“He’s alone in that big house.” Deacon exhales heavily. “I felt kind of bad for him.”
“You’re kidding.” I twist around to look at him again, and his eyebrows quirk.
“I did.”
“I hope you told him it’s his own damn fault.”
He pulls me into his embrace again, positioning me so his hands can slide over the baby. “I told him we should get together sometime for a drink. He suggested a party for the whole family at his place in March.”
My brow furrows. “March?”
“I suggested March—nine months from now.”
“Oh…” I shake my head. “I’ll probably need an extra month to be on my feet again.”
“We’ll change it to April.”
We’re quiet, looking out the arched windows, listening to the hum of insects in the night, the croak of frogs. I’m thinking about being here, in my favorite place with him. It’s what I’ve always wanted.
“You fixed it.”
“Hm?” Sleepiness has entered his tone. “What’s that?”
“You said you’d fix it. I said some things couldn’t be fixed. But you said they could, and you did.”
His face moves into my hair, and he inhales deeply. “We fixed it. We all gave a little.”
“But you gave the most.”
“And I got the most in return.”
Reaching over my shoulder, I cup his cheek, holding our faces together as I close my eyes.
Once I thought being in Deacon’s arms was like diving off a cliff into a pool of wonder and happiness. Now I realize those were little girl fantasies, and while they’re still true, it’s so much more than that.
Being in Deacon’s arms means being supported by a partner who will fight for me, who will hold my hand when I have to fight, who will wait for me when I need some space, and who won’t give up until I’ve slain my monsters.
Together, our love is healing. Our love is creative and pure. Our kisses are reckless, but they’re not irresponsible. We’re wild and free, like the horse in my painting. Our spirit is groundbreaking and revolutionary, brave enough to heal the wounds of the past and forge a future of unity.
My hand is over his on my belly as I drift to sleep with these visions in my mind, as I plan my next painting, as I take my next step into a new world.
The peaks of the Sierra Madre are tipped in golden light, and a mist surrounds the mountain tops. I slipped out of bed at the break of dawn with my camera to capture the light streaking the ripples of mountains, the gleaming off the sunrise on the colorful houses dotting the foothills.
It’s a warm morning, and I’m in a thin cotton dress, barefoot as I walk along the stone pavement leading up the hill from our house into the scrub bushes and banana trees.
A month has passed since Deacon returned. The workers have finished updating and basically transforming my mother’s house into a modern villa. Deacon took the lead in making sure we could divide our time here and not lose contact with our family and business back home, but he allowed me to maintain the elements I loved so much growing up—the rustic décor and open-air patio, the large porch where we can sit and listen to the children playing or the birds singing. The vivid colors, open windows, stone floors, and twinkle lights tracing the arches of the high ceilings.
My mother’s spirit is alive in this place, and I’ve hung her pictures alongside my paintings throughout. Satisfaction warms my chest when I see their complimentary nature. She was one end of the spectrum, and I am the other.
A flutter in my stomach draws my attention, and I slide my palm along my stomach. “I hear you, little one.” I whisper. “You’re a part of this. You’re going to make your mark in this world.”
“Talking to yourself already?” The deep voice draws my attention, and I look up to see my brother standing at the top of the path.
His arms are crossed. He’s dressed in dark jeans and a short-sleeved shirt, but he does something wholly new. He smiles as he walks to where I’m standing, and when he reaches me, he pulls me in for a hug.
“You’re early. Are you by yourself?” I hug him sideways.
“I don’t like those little planes.” He puts his arm across my shoulder, and we walk slowly towards the house. “How are you feeling, mija?”
Exhaling softly, I look over the garden, where an arch has been assembled on a rise with the mountains in the distance. “Ready to be a bride.”
“It’s a good day for a wedding.” His voice is warm, calm, and I think my brother is on a journey to peace.
I think it started the night I was shot, and we decided the violence had to end.
“Your cousin’s worrying herself sick.” He shakes his head, reaching for the door to let me in the kitchen. Valeria and the rest of them are flying in this afternoon. “Not enough time to decorate the house, the dress won’t fit, the cake won’t be right…”
“She might be right about the dress.” I laugh, holding my stomach. “Every time I try it on, it gets a little tighter.”
“La Sierra Madre.” My brother muses, looking out the open window.
Holding out my hand, I clasp his. “I’m glad you’re here. She would have wanted you to be here.”
He gives me a tight smile. “I want to believe that.”
“Then do.”
Hours later, I’m surrounded by family. “Wait! I missed a spot.” Lourdes is behind me with a large curling iron attempting to coax my hair into a smooth cascade of curls.
We’re in a large suite preparing for the ceremony—on the opposite end of the U-shaped house from the men. When it’s time to emerge, we’ll meet in the middle and file down the walk together to the top of the little hill where the priest will be waiting.
“My head’s too tight.” Sofia tugs on the garland arranged around a braid on her head.
“Stop it, Soph!” Lourdes catches her little hand, moving it away. “I’ll fix it in just a minute. Let me finish with Carmie.”
Valeria charges in the room dressed in a flowing, pale green dress. She has an envelope in her hand, and she’s squinting as she reads the address.
“Deacon said I had to give this to you right now.” Looking up, she freezes, clutching her hand to her chest, her eyes filling with tears. “Oh, Carmie! You are so beautiful!”
My eyes heat at the sight of her unshed tears, and Lourdes shoves a tissue in my hand.
“Stop!” she cries. “No tears until the ceremony.”
“I’m not crying.” Sofia tugs on her garland. “My head hurts.”
“Come here.” Lourdes lifts her onto a chair and starts rebraiding her hair.
“What’s in the envelope, Ma?” Lola sits on the purple chaise at the foot of the guest bed.
“Oh!” Valeria, takes the business-sized envelope from her chest and holds it to me. “I don’t know. Deacon saw it and said it couldn’t wait. He wanted to give it to you himself, but—”
“It’s from the Palladium gallery!” My hand goes to my chest as my breath disappears.
“What’s that?” Valeria watches me worried as I sink to the bed in my strapless ivory gown. “Careful with your skirt.”