The Inheritance of Orquídea Divina (64)

Jefita made the symbol of the cross and pressed her hands together. “You are blessed.”

“Does it always change color?” Ana Cruz asked more clinically than because she was awestruck with pious belief.

“One time,” Rhiannon said at the same time as Tatinelly said “No.”

They all turned to the little girl, content at her feast. “It was only for a moment. At the park, a man tried to talk to me, and my head felt itchy. My friend Devi said that my rose turned black, but I couldn’t see it because it’s on my forehead, but the man vanished into thin air.”

They were all silent, a collective held breath until Tatinelly let loose a whimper. She held her daughter, squeezed her. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Daddy didn’t believe you, so I thought I was imagining things too. Besides, when I went home, my head wasn’t itchy anymore, and my rose was back to normal.”

“What man?” Ana Cruz asked, and Tatinelly and Rey told their stories of the stranger who’d appeared out of nowhere. “We have the best security here, I assure you. I won’t leave your side.”

“That’s one of the reasons we came here together,” Marimar said, absently pressing her thumb against the thorn at her throat. “We think this stranger was from our grandmother’s past. Only we don’t know anything about her past.”

Jefita nodded reassuringly and held up a finger, like a threat to the universe. “No one will hurt Orquídea’s babies. We will help, right, Ana Cruz?”

“Of course, although, it’s been so long, the stories of my Orquídea feel like legends now. I’ll dig through my mother’s things.”

“How did you meet Mamá Orquídea, Jefita?” Marimar asked.

“My mother and I worked for Se?or Buenasuerte. They called her Jefa, and I became Jefita.” The woman spoke with her hands, like she was making her fingers dance to her words. “We came down from the Tungurahua province after the earthquake. I almost considered leaving when Orquídea did, too, but I didn’t know anyone. It was very scandalous. I remember the day she left because it was the city’s independence day. In the morning, they sent out a search party and everything. The fishermen all combed the rivers even though no one would have believed she could have drowned. I alone knew she’d run away. I couldn’t tell them, but I was nervous and Se?or Buenasuerte saw that I knew more than I said. He told me I had to tell the truth or risk going to hell, and I knew Orquídea would understand that it was the price of my soul and she would forgive me. So, I told them. He beat me with the belt, but my mother reminded me that it was because I’d lied to our employer.”

“That’s horrible,” Marimar said.

Rey’s eyes cut to the austere older man whose face hung in a portrait. He’d contain his curses for later. “It’s hard to imagine why our grandmother ever left.”

“My father was a tough man to love,” Ana Cruz said, sadly. “He was raised in different times.”

Tatinelly wanted to say that it was no excuse for beating someone, but she was a guest and they’d be leaving soon.

“My father’s discipline was violent with my siblings, but for Orquídea it was something more. I shouldn’t remember this because I was so little, but when she held me, I felt how small she made herself because she thought she was trapped. I escaped my father’s attention most of the time because I was the youngest. I was an accident, you see. Number six. He always said it would have been better if I were a boy. That the cost of my mother’s health would have been worth it. So, I made myself scarce. I was only three when Orquídea left, but I always remembered her face. Her voice.”

“You only stopped screaming when she sang to you,” Jefita said.

Marimar cleared her throat, then forced a smile. “She never stopped singing.”



* * *



After lunch, they got ready to take the ashes to the river. When Tatinelly went to check on Mike, he was warm to the touch. Beads of sweat dotted his pale forehead, like dew clinging to leaves. When he blinked around the room, he was unsettled. He didn’t remember where they were or what time it was.

“We let you sleep in. It’s time to scatter the ashes.”

“I’m up.” Mike tried to yank off the covers, but he was overcome with a bout of phlegmy coughing.

“You’re not getting up. We can do it later,” she said softly, but she could not hide the worry from her face.

He took the bottle of water she offered. “No, you should go. This is important. This is about you and Rhiannon. I must’ve caught something on the plane. Hand me my emergency kit. I’ll be fine if I just rest a bit longer.”

Tatinelly observed him for a minute. He looked a little pale. But she’d been with him all night. Why wasn’t she sick? Or the others? “Are you sure?”

He squeezed her hand in his. “I promise.”

The rest of them piled into the car. Tatinelly sat in the front clutching her father’s urn. In the light of day, the city was brighter, livelier. Businesswomen walked quickly in sensible heels. Gaggles of students, all in uniform, flooded tiny cyber cafés and shops. Men, women, and children ran into stalled traffic to sell everything from bottled water to gum to phone chargers. Reels of green oranges and bags of candied popcorn. There were water fountains spouting from parks, and this time, when they passed by the Guayas y Quil monument, Tatinelly couldn’t help but think of their story. Tragic. Melancholic. She thought of Mike laid up in bed and held her father’s urn tighter.