knew each other. Our last days together were especially hectic, and in the end, I know she felt betrayed by my revelations. She said she loved me, and maybe she did, but the fact is that I lied to her a lot, and for a long time. It doesn’t matter why.
Part of me hopes Maeve doesn’t respond because it’ll stir up everything I’ve been trying to tamp down. In my more generous moments, I even wonder if she should move on with someone who isn’t tainted by the lies and danger that defined our relationship. Someone uncomplicated, someone safe.
Yeah, right . If she does move on, I don’t want to know about it. Just the thought of her with another man makes me feel like breaking something.
I don’t want her to avoid me. I’m selfish, and I’d do anything for proof that the connection between us still exists. I’d do anything to see her face, hear her voice. To touch her.
The wind kicks up, blowing a fresh, cleansing breeze through the louvered windows. That usually means rain. I glance out the window and sure enough, the sky’s gone a silvery gray. Seconds later, I hear the sharp staccato of raindrops against the roof. It intensifies, filling the house until there’s nothing but the scent and sound of rain. It’s the kind of downpour that makes you want to stay in bed and nap.
The kind that makes you wish you weren’t alone.
Swinging into the post office parking lot, I park beneath the row of trees at the back and jog inside. My box is, as usual, almost empty—the only bills I have are for my phone and utilities, and those come to my email. There is something from Lewis, though. He’s the only member of the old team that knows where I am.
Looks like he’s getting married next year, and I’m invited. I smile, knowing I won’t be going back to the West Coast anytime soon. Nice of him to reach out, though. He’s been worried about me, even though I couldn’t have picked a safer place.
Ignoring the small pang of disappointment that comes with every fruitless visit to the post office, I get back into the truck and make my way home, drumming my fingers absently over the wheel. It’s warm and sunny, a good day for the beach. Every day is a good day for the beach down here, especially when you’re living like a tourist. I had a decent amount of savings when I moved here, so coupled with my severance pay, I’m doing all right. I can’t do nothing forever, but after doing so much for years and years, I’m learning to relax.
I pull up to the duplex and park, collecting my bag of groceries and Lewis’ wedding invitation before getting out.
“Cruz?”
Her voice is an arrow to my heart. Everybody down here calls me by my given name, but no one says it quite like that. I look up to see Maeve a couple of feet away, standing in the open door of a car idling behind us.
She looks nervous and so beautiful in a short blue sundress and sandals, her hair pulled back, and she’s got more of a tan than she did when we were … what were we ? Then she twists her hands together, her lips parting, and I realize I’m staring. My heartbeat triples and my mouth goes dry. Maeve is here.
She’s here .
Tossing my stuff back into the truck, I close the distance between us and pull her into my arms. “Do I even want to know how you found me?”
But she doesn’t say anything. Instead, a sob rips from her as she wraps her arms around my neck and clings to me like she’s terrified I might disappear. I know the feeling. Tightening my grip, I close my eyes and let myself feel. Before, when we were together, I couldn’t let myself sink too far into what was happening. My survival—and hers—depended on me keeping my shit together.
But now things are different. We don’t have to hide how we feel from each other or anyone else which is good because I’ve never felt this much for a woman.
Eventually I raise my head, catching Tristan’s eyes. He’s standing on the other side of their car with a pretty redhead at his side. Must be his girl. She wipes her eyes, smiling sheepishly at me. How much do they know about us, I wonder? Tristan and Lucky mentioned once that Maeve had told them everything, but how much is everything ?
“Thank you,” I say to him, once I can speak. “For bringing her here.”
“She was coming whether I brought her or not,” he says with a dry chuckle, walking over.
“Sounds about right.”
Maeve breaks away from me, her head ducked as she wipes her face, but I slide my arm around her shoulders. She’s here. I can’t act like seeing her isn’t wrecking me in the best way possible. And she must feel the same because she leans into me, the warmth and solidity of her body soothing something deep inside me.
“It’s good to see you, man.” Tristan bumps my fist. “Looks like you’re doing a lot better.”
“I’m getting there. It’s been a long road.”
“I bet.”
The redhead follows, offering her hand. “Hi. I’m Evie, Tristan’s wife.”
“Cruz,” I respond, shaking her hand. “Good to meet you.”
I glance down at Maeve, who’s staring up at me with eyes that have haunted both my dreams and waking hours for months. “Hey,” I say, giving her a small smile. Looking into her eyes is like looking into a portal of the crazy time we lived through. I spent almost a year of my life hanging out with her every single day, getting closer and closer until we finally gave in and let ourselves fall.
Is it really that surprising I couldn’t let her go ?
“Hey.” She gives me a shaky smile, her eyes still wet. “I hope it’s okay we stopped by. Is this a good time for you?”
Is she kidding me? It’s always a good time when it comes to her. But I can tell she’s having a hard time holding it together, so I just give her a soft smile. “Are you kidding me? Of course, it is. I don’t have anything else going on.”
“Are you sure?”
I was trying to be easygoing, but I guess I need to be more direct. “You are the only thing that matters.”
She sucks in a small breath.
“We’re staying at an Airbnb not too far from here. Maeve has the address if you guys wanna … I don’t know.” Tristan grabs his wife’s hand and takes a step back. “All right. We’re gonna go explore El Yunque. Call me if you need me, Mae.”
They drive away, leaving us alone. I wrap my arms around Maeve again, kissing the top of her head. “I can’t believe it. You’re here.”
“I’m here,” she agrees, pulling back to look at me. “And you’re here. I wasn’t sure you would be.”
“Come on, let’s go inside. Are you hungry?”
“Maybe? I haven’t been able to eat since we landed,” she admits.
“And when was that?” I ask, letting go of her long enough to grab my stuff from the truck.
