Canary Island Song Page 8

  A bountiful assortment of tapas was set on the table. Carolyn filled a plate of the tasty appetizers and kept making her way around the room. Her second cousin Rosa pulled her aside and asked, “Are you tired? You must be.”

  “A little.” The true answer was “a lot.” But this was so grand and wonderful that she didn’t want to show any sign of not appreciating the flourish of attention.

  “Come with me.” Rosa tugged on Carolyn’s arm and pulled her into the small kitchen. Dishes and serving casserole pans were piled on the counter. One of the aunts was busy washing by hand while a not-so-thrilled-to-be-helping young cousin had drying duty. Carolyn offered to help with the dishes, but the aunt made it clear that Carolyn wasn’t to get anywhere near the sink.

  Rosa pointed to one of the four chairs at the compact kitchen table, indicating they should sit down. “You didn’t know everyone would be here, did you?”

  “No, but it’s great. I had hoped to have a chance to see everyone.”

  “Just not all at once, right?” Rosa had a round face, short hair, and darling dimples that made her appear younger than her midthirties. “Everyone is happy you’re here. They wanted to see you right away. Isobel should have told you.”

  “She probably did, but I didn’t understand. My Spanish is pretty limited.”

  “Don’t worry. It will come back to you while you’re here.”

  “I don’t know about that. Your English is really good. Where did you learn it?”

  “Here and there. TV mostly. In school I had a friend who was from Florida; she taught me some.”

  “I’m impressed.”

  Rosa laughed. “Don’t be. It’s not a great accomplishment. I think if you just listen, you hear the language, and you remember it.”

  “It doesn’t work that way for me. I think it’s harder than you know. You must have a natural gift for it.”

  Rosa brushed off the compliment. “Do you want to go back out there? Or do you want to go to bed? You can do that, you know. You can tell them you have jet drag, and they will understand. We’ll be together all day tomorrow.”

  Carolyn didn’t try to correct Rosa on the “jet drag” comment. She simply said, “I’m ready to get some sleep.”

  Rosa took her by the hand and led the way down the short hall to where three closed doors appeared in a circle. That was the extent of the small apartment.

  “This is the bathroom.” Rosa opened the door in the middle, revealing a tall shower, freestanding sink, and elongated toilet.

  “And this is your room.”

  Carolyn’s suitcases had been placed against the wall like two miniature soldiers standing guard. The room had a builtin closet, a twin-sized bed with what looked like a handmade patchwork comforter, a nightstand with a light, and a straight-back chair. That was all she needed. Simple. Clean. Inviting. This was the Canary Island style she remembered.

  Rosa gave Carolyn another hug and wished her “happy dreams.”

  Carolyn slept in snatches, floating off for just so long and then waking when she heard the party still going on in the living room. During the deepest hours of the night, she woke when she heard footsteps of the neighbor in the apartment above them. When hints of light came through the window shade, she heard the screech of truck brakes and a baby crying in a nearby apartment. Each time she awakened, she rolled on her back and tried to fall asleep. It was a long stretch of much working at sleeping and not much actual sleep.

  When she finally rose and saw that it was almost eight o’clock, she felt as bubbleheaded as she had when she first disembarked from the plane. As soon as Carolyn opened her guest room door, Aunt Isobel came trotting down the short hallway. She greeted Carolyn with a big smile, lots of cheerful words in Spanish, and a cup of dark coffee served in a small white cup balanced on a matching saucer.

  “This is a nice surprise.” Carolyn stood in the hall in her pajamas and thin robe, sipping the coffee as Isobel watched. “This tastes very good. Gracias.”

  Isobel pointed toward the kitchen and said, “¿Huevos?”

  “Sure, some eggs would be nice. Would it be okay if I took a shower first?” Carolyn pointed to the bathroom.

  “Sí, sí.” Isobel showed her where the towel was hanging on a peg behind the door. She then showed Carolyn how to turn the shower on and off and how to adjust the temperature.

  Carolyn finished the coffee and handed her efficient aunt the cup and saucer. She had to admit, it was pretty nice being greeted with fresh coffee and hopping in the shower while her breakfast was being prepared.

