Homecoming #2
“Senora Clarisa, Mamá says you have some avocados for us today!” She bounded forward, then froze when she caught sight of Antonio and his uniform, suspicion clear by the narrowing of her eyes.
Clarisa rose and went to the kitchen, but the girl’s eyes remained fixed on him.
Antonio fought a grimace, in case it would give the girl the wrong impression.
He’d seen it before, the suspicion when he walked through the streets.
Not aimed at him specifically, but at Monte Rican guards in general.
It had taken a while for the king to weed out the loyalists, and yet it seemed the general sentiment of distrust remained. Even among youth as little as her.
Peluche let out a yip, and her eyes shot to him. “?Qué cute!” she gasped, rushing to Antonio’s side. “Can I hold it?”
Antonio wondered whether her mother would really be okay with the child holding a wolf, even a pup, but she didn’t let him give an affirmation or denial, just scooping Peluche up into her arms. Then she held him out, arms straight, and cocked her head.
“It’s only got three paws,” she said, brow scrunched as if she were investigating some great mystery, like why she had to go to bed before the grown-ups.
“His name is Peluche,” answered Antonio, watching to see her reaction turn to disdain.
She laughed. “Really?”
Antonio quirked a smile. “Sí, and don’t tell anyone, but I kind of like it.”
She held Peluche close again, admiration shining in her gaze. “Was he born that way?”
“I think so,” he answered, surprised by her reaction. “He’s so young that if he’d lost it somehow, we’d still see signs of healing.”
Just like how, even two years later, his leg ached from where the physician had sealed the wound. Would the pain ever heal entirely?
“Here, Emilia.” Clarisa returned with a basket, and Emilia dropped Peluche back on Antonio’s lap.
“I like him,” she said, smiling a gap-toothed grin. “He’s just like Lorelle.”
Antonio’s jaw dropped at the girl’s admission, but before he could say anything, she was already skipping down the hall and out the door.
Clarisa chuckled, shaking her head. “That girl,” she said, smiling.
Antonio looked between her and the hallway, words jumbling in his mouth at the questions that he couldn’t figure out how to voice.
Emilia was far too young to have met Lorelle in person, and yet .
. . how could she know about her unless Clarisa and Zacarías spoke of her—and seemingly, with pride?
Maybe they were not ashamed of her after all.
Clarisa frowned, understanding flickering in her gaze.
“We love Lorelle like she is our daughter,” she said quietly.
“But we did only what she wished when she asked to join the academy. We’ve respected her wishes since then, only stepping out to give her a new hand a few years ago, when we learned she outgrew the old one. ”
“And world-class inventors don’t just grow on the island,” said Zacarías, coming back into the room.
Antonio’s throat was dry. He nodded, surprised at the love in the aunt’s eyes. At how much they’d done for Lorelle that she didn’t know. What else had they sacrificed for her?
Guilt tore through him. Could it be that he was just as blind with his own family? That even though his mother hadn’t reached out to him, it could have been his own fault. That he was keeping her at bay. As soon as he got home, once he stopped Sir Thomas, he would see her.
“I noticed her hand is broken,” Zacarías said, rubbing his chin. “We’ll see if we can call the inventor.” He ran a hand through his graying hair. “But it would be expensive.”
“I’ll cover it.” Antonio reached across the table, dropping his medal between them. Zacarías’s eyes widened when he saw it, and Clarisa’s hands flew to her heart.
“You can’t trade your medal,” said Clarisa, pushing it back with shaking fingers.
“And I won’t,” he said. “I got a large reward when I got the medal. It’s more than I would be comfortable spending on myself. Let me put it to good use. Call the inventor, show them the medal, and they’ll know that I can cover the cost. I’ll bring the funds when I return from my mission.”
Zacarías nodded in understanding. “So I see your trip has not been solely for Lorelle’s benefit.”
No, but he would have done it again if she asked it of him.
Antonio stood, his metal knee creaking. “Thank you for your hospitality,” he said, throat tight as it reminded him of his own home. “We’ll leave early in the morning, so we hope to not disturb you—”
Clarisa waved away his protests. “I’m always up with the chickens,” she said. “What do you like for breakfast?”
Antonio couldn’t help the smile that tugged at his lips, nor the burning of tears in his eyes. “Huevos fritos,” he managed to answer. A simple breakfast, but fried eggs always reminded him of home.
Zacarías stood, extending a hand. “Thank you, Capitán Fuentes,” he said, “for looking out for Lorelle.”
Antonio shook it, nodding.
Zacarías directed him to where he’d be sleeping in the back room—the furthest location from the stairs leading to the bedrooms on the second floor—and Clarisa came to see if he needed anything—water, food—before going to bed.
What he really needed was the privacy of taking off his leg and tending to the blisters that he knew would be there, but he could do that later.
Once he got back to the castle and warned the king of the threat he knew existed, even if he couldn’t say when it would take place.
Clarisa’s silhouette passed the door, and a sudden urge to speak took hold of Antonio.
“Senora,” Antonio said, and she paused. “There is one more thing. Maybe not for me, but for Lorelle. She’s not just performing in the ballet for the princess—she’s the principal dancer.”
Clarisa let out a shaky breath, as if she was fighting tears. “Gracias, Capitán,” said Clarisa quietly. “Buenas noches.”