“Yesterday,” she says. “I wanted to come see you last night, but they convinced me to wait.”
“Tristan and Evie?”
“My whole family,” she says with a chuckle. “They’re all here, even my parents.”
I glance over my shoulder at her as I unlock the door to my apartment. “Wait, what?”
“Long story. They can be a little intense.” She follows me inside, rolling her eyes, but I sense from the happy flush on her cheeks that she doesn’t really mind.
“Can I get you anything to drink? Water? Beer?” I ask, putting my food in the fridge.
“I’m okay,” she says. “I just … I wanted to see you.”
“I wanted to see you, too,” I say quietly, leaning against the counter. Suddenly there’s so much to be said that I don’t know where to start. “You have no idea how much.”
“I know.” She wanders around the room, stopping to examine the pictures on the walls. “I didn’t think I’d ever see you again, and then you sent me that postcard and I realized maybe there was a chance.”
“How’d you even find me?” I ask, a little unsettled. No one should be able to, not this easily.
Maeve smirks. “Didn’t you want me to? Isn’t that why you put the PO Box number on the return address?”
“Ah.” I grin, rubbing my hand over my stubble. “Yeah, I guess I did.”
“Never underestimate my brothers.”
“I’m starting to see that.”
“Lucky figured out what post office it was at and sent one of his guys down to stake it out. He knew what you looked like, because we sent him a picture from my phone. Once he saw you, he followed you here. That was last week.” She swallows, looking nervous again as she comes closer. “I know you’re trying to stay under the radar, but I had to at least try.”
“I’m glad you did.” Understatement of the year . “I was waiting for a postcard from Boston or something, but this works.”
She grins at that. “You know what? I am hungry. Let’s go eat.”
I take her to Tita’s, a family restaurant where the beer is cheap and the food is so good you want to cry. It’s the next best thing to homemade.
“You must come here a lot,” Maeve remarks after the bartender and two of the servers greet me by name.
“Once a week, at least.”
“What’s your favorite thing to order?” she asks, looking away from me to examine a handwritten menu stuck to the wall. It’s in Spanish, but I know the second she sees something she recognizes because she smiles. “Oh, they have mofongo.”
“Why do you think I brought you here?”
Tears sparkle in her eyes as she looks at me. “You know, I kept thinking about you as Jaime. It was really hard not to. But now that I’m here with you, you’re different. ”
“In some ways.” I chew my lip then reach tentatively across the table to take her hand. “Not others.”
Yomaris, the older woman who owns the place, comes by to take our order, setting a couple of beers on the table with a wink. I’m usually alone when I come here, so I suspect she likes that I have a date today.
“Your hair is so short,” Maeve says when we’re alone again, her eyes trailing all over me.
I run my hand over my head. “This is how I usually keep it. The longer hair was just …”
“Part of the act? I cut mine too, actually.” Letting go of my hand, she releases her hair from the bun at the nape of her neck. It barely brushes her shoulders now. “I know you liked it long, but I needed a change.”
“I love your hair.” I swallow the emotion threatening to take me down. “Curly, straight, long, short. I’ve always loved your hair.”
Her eyes widen in surprise.
“It was so hard, Maeve.” I sit back in my chair, scrubbing my hands over my face. “Pretending I didn’t care.”
“It was hard for me, too,” she says after a moment. “I felt really conflicted.”
“Because of him?”
“Because I didn’t know if I could trust you.” She stares at the beer bottle between her hands. “You seemed different than Cal and his guys, but I’d been wrong before and I wasn’t sure I could trust my judgement.”
We’re quiet for a moment.
“But you proved yourself to me,” she whispers, peeking up at me. “And after a while, I could tell you were into me the way I was into you.”
“I probably should’ve done a better job of hiding it,” I say, half-joking.
“Oh, sometimes you did.” She shrugs, taking a long sip of beer. “Like the night I kissed you. The things you said really hurt me.”
Regret spears my chest. “I know.”
“You were so angry, even when you kissed me back.” She frowns, looking down. “Especially then.”
I take a long pull of my beer. “You need to understand the kind of world I was living in, Maeve. You were living in it too, but you were spared from the worst of it until the very end.”
She nods slowly, still looking at the table.
“I knew there was something happening between us. And I wanted it,” I say, “I wanted you. But then I’d think about Cal and watching him beat some guy to death with a pair of brass knuckles and what he’d do to us if he found out we were messing around.”
Maeve squeezes her eyes shut, pain rippling across her face.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. I’m sorry for hurting her then, for hurting her now.
“I guess I thought I didn’t have anything to lose, but I did,” she says, finally giving me her gaze. “We both did.”
Yomaris brings our mofongo—chicken for Maeve and shrimp for me—along with a tray of tostones and more beer.
“Gracias,” I say, giving her a smile. “Esto se ve delicioso.”
“?Sí, sí, porque lo es!” She smiles indulgently at Maeve before peeking at me. “?Esta es tu novia? Ella es tan bonita.”
Maeve smiles tentatively, her eyes darting between Yomaris and me. She says she doesn’t speak Spanish, but I’m pretty sure she senses what we’re talking about.
“We’re figuring it out,” I say.
“Aha! Leti estará desconsolada.” Yomaris cackles, her eyes sparkling in amusement. Leti’s one of her younger servers. She’s had a crush on me since the day I first walked in, and she’s not shy about letting me—and everyone else— know.
I give Yomaris a look, and she settles down, squeezing my shoulder as she focuses on Maeve. “Cruz is a good man,” she says in English. “And so handsome, right? Wow.”
Maeve laughs a little, nodding. “He’s very handsome.”
“Too handsome to be alone,” Yomaris says.