  Carolyn didn’t see a blow-dryer in the bathroom, and she hadn’t brought one with her, so she towel dried her hair. The warm breeze that had come through her bedroom window gave her confidence that her hair would dry quickly in the perennially warm climate. The biggest blessing to having fairly thick and easy-to-manage hair was that she always could pull it up in a twist of some sort and fluff up the bangs across her forehead, and she looked as if that was how she meant to wear her hair that day. If her hair did dry without curving or sticking out in any peculiar way, she could wear it down, skimming her shoulders.

  Dressed in her nicest skirt, her favorite blue knit top, and matching sweater, she made her way to the kitchen, where Isobel had prepared a small feast for her.

  “You didn’t need to do this, you know. You’re spoiling me.”

  Isobel beamed. Her cheeks stood out, smooth and round on her sweet face. She really was the most darling of all the sisters. “Isobel the Innocent” was what Marilyn had nicknamed her after looking at photos Carolyn had brought home after her summer visit so many years ago.

  Carolyn took her first bite of scrambled eggs with fresh tomato slices and the diced-up potatoes with red peppers, onions, and lots of spices. Then she declared the meal “¡Delicioso!”

  “¿Te gustan las papas?”

  “Sí, I like the potatoes. You’ll have to show me how to season them like this.” Carolyn made a hand sign like she was shaking salt over the potatoes. “I like the spice.”

  “Ah! Culantro. Mira. Aquí.” Isobel pointed to a wooden box precariously positioned in the frame of the window above the sink. Green shoots of various frilly shapes and sizes were growing in the box.

  “You grow your own herbs. No wonder it tastes so fresh.”

  Isobel plucked a tiny sprig and rubbed it between her thumb and forefinger. She held her smudged fingers out for Carolyn to smell.

  “Ah, cilantro. Of course. I love it. I don’t think I’ve ever tried fresh cilantro with potatoes. I like it. Me gusta.”

  Isobel looked pleased that Carolyn was attempting to express herself in Spanish. Taking three steps across the small kitchen’s floor, the aunt pointed to a potted plant in the corner where it was soaking up the morning sunshine. “Pimientos rojos.”

  “You grow your own red peppers too. Nice.”

  A dull buzzer sounded, and Isobel looked surprised. She took off her apron and went to the front door. Apparently she wasn’t expecting anyone that morning. Carolyn finished her last bite of eggs and was about to get up from the table when she heard a voice from the entryway that made her freeze in place.

  Mom!

  Hearing her mother’s voice was like hearing a favorite song and feeling all the memories connected to that tune humming through her veins. She wanted to jump up and run into the other room. But she waited, heart pounding, not sure what to do.

  Incredibly, the two women walked right past the open kitchen door without her mother noticing Carolyn sitting at the table. She considered calmly strolling out to the living room. That would make for a shocking surprise for her mother. And if the seventy-year-old matriarch fainted, at least she would do so in the privacy of Isobel’s living room instead of in a very public restaurant where her birthday party was taking place later that afternoon.

  Hearing the strength and verve in her mother’s voice, Carolyn knew she wouldn’t faint or have a heart attack when she saw Carolyn. Her mother was a bit like Aun
t Frieda in that she most likely would enjoy the moment more if it happened in front of all the relatives. That realization motivated Carolyn to stay hidden and stick with the original plan, even though it was killing her to do so.

  The two sisters talked briskly until at last it seemed that Aunt Isobel was giving in to what had been a friendly argument. A single set of quick footsteps headed toward the kitchen. Carolyn held her breath and watched the doorway.

  Isobel entered with her eyes wide and her finger to her lips. She motioned for Carolyn to stay put. On the back of an envelope Isobel scribbled, Sit. Rosa come.

  Carolyn nodded her understanding and leaned back as Isobel reached for her purse, and the two sisters left the apartment. As soon as Carolyn heard the front door close with a click, she let out a long slow breath and felt a wave of sadness. For the past seven years an ocean lay between her mother and her. Now only a thin wall had separated them, and yet she hadn’t been able to run and wrap her arms around her mother.

