35. Serafina
CHAPTER 35
Serafina
D appled morning light filters through my carefully cultivated aroids' delicate and juvenile leaves, filling my little greenhouse with a warm glow. I inhale the earthy, verdant scent of thriving tropical plants, a hint of a smile on my lips. This is my sanctuary, the one corner of Paz's backyard I've made entirely my own.
I glance over at Paz, who is puttering around her vegetable garden, her weathered hands gentle as she tends to the tomatoes and peppers. A question bubbles up inside me, one that's been nagging at my thoughts for weeks now.
"Paz," I call out, my voice soft yet curious. "Can I ask you something?"
She looks up, her dark eyes crinkling at the corners. "Claro que sí, ni?a. Of course. What's on your mind?"
I fidget with a leaf from a philodendron strawberry shake, a cutting the gentleman gave us a few days ago, its leathery dark green surface speckled with creamy pink, white and green variegation, smooth beneath my fingertips. "Why did you take me in? Not that I'm not grateful, but..." I trail off, unsure how to put my swirling emotions into words.
Paz straightens, wiping her hands on her apron as she approaches me. There's a knowing glint in her gaze, a hint of something I can't quite decipher. "Ay, Serafina," she sighs, her voice warm with affection. "Tu tienes un corazón bueno. You have a good heart." She reaches out, gently patting my cheek. "That's all the reason I need."
I lean into her touch, suddenly overcome with gratitude for this woman who has become like a second mother to me in just a matter of days. Yet even as I bask in her kindness, I can't help butwonder about the secrets she keeps, the stories she has yet to reveal.
I press on, my curiosity getting the better of me. "What about your sons? You mentioned they're politicians. Why don't you live with them, under their protection? Why live a life of solitude here?"
Paz's expression shifts, a flicker of something unreadable passing across her features. She walks to a nearby bench, motioning for me to join her. As we sit, she takes my hand in hers, her skin soft and weathered against mine.
"Mis hijos, they have their own lives, their own responsibilities," she explains, her gaze distant.
"A mother knows when it's time to let her sons fly on their own."
I frown, shaking my head. "But a little lady like you shouldn't live alone, especially out here in the middle of nowhere."
Paz chuckles, a sound that's both amused and slightly wistful. "Ah, but that's where you're wrong, mi querida - my dear. I like it here. I know all my neighbors, and no one has hidden intentions. I can walk around without worrying about my safety."
Her words strike a chord within me, echoing my own yearning for a life untainted by the shadows of my family's legacy. Still, I can't help but think of the gun I saw her with when we first met.
"But the gun..." I begin, my brow furrowing.
Paz's lips quirk into a wry smile. "I didn't say I was stupid." A laugh escapes me, the tension breaking like a soap bubble. Paz joins in, her eyes sparkling with mirth.
"Paz," I begin, my voice soft, almost tentative. "What about your husband? You've never mentioned him."
The change in her demeanor is subtle but unmistakable. Her shoulders stiffen, and the warmth in her eyes dims, replaced by a guarded expression. She takes a deep breath as if steeling herself against a flood of memories. "That's enough stories for the day, Serafina," she says, her tone gentle but firm.
I open my mouth to protest, to apologize for overstepping, but something in her expression stops me. There's a world of pain in those dark eyes, a history I can only begin to fathom. I nod, swallowing back my questions. "Va bene, All right," I murmur, rising to my feet. "You're right, Paz."
She reaches out, giving my hand a gentle squeeze. "I'll go make us our desayuno."
"I can help with breakfast," I offer, but Paz declines. "You need to focus on your little plants."
As I make my way back to my little greenhouse, my mind swirls with thoughts of Paz and the secrets she carries. I can't shake the feeling that her past, like mine, is a tangled web of love, loss, and sacrifice. And though I yearn to unravel those threads, to understand the woman who's become my anchor in this storm, I know I must be patient.