Chapter 1
Eva!
Mia’s voice emerges loud and clear from the mass of people picking up friends and family members from the airport.
I stop to look around, trying to find my cousin in the dense crowd behind the metal partitions.
Grouchy passengers from my Amsterdam-to-Ibiza flight are bumping into me left and right, our eardrums collectively numb from the vocal stylings of a toddler who didn’t get the lollipop he desperately wanted.
The tiny culprit is now fast asleep on top of a bright pink suitcase while his mom wheels him through the arrivals terminal.
I shake my head. So the kid can’t sleep in an airplane seat, but this mobile Barbie’s dream closet is just the spot he needed to catch up on his beauty sleep?
Mia is hopping up and down, trying to catch my eye each time she pops up over the throng of people. When I finally spot her face, I head her way, manoeuvering with all the grace and elegance of a bloated hippo.
So sorry! I call out, when I accidentally whack into someone.
The man gives me an annoyed glare. I notice huge armpit stains when he stops to wipe his sweaty brow.
His entire bald head is bright red and shiny like a cue ball.
We spent barely five minutes outside on the tarmac waiting for a bus, but somehow he still managed to get a sunburn.
He mumbles something unintelligible and walks away, heading toward the rental car desks.
Eva! I hear again—a lot closer than before—and I feel Mia’s slender arms wrap around me. I give her a tight hug, thrilled to see her.
I’m so glad you’re here! She takes a step back and I see her brown eyes sparkling with joy. Did you have a good flight?
I rub my ears for a moment, then nod. I don’t really want to spend time complaining about the man who decided his fear of flying would be vastly improved by getting drunk on random airplane liquor while the redhead next to him whispered comforting things into his ear.
The boozy smell ended up creating the perfect opportunity for a pregnant woman on the flight to test out one of the airline puke bags.
And of course the soundtrack to it all was a screaming toddler tantrum.
It’s been two years since I last saw Mia, but she hasn’t changed a bit.
Her yellow boho dress floats loosely around her body.
She’s wearing a colourful scarf as a headband and it’s a perfect pairing for the clinking bangles on her wrist. Her dark brown hair does a wavy dance around her shoulders when we walk toward the exit.
Our hair is really the only hint that we share any genetic material.
I inherited mine from my mother—Mia’s aunt.
Mom is also the reason I speak Spanish fluently.
With the exception of my dark tresses, my father’s Dutch genes were definitely dominant: I’m tall with blue eyes.
Mia is the opposite: significantly shorter with eyes that match her dark hair.
Abuelo and Abuela are so excited you’re coming, she gushes, leading the way to her parked car.
My suitcase bumps around behind me as the straps of my backpack dig into my shoulders.
As soon as we exit the terminal, I walk face-first into a wall of scorching air.
The beaming sun warms my body instantly.
A muggy breeze brushes a few stray strands of hair out of my face and causes the massive green leaves on the palm trees to rustle.
And obviously I’m excited, too. She gives me a playful shoulder bump and points out a car that looks ripe for demolition after losing a Transformers battle against Unicron. That’s my jeep. Just toss your suitcase in the back.
Despite having so much of my life still ahead of me, I accept her invitation to climb into the passenger seat. The roof has been rolled back and the windshield is the vehicle’s only window. This is definitely not the safest I’ve ever felt.
Mia gets behind the wheel and turns on the radio, Spanish music immediately blasting from the speakers. I grope around the spot where I would expect to find a seatbelt, but come up empty handed. Checking over my shoulder, I confirm my suspicion.
Uhhh. Mia. Where’s the seatbelt?
She tosses me an apologetic look. Oh, this car doesn’t have any, she answers with a shrug as she pops the key into the ignition, turning it with a quick prayer. The engine roars into action. I blink a few times, swallow hard, and hold on for dear life.
Mia snickers when she picks up on my fight-or-flight posture and shifts the car into reverse.
Don’t worry. This baby still runs like new.
She gives the steering wheel an encouraging tap, as if that could prevent the vehicle from falling apart halfway through our drive.
One smooth turn and we’re on the road. To our right, I take in the clear blue sea, gently sloshing against the rocks.
There are a few boats floating on the water that’s the exact same colour as the sky.
To our left are red dirt groves full of olive trees, sectioned off by rustic stone walls.
The sun is high in the sky and I swear I can feel the vitamin D seeping into my pores.
I haven’t been to Ibiza in so long. Back when I was a student, my grandparents’ beach bar and restaurant was a frequent location for my many mishaps as a server.
During my summer breaks, I would often pitch in, serving drinks to tourists who invariably looked dangerously close to a third-degree sunburn diagnosis.
The work made me a little extra cash. And, as an added bonus, I got to soak up all the pleasures of the island.
The wind whips through my hair—a refreshing relief after my stuffy flight.
Mia’s driving skills quickly account for the dishevelled vibe of the heap of junk we’re cruising around in.
She speeds through traffic as if she has someone about to give birth in the back seat.
I grip onto the car frame even more tightly, hoping against hope that I'll make it through this journey alive. Cars keep honking their horns at us, but Mia is unbothered. She just presses down a little harder on the gas pedal and keeps chattering on about Abuelo and Abuela’s restaurant.
So, last year’s storm pretty much took the whole roof down.
It was the biggest mess I’ve ever seen. I swear, Eva, it was awful.
I really thought we’d have to declare bankruptcy.
The restaurant has been having a rough time, so there’s no way we could afford the repair.
.. She furiously honks at a passing car as it nearly cuts us off.
Hey, asshole! She shakes her head and makes an obscene gesture.
Some people should really have their licence revoked for being a menace on the road.
I can’t help but let out an affirmative grunt and squeeze on even tighter to any illusion of security this car has to offer.
But anyway, like I told you on the phone, Los Castillos suddenly changed their minds about approving the loan.
Mia has turned off of the main road and we’re now driving up a hill along a potholed road.
Our sandy surroundings are studded with agave plants and those cacti with the oval leaves.
We’re bobbing up and down and Mia’s voice vibrates a bit as she continues to talk.
It’s obvious why those guys own about half of Ibiza at this point.
They offer high-interest loans with absurd conditions to struggling business owners.
And when the businesses inevitably go under, the real estate goes up for sale and those guys swoop in to snag it at bargain rates.
Every word coming from Mia’s mouth makes me fume.
There’s no doubt in my mind that those loan agreements are littered with clauses that would never hold up in court, but small business owners don’t often have the kind of money to cover a great lawyer.
This is a shining example of endlessly greedy people who probably eat caviar for breakfast. People who possess the empathy level of a deceased goldfish.
Poor Abuelo was so upset, he didn’t know what else to do...It was such an incredible mess: the roof was beyond repair and the water damage...He signed because he didn’t have a choice, but he knew it was a terrible deal.
I clench my jaw and stare angrily ahead. Abuelo and Abuela are the most trusting, loving people I know and that piece of shit company has taken advantage of them in the worst way. Those...those absolute...
Bastards. Mia finishes my thought through clenched teeth.
She stares out ahead, then pats me on the knee encouragingly.
I’m so glad you agreed to come. Abuelo and Abuela are way too proud to ask, so it had to come from me.
The bookkeeping is a complete mess and we just can’t figure out where to start.
I was shocked when Mia called me in a panic about a month ago to fill me in on the situation.
I knew business hadn’t been great for quite some time, but I hadn’t realized how close they were to bankruptcy.
Add to that the Los Castillos involvement and it took everything in me not to jump on the very first flight to Ibiza.
I can’t stomach injustice. And the potential bankruptcy of the small business my grandparents dedicated forty years of their lives to building, just feels. ..unjust. They don’t deserve that.