  Soon enough.

  Carolyn went to work, clearing the table and washing the dishes before returning to the bathroom to finish her nearly dry hair. As she brushed out her long brown strands and tucked the sides behind her ears, she thought, The water here must be on my side. My hair isn’t this smooth at home.

  Taking her time with her makeup and brushing her teeth, Carolyn then returned to the guest room to make her bed. She pulled up the window shade and had a look down on the large plaza between the apartment building she was in and an identical building across the way. Five floors down the garden spread out on either side of the huge, rectangular swimming pool. Only one person was in the pool, swimming laps on this beautiful morning.

  Carolyn studied the carefully plotted garden boxes across the wide open area. Inside boxed beds of light-colored pebbles were planted varied palm trees, cactus, and tall bushes of colorful bougainvillea. Behind the end of the long, immense court Carolyn could see the tops of the hills and beyond the hills, the contented, blue sky. The sky’s shade of blue was a soft pastel, a sleepy sort of blue. Not the vivid and stunning turquoise blue shown in calendars that featured tropical isles of the Pacific. Here the shades of Atlantic blue seemed subdued and understated, as if they had nothing to prove.

  An hour passed, and Carolyn wondered if Aunt Isobel’s plan for Rosa to pick her up was going to work out. To have come all this way and then to end up missing the big moment at her mother’s party would be crazy. But then, Rodrigo’s wife going into labor at the same time he was supposed to pick up Carolyn from the airport was a little crazy too. Was this how life was going to be while she was here?

  The funny-sounding doorbell buzzed three quick times. Carolyn grabbed her purse and hurried to open the door for Rosa. Only it wasn’t Rosa. It was an older woman with a sleeping baby in her arms. She spoke to Carolyn in a low voice, handing over the slumbering little one and trotting away before Carolyn could pull together two words of English or Spanish. The woman waved an arm as she went into the elevator and disappeared.

  Carolyn stood in the doorway, frozen with surprise. Now she really didn’t know what to do. She went inside and sat on the couch, holding the little one, who was lost in a dream. All she could do was wait for the woman to return or for Rosa to arrive.

  This is crazy! ¡Loco!

  The cherub in Carolyn’s arms stirred. Carolyn paced the floor, holding the baby up over her shoulder and patting its back. Just as the little one went back to breathing rhythmically, the sound of a key in the door caused Carolyn to stop her paces.

  Rosa entered. “Hello! Are you ready to go?”

  Her voice woke the baby, and the cries flooded the apartment.

  “Who is that?”

  “I don’t know. A lady came to the door, handed this little baby to me, and took off before I could figure out how to tell her I didn’t understand what she was saying.”

  Rosa came close and peered at the wailing baby’s face over Carolyn’s shoulder. “I know who you are. What are you doing here, Gabby? Where did your grandmother go?”

  “At least you know who she is. The bigger question is, what should we do?”

  Rosa took the little girl from Carolyn and shushed the babe, rocking side to side. She spoke softly in Spanish. “Gabby’s abuela lives next door. She watches her daughter’s children all the time. She probably thought you were Elena. Did you meet her last night? You look similar. Elena is over here a lot. She lived here last year when she was working on this side of town.”

  “So the grandmother just dropped off her baby for an unspecified amount of time?”

  Rosa’s techniques hadn’t quieted the crying baby. Gabby reared back her head. She was old enough and aware enough to know that neither of these women was familiar. The realization prompted more wails and more tears.

  “We just have to wait for her to come back. She probably went to pick up the mail or for groceries.”

  “Groceries? We could be here for an hour.”

  Rosa shrugged. “Then we wait for an hour. Shh, Gabby. No te preocupes, mi niña.”

  With a combination of soothing words and bouncing sways, Rosa calmed down the startled baby.

  “So, I heard you had another surprise today. Isobel said your mother came here, and you hid in the kitchen.”

  “It was strange being so close and hearing her voice but not seeing her.”

  “I can imagine.”

  “Do you know why my mom came over? Where did they go?”

