The Inheritance of Orquídea Divina (95)

The sky that had been clear moments before changed. Clouds gathered over the valley as two figures moved like vengeance coming to call. Bolívar’s aura refracted like light on water. His clothes were singed in places. His long black hair blew in the storm winds. He was younger again, closer to the man in the wedding photographs they’d discovered. A man who believed the world was made for him alone. At his side, Lázaro wavered as if a strong wind might scatter him like dandelion seeds.

“Come out, Orquídea!” Bolívar shouted. “Come face me, Divina!”

The Montoyas stood their ground, but there was nothing they could do to stop the crack of lighting that split the ceiba tree open.



* * *



Orquídea Divina wanted to rest, but she had too much unfinished business. She held her head high, her spirit evanescent as she stepped out of the tree with Pedrito in her arms. She’d spent years running from the memory of Bolívar Londo?o III. And there he was, in the flesh. He wore his favorite blue velvet, the same damned top hat. His smile, the one she’d loved so much, turned into manic delight, then, distraught.

He punched his chest. “Mi Divina.”

“You got old, Bolívar,” she said. “It doesn’t suit you.”

“Mi Orquídea,” Bolívar said, his voice as possessive as it was mournful. He breathed hard and fast, trembling in place as he studied her and their son. There were burning white flames within him. Impotent rage at the memories she evoked. He whimpered and extended a fist toward his family. “You took everything, and yet you could never outrun me.”

“Not for a lack of trying, querido.” When she held her head up high, she was still that show girl, dazzling the world with her smile, her voice, her charms that had been hers and hers alone. “You always knew how to get what you wanted.”

“Enough of this, Divina. Come back to me,” Bolívar wailed softly, like a wounded beast.

Orquídea took in her family once again. They dusted themselves off from the lightning blast and stood ready to protect her, as she’d tried and failed to protect them. She’d been gone for years, but had she ever truly been present when they’d needed her? Marimar had led an expedition to the center of the earth just to get to know her. Despite it all, her family had blossomed without her, and the realization hurt more than Bolívar ever could. She would never fail them again.

Her gaze then fell to Lázaro, nearly drained of life. His kindness had been a balm and it had turned out to be the worst mistake he’d ever made.

“I told you I was cursed when I met you, Bolívar,” Orquídea said. “And yet you want me still?”

“I wished for you, Orquídea. The universe saw fit to bring you to me. I made mistakes, but I gave my heart to you and you alone, and I know you gave yours to me.”

She considered this as she brushed a lock of hair away from Pedrito’s forehead, the ghost of his infant sounds haunted her still.

“Leave the others,” Orquídea said, “and Pedrito, and I will go with you.”

“No!” Marimar shouted. “You can’t just do that. Not after everything.”

“Mom,” Enrique whispered. “Mom, please. I’m sorry.”

Orquídea held up her hand. She would do this. They would accept it. “I’m so proud of you. All of you.”

Then, she made her way back into Bolívar’s arms. The winds picked up. The weight of the sky felt like it would crush the valley.

Marimar looked at her father who’d fallen to his knees. This man, who claimed to have sailed through the cosmos, rendered to nothing. She looked at her cousins, her aunts, and uncles. Orquídea’s weakness was her family, and they’d led her back to the very person she’d given everything to run from.

Who was she to stop this?

The answer came to her in a flood. She was Marimar Montoya. Her mother chose the name. Mar y mar. Sea and sea. In the middle of the Four Rivers valley, away from the oceans, she pulled on that spark that had always been within her. The granddaughter of Orquídea Divina Montoya, Bastard Daughter of the Waves, a girl who couldn’t swim, had never even stepped into the sea.

But here, in her family’s home, she was river and salt and that same sea found her. She was the mouth of an ancient god who would swallow the world. She was an ocean of stories, memories, thousands of little moments that made up her whole being.

A slick warmth trickled down from her throat as a new flower bud penetrated the wound. When she touched it, she could feel the thick petals of her new bloom.

Rey and Rhiannon closed ranks beside her and held her hands. They formed a chain. Then, Marimar let out a scream that shook the valley.

How do you fight a thing that believes it owns you? How do you fight the past? With gold leaves and salt? With silence? With new earth beneath your feet? With the bodies, the hearts of others?

With hearts that are tender and bloodied but have thorns of their own.

With the family that chooses you.



* * *



Bolívar Londo?o III’s presence in their valley felt wrong, and the land which had protected Orquídea Divina for so long was ready to fight back. It simply needed a little help.

Rey felt the ground tremble. He could feel them, all of them, the earth itself, as they clawed their way out. Roots of faraway trees split the ground. They grabbed hold of Bolívar’s ankles. Blood gushed from Rey’s nose from the effort. He knew that he was shedding petals, but he didn’t feel weak. Instead, he dove headfirst into the sensation of being part of the valley. Rey raised a fist in the air. The clouds split open with rain, feeding the hungry lake until it surged and flooded, like a river racing to wash away their sins.