The Inheritance of Orquídea Divina (68)
Back at the Buenasuerte house, Jefita got to work preparing dishes. She prided herself on making everything with the freshest, purest ingredients, just like her mom and grandmother had taught her. When Marimar tried to help, she ushered her out of her kitchen and into the enclosed courtyard with her cousins.
Ana Cruz busied herself searching for the photographs and keepsakes she’d promised them. While Tatinelly checked on Mike, and Rey and Rhiannon relaxed in twin hammocks, Marimar paced barefoot on hexagonal red tiles. The yard had a palm and mango tree with baby mangos that were just starting to grow. Bright hibiscus flowers dotted a wall of green vines, and fragrant rose bushes bloomed.
“You’re making me dizzy,” Rey told her.
“I thought you were napping,” Marimar shot back.
Rhiannon shut her eyes but giggled. “Uncle Rey said you worry too much.”
“I did say that,” Rey admitted.
“Isn’t it a little strange being in this house?” Marimar asked. “A few days ago you were perfectly happy to stay in Four Rivers.”
Rey lowered his sunglasses. “Maybe being in a beautiful house where people are actually nice to me changed my mind.”
Marimar rolled her eyes. “Ana Cruz and Jefita are lovely. I mean because of how Orquídea felt about the rest of them.”
His eyes were focused, serious in a way he only got when he couldn’t think of something sarcastic or petty to say. “We don’t know how she felt, though. Not really. Even if the other Buenasuertes were hateful, Ana Cruz isn’t. Jefita isn’t. If the roles were reversed, I’m sure anyone who has ever hated Enrique would love us.”
Marimar remembered the Buenasuertes who had shown up at Four Rivers. Had Wilhelm Jr. ever returned to his ailing father the sucre note that Orquídea gave back? She hadn’t needed to say that she didn’t care for the Buenasuertes. That gesture said it all. In the end, family wasn’t about blood. Of course, Pena and Parcha’s brothers and sisters were all half-siblings, but it didn’t matter who their fathers were. It mattered that they shared a mother, a family. You could be born into a family, but you still had to choose them. Marimar looked at Rey and Tatinelly and Rhi. She would choose them.
“Use your words Marimar,” Rey said, then added softly, “I know it’s hard, believe me.”
She pressed her hand on her stomach. “Being so close to Orquídea’s past makes me scared of what we’re going to find. I think I’m just looking for someone to blame.”
“We only have another day here,” he reminded her. “If we don’t find anything, we’ll go home and figure it out.”
She nodded, but she couldn’t shake the restlessness that had crept up on her.
“Jefita told me we could go to the park full of iguanas,” Rhiannon said. “Are we allowed to keep them and take them home?”
“I’m guessing no, kiddo,” Rey said, taking off his sunglasses and biting one of the legs. “But we can try.”
Marimar was too tired to reprimand Rey for putting thoughts of reptilian smuggling into their little cousin’s mind. She left them giggling in the garden and went back inside.
Jefita had large pots steaming on the stove. Mounds of cubed meat. Seasoning powders and oils turning the pink flesh into a copper brown. She listened to music while she cooked, like Orquídea, and sang along off-key. Every now and then, Jefita touched a small gold Jesus pendant that rested on her chest.
Marimar also reached for the bulb at her throat, pressed the tiny thorn that served as a reminder of the time she tried to cut it off.
“Do you feel better after hearing people talk about Orquídea?” Jefita asked.
“I don’t know if better is the right word.”
“What word would you use?”
Marimar thought for a moment, listening to the high-pitched pluck of guitars. “Curious, maybe. Angry, a bit. I still haven’t figured it out. For the last seven years, all I’ve done is stay in Four Rivers waiting for Orquídea to give me a sign. An answer. Something that would tell me why she did what she did. Who it was that she had run from. And then, nothing happened. I moved on with my life. We all did. Rey and his art. Tati and her family. The twins with their music. Everyone moved on.”
Jefita’s eyes were filled with more kindness than Marimar had ever experienced from a near stranger. “And then?”
“Then three people died, and I don’t know what to do. Sometimes I think it might have been easier for her to leave us behind than to tell us the truth. She became a tree rather than talk to us.”
Jefita set the rice to cook, washed her hands, and sat next to Marimar.
“I can’t guess for you. But when I knew Orquídea, she was just a girl,” Jefita said. “They called her Ni?a Mala Suerte. But that never stopped her from being kind or from helping those who had less than she did. I don’t know what happened in those years she was gone, but the Orquídea I knew would have grabbed her destiny by the balls. She would have done what she needed to.”
Marimar threw her head back and laughed. “I can believe that.”
“Can I ask you, why is your gift different than the others?”
Marimar shook her head. Orquídea had given each member of their family a seed, but Rey, Marimar, and Rhiannon had blooms growing out of their skin. Magic that needed protecting. Enrique had thrown his seed in the fire and he’d returned to Four Rivers worn and bruised. The others had planted theirs and their fortunes had flourished in different ways. Silvia had grown an entire garden. Caleb Jr. had bottled the scents he dreamed of. Juan Luis and Gastón had planted theirs in Four Rivers, and they went back once every few years just to see Orquídea’s tree and sing the songs that turned them into international stars.