Chapter 10 #2
Hena had said she wouldn’t dance. Didn’t want the attention.
But with her aunt, the self-consciousness melted away.
A new memory surfaced: The two of them in the kitchen, Hena barely in preschool, the bhangra music dialed up to ten.
Her aunt twirling her as they cleaned. Even after all this time, these childhood moves came back as if no time had passed.
There was a lull between songs. Hena spotted Reza off to the side in a dark kurta.
“You know how to dance, don’t you?” he asked as she walked over to him.
“Want some tips?”
He feigned offense. “I’ve got moves of my own.”
“Prove it. Dance with me.”
The beat kicked up. He took her hands and drew her close, matching her beat for beat. Just like that, in the middle of the crowd, everything else faded away. The noise blurred. The lights dimmed. It was just him. Just her.
“I’m not sure I properly thanked you for saving my life,” Hena told him.
“I think Bob played a bigger role,” he said. “For the record, I’ve changed my mind. The Everglades are way overrated.”
“It’s not always fun to be right,” she teased. “But honestly, the Everglades can be pretty special. When you see a breeze wave over a wide swath of grassy marsh, it can feel otherworldly. Stumbling across a wild orchid—it’s magical.”
“That does sound nice, but it’s definitely time for a scenery cleanse.”
“What do you have in mind?”
“I’m thinking of renting a boat and hitting the ocean tomorrow. You know they have an app for that?”
“My parents once had a motorboat. A Chris-Craft Catalina.”
For twenty-four hours, anyway.
“I’m thinking more along the lines of a sailboat. It’s been a while.”
“You know how to sail?” She raised an eyebrow. “Not a lot of ocean in Orlando, last I checked.”
“We have lakes. I don’t do it much these days, but there’s nothing like being out on the water. It really clears your head.”
“Sounds nice,” she said wistfully. “I bet it’s meditative.”
He hesitated. Then—
“Join me? It’s a three-hour sail out of Key Biscayne.”
Her heart skipped a beat, but she did her best to play it cool. “Yeah?”
“Two is always better than one.”
“That sounds perfect, but I’m not sure I’d be much help,” she said.
“I have plenty of experience for both of us. Besides, Key Biscayne seems like a calm bay—more lake than open sea. A great place to learn. What do you say?”
He smiled. It was the kind of smile that should come with a warning label. And that dimple. That maddening, unfair dimple. What else could she say to a man with a dimple like that except yes?
“I’d love to,” she told him.
The song faded. She glanced back at the crowd; she needed to check on her mother, so reluctantly she excused herself. Walking away, she traced a finger along her palm, his touch still warm against her skin.
A sailboat ride.
Just the two of them.
Was this a date? In any other world that’s what she would have called it. With Reza, though, she didn’t want to prematurely name it something it wasn’t.
Nearing her mother, Hena’s pace slowed. Ammi was hunched over. Gita crouched by her side.
“I’m fine,” her mother said through gritted teeth as Hena joined her.
“Frida. Enough is enough. A bit of Percocet will do the trick. I think—”
“You will not tell me what I can or cannot do. Understood?” Ammi snapped.
Hena flinched at the familiar sting of her mother’s words. Judging from the ashen look on Gita’s face, this tone was new to her.
“Ammi, it can’t hurt to have some pain medication.” Hena set her purse on the table and kneeled so they were face-to-face. “Just so you can feel a little better, that’s all.”
“For the one hundredth time, those medicines put me straight to sleep.” Her eyes watered. When she spoke again, her words were barely above a whisper. “I—I want to be here. I’m sick of all these medications.”
The plaintive way she spoke, her head bowed, broke Hena’s heart.
This was the same woman who would roughly march her out of the house barefoot under the cover of night when her father was in one of his dangerous moods.
Hena remembered being yanked from sleep, her mother cradling Lulu in her arms and pressing a finger to her lips as the three of them slipped out the bedroom window.
They sidestepped snake holes and ducked past dangling black widows before she tucked them into the overgrown shed in the back of their property until the storm passed.
“The Percocet is less heavy-duty. It’ll take the edge off,” Gita reassured her. “You’ll have at least thirty minutes before it makes you drowsy, and you’ll be able to actually enjoy yourself. Please, Frida.”
“I can grab the medicine,” Hena offered.
Her mother didn’t reply, but she didn’t say no, which was as close to a yes as they’d probably get. Gita handed Hena a key card and reminded her to grab her mother’s special filtered water.
Lucinda was by the front desk chatting with the dark-haired “Mr. Jack-of-all-trades” when Hena walked past the lobby. Their voices drifted over to her.
“…absolutely messed up. I can’t believe it,” Hena heard the man say.
“They tried to tell me it was a misunderstanding.” Lucinda leaned closer to him. “I call bullshit.”
“Let me tell you—” The man looked over. Seeing Hena, he abruptly cut off.
“Hena.” Color rose to Lucinda’s cheeks. “We were being loud, weren’t we?”
“You’re fine,” Hena reassured her.
The man grabbed a set of keys hanging from the back wall. He nodded to Lucinda. “I’ll handle that for you.”
“You’re a lifesaver,” Lucinda told him, before turning to Hena. “Are you finding everything okay?”
“Yes,” Hena said. “I’m just grabbing something from my mother’s suite.”
“Fantastic. Let me know if you need anything at all.”
Hena hesitated. She could ask Lucinda another time. Her mother needed her medication. But the lobby was empty, this would only take a second, and her question—it was burning inside her.
“Lulu said you worked for my father,” Hena said.
At this, Lucinda broke into a smile. “I did. He was a wonderful man, wasn’t he?”
Wonderful? Hena blinked. Lucinda seemed utterly sincere.
There was nothing inherently wrong with the sentiment.
He had been wonderful to many people. Most people.
This many years out, he had practically reached sainthood for some.
But if Lucinda worked for him at the Miramar location—where the shadowy parts of his work resided—then surely she had known him better than most.
“Lulu said you did his bookkeeping,” Hena said.
“That was my role. Officially, I mean. He said it would look good on my résumé. Honestly, I did a bit of everything,” Lucinda replied. “You know how your dad was.”
That’s the problem, thought Hena. I do.
“What do you mean by ‘a bit of everything’?” Hena asked.
“Whatever needed doing.” She shrugged. “I handled a lot of the paperwork for the side business. Sorting it. Delivering it. Reminding people when they were behind on payments. Your father believed in me. Not many men like him in the world. You were lucky.”
Lucky. The word settled in Hena like a stone.
She remembered her father’s funeral. Thousands had attended—community members, friends, colleagues, business leaders. So many heartbroken people.
But if they had loved her father, it was because they hadn’t truly known him.
Over the years, she’d met those who did—who knew the truth beneath her father’s charm.
They never spoke a word to her, but their expressions belied their fear.
Was Lucinda one of the rare few to have been shielded from it?
A streak of lightning flashed across the glass wall in the background—sharp and sudden. Hena winced. Her mother needed her pain medicine. She was overdue. Hena had turned to leave when—
“You remind me of him, you know?” Lucinda’s voice was gentle. Thoughtful. “Every time I see your smile, I think of him. It’s nice to know he lives on in his children.”
She meant it as a compliment, so Hena did her best not to shiver.
—
Inside Lulu’s suite, Hena flipped on the foyer light. Thunder growled outside—low and guttural. It rattled the windows.
The wedding cake sat untouched on the island, exactly where it had been left that morning, though it was starting to lean. As she walked past it, her eyes landed on the counter next to the fridge. Dozens of translucent orange bottles were lined up neatly along the back wall. A miniature pharmacy.