  “They went to the beach. Your mother wanted to walk down the boardwalk and have coffee before the party. Isobel got away from your mother long enough to call me from the restroom and tell me what was going on.”

  “Everything is okay then?”

  “Yes. You’ll ride over with me.”

  “What time are we supposed to be at the restaurant?”

  “Noon. But it’s okay if we’re late. They will be there most of the afternoon. Or if you want, you could go now. I’ll stay with Gabby.”

  “But I don’t know where to go.”

  “It’s at La Marinera. Do you remember this restaurant? It’s at the end of the boardwalk at Las Canteras. You can take a taxi. It will be no problem.”

  Carolyn wasn’t sure what to do. It would be easier to wait for Rosa and go together, even if they were late. The baby started to cry again, and Carolyn decided she would try for the taxi. She certainly had managed to flag down enough of them at the airport last night when she wasn’t trying to get one. She should be able to go out in front of the apartment complex and flag one down now. If she was unsuccessful, she could always return to the apartment and wait with Rosa.

  Decision made, Carolyn exited the apartment and heard the heavy door close with a decisive click, separating her from one of the few English-speaking people she knew in the Canary Islands. She stopped and made a visual note of the number on the apartment door that belonged to Isobel. They all had looked alike to her when they had arrived last night. If she wasn’t able to communicate well enough with the taxi driver, at least she would remember which door to knock on when she found her way back.

  The elevator was slow in arriving at her floor. She rode alone to the first floor, chiding herself all the way for not popping out of the kitchen earlier and getting the surprise over with. She could have gone on the stroll with her mom and Isobel, and she would be at the restaurant with them now.

  The uniformed guard by the apartment complex’s gated entrance greeted her with “Buenos días.” Carolyn nodded and mumbled the same back. Sounds of lunch-hour traffic filled the air as Carolyn stepped out on the wide sidewalk that ran the length of the main boulevard. The car motors’ rumble was punctuated by the squeal of brakes and short blasts of a horn coming from a large delivery truck, which roared around the corner. The smell of diesel fumes mixed with the scent of sautéing onions that wafted from an open window of a first-floor apartment.

  Rosa had instructed Carolyn that she needed to cross the street and flag a cab that was headed
downhill, toward the beach. Rosa emphasized, “Pedestrians have the right of way. Don’t wait for the cars to slow down. You put your foot out in the street, and all the cars will stop.”

  Carolyn stood on the sidewalk observing the rush of uphill traffic and knew she wasn’t in California anymore. No button appeared on the street pole for her to press. The streets were not equipped with painted white lines, and boxes with walking stick figures did not light up to help her navigate the intersection. No, this was a place for decisive action, and the longer she waited, the more intimidating the traffic became.

  After several minutes of hesitation, Carolyn took the first step. She put her foot into the street, and almost immediately all three lanes of uphill traffic came to a halt. For a moment she was too stunned to move. Then, taking quick steps, she trotted past the attentive audience of drivers and took refuge on the median that separated the uphill and downhill traffic. The instant both her feet were on the median, the dash of the motorists began again at full speed.

  Turning to face the downhill traffic, Carolyn repeated her best-foot-forward maneuver. Once again, all three lanes of vehicles immediately stopped. She had never seen anything like it. The power she could command with nothing more than her sandaled foot amazed her.

  Unfortunately that power to command the will of oncoming cars didn’t carry over in her attempts to hail a taxi. During her wait at the airport, Carolyn had discovered that the taxis could be any color. Many taxis had a small light attached to the roof of the car that was green when available and red when taken. Some cab drivers placed a card in the front windshield with the word ocupado when they were carrying a passenger.

  In the glare of the overhead sun, Carolyn couldn’t distinguish the red from the green on the marked taxis that came her way. She recognized the ocupado signs but didn’t know what to look for in the window of an unmarked taxi.

  For longer than she expected she would have to, Carolyn stood on the curb with her right arm extended, her palm open as her cousin had showed her, and waved up and down calmly at the fleet of oncoming cars. Certainly some of them had to be taxis. And at least one of those taxis had to be eager to pick up a passenger. However, every marked cab that passed was taken.