The Inheritance of Orquídea Divina (19)
That kicked off chatter that sounded like a swarm of wasps. Everyone was looking to Enrique for answers that he didn’t have. The truth was that none of them knew how to get into the house. They had been gone for so long, they’d forgotten how to play by Orquídea’s rules.
Rey leaned against the warped wooden porch and drew out one of his cigarettes while the squabble continued outside a house being strangled by giant roots. Tío Félix and Tatinelly’s husband, whose name he never seemed to remember, also bummed one.
“Isn’t it weird,” Rey whispered to Marimar, “to think that we’re all related?”
She took his cigarette and pulled on the bitter smoke, drew it deep in her lungs until she felt the heady rush of tobacco. “Cats are related to lions.”
Rey retrieved his cigarette, his hands trembling still. “Which ones are we in this scenario?”
Marimar shrugged. “I don’t want to know.”
“Stop it!” Silvia said, slapping her hips in a way they’d all seen Orquídea do a million times.
Tatinelly shook her head softly, staring past everyone at the yellow grass that blanketed the ground beneath their feet and rubbed her belly in a steady, hypnotic motion. “This can’t be good for the baby.”
“Enough!” Félix shouted. “We aren’t here to fight with each other.”
“For once you’re right, brother. We’re here to collect what is ours.” Enrique shrugged out of his slate gray blazer and shoved it into Gastón’s hands, who handed it to his twin, Juan Luis. The kid put it on, and it fit him like a trench coat.
“Everyone, wait here.” Enrique rolled up his periwinkle blue sleeves up, cursing as he marched down the porch and around back.
Marimar nudged Rey and they followed him.
The buzzing sound of their family faded as they waded through overgrown dry grass. Further back, the orchard really had withered, but not in the way Marimar had expected. Each and every tree was split down the center, like they’d been struck by lightning.
She and Rey exchanged concerned glances, but neither trusted themselves to speak. What had done this? Why now?
The gardens and the greenhouse were brown, wilted bits of what used to be lush green. Dead and rotting and ruined. The stench of it shoved into their noses and mouths.
“There,” Marimar said, pressing her arm across her nose.
Enrique stomped up to one of the small sheds which was in better condition than the main house since it wasn’t covered in vines, but the roof had a visible hole on one side. When he opened the door, it came right off the hinges. Martin took up carpentry in his old age, but the place looked like it hadn’t been used in years. There were stacks of wood and machetes, axes, hand saws, and rusted letter openers littered on the surfaces.
“I can’t wait to sell this slice of hell into a million fucking little pieces.” Enrique’s rage frothed into expletives as his hand closed around what he was looking for.
“See, when I cursed like that, Orquídea would make me eat a jalape?o,” Rey said from the entryway. “Seeds and all.”
Enrique inhaled his resolve. A ray of sun beamed down on him from the hole in the roof. He was King Arthur, except instead of Excalibur, Enrique held up a warped machete that couldn’t be used to slice a palmetto leaf let alone hack through solid wood. He slung the rusted weapon over his shoulder. His jade-green eyes were bright, and he flashed a desperate smile that was all teeth.
“What are you doing?” Marimar stepped into the doorway to bar his way out.
“I’m tired of waiting. That woman has made my life miserable since the day she realized I’d never carry any of her godforsaken superstitions.”
“They’re not superstitions.” She could practically feel her anger licking at her skin right down to her toes. Hadn’t she left Four Rivers and Orquídea’s nonsense behind? Why was she defending it now?
Enrique barked a bitter laugh. “Keep telling yourself that. You’re still children hanging on to her every word. Haven’t you realized? There’s no magic or secrets here. It’s an evil. Anything that has to do with Orquídea dies. That’s what got my sisters and my father. That’s what got Martin.”
“Martin is dead?” Marimar sucked in a sharp breath. She felt cold from the inside, like an ice sculpture was building within her. Martin with his wide, toothy smile. Martin, who had cared for them like they were his own grandkids.
“She didn’t tell you either? He went peacefully in his sleep, at least,” Enrique said, and for the first time there was something like compassion in his deep voice. “See? She doesn’t care about anyone. If you were smart, you’d leave. After we settle up, whatever family I have, they’ll never know any of this or her.”
He shoved his niece and nephew out of the way.
Rey flicked his cigarette butt on the ground and whispered in Marimar’s ear, “For the sake of the world I hope he’s sterile.”
“Come,” Marimar said, and pulled her cousin along after their uncle. “He’s not getting away with this.”
The crowd of Montoyas parted to make way for Enrique. Enrique, who had taken all the money his father had left him in a trust and opened up a vodka distillery catering to young celebrities and the playboy millionaires he aspired to be. He wanted nothing more than to own this valley. He’d buy his family out if he had to. There was money in land development, and he could quadruple his fortune if he made the right sale. But there was nothing left for anything to prosper here, not anymore.