We stash her purse in the trunk before she leads the way to a boardwalk that runs the length of Miami Beach.
“My parents honeymooned here in the early eighties,” I tell her.
“Where did they stay? Do you know?”
“The Fontainebleau, I think.”
“Let’s go check it out. It’s changed a lot since they remodeled it. Personally, I don’t love it. I liked how it looked before when it was more in keeping with the art deco feel of Miami and Miami Beach. Now it just looks like every other modern, sophisticated hotel. But it’s still a cool spot to grab a drink and people-watch.”
To our left are dunes and lush vegetation that block our view of the beach on the other side. I catch sight of bits and pieces of the ocean as we make our way to the pool deck of the Fontainebleau, which is hopping with mostly young people. Skimpy bikinis are everywhere I look, not that I want to look at any woman other than the one I’m with.
She’s got me completely captivated, especially since she admitted to being as attracted to me as I am to her. The disaster with Ginger might’ve never happened for all it matters to me now that I’ve met Carmen and managed to catch her interest.
I understand it’s a big deal for her to admit that she’s attracted to me. I’m honored and humbled to be spending this time with her. We take seats at a bar called Glow, located in the middle of the action at the vast network of pools and bars. Dance music plays loudly—too loudly for my liking—over speakers positioned for maximum coverage.
One of six bartenders puts drink and food menus in front of us. I peruse the offerings, noting the prices are in line with what I’d expect to see in Manhattan. “I can’t picture my parents here.”
“It was nothing like this when they were here. When I was younger, my parents would take one Sunday a month off from work, and we’d play tourist in our hometown. We’d take turns picking what we were going to do, and my mother always wanted to come out to the beach. We’d have lunch here and play in the pool. They had this cool winding slide that was one of my favorite things to do. After a while, we’d end up at the beach, playing in the surf. Those were some of my favorite days.”
She catches herself and offers the shy smile I’m becoming addicted to. “Sorry. Don’t mean to ramble on.”
“You’re not rambling. I like hearing your stories.”
She orders a Miami Heat, which is Bacardí Limón, passion fruit puree, Tropical Red Bull and jalapeño, while I go with a Preacher Man, made with Four Roses bourbon, lime juice, simple syrup and ginger beer.
“Let me get a picture of you enjoying the local flavor.” She holds up her phone and takes several pictures of me mugging with the fancy drink and then taps away at her phone to post it.
“What did you say with that one?”
“Enjoying the local flavor at the Fontainebleau.”
“Any more snarky comments?”
She scans her screen for a minute, her brows furrowing as she taps away at her screen. “Nothing to worry about.”
That means yes, so I decide to change the subject. “If I drank Tropical Red Bull, I’d be up for two days.”
She laughs. “Nothing keeps me awake. When I’m done, I’m done. I fall over and crash. My cousins make fun of me because I can’t ‘hang’ with the rest of them at night. I make it until about eleven on a good night. I’ve always been that way. They call me Abuela.”
“That’s cute.”
“No, it isn’t! At my age, I’m supposed to be partying the night away, not acting like an old lady in a recliner falling asleep watching Golden Girls reruns.”
I lose it laughing at the indignant way she says that. She’s so damned adorable. Everything new I learn about her only makes me like her more. And the more I learn, the more I want to know. I stir my drink with the paper straw and take a sip of the tasty concoction. “I can’t stop thinking about the story you told me about your great-grandmother escaping Cuba with five children and nothing but the clothes on their backs.”
“I’ve heard that story all my life, and it still gives me goose bumps.”
“I can see why. Did she ever remarry?”
“She did, about ten years later. She married a man fifteen years older who’d never been married. He owned a chain of car dealerships in South Florida and adored her and her children. Treated them like his own.”
“That’s really great.” I’m incredibly moved by this story, for reasons I can’t begin to fathom.
“By all accounts, it was a good marriage, but Abuela would tell you her mother never got over the sudden, violent loss of her first husband.”
“How would you get over something like that?”
“You don’t. You learn to live with it, but you never get over it.”
I tip my head to study her more intently. “Are we still talking about your great-grandmother?”
Her small smile conveys a world of understanding. “Grief is a very strange journey, and no two people follow the same path. I’d heard the story of what happened to my great-grandfather all my life, but until I lost Tony, I didn’t really get it, you know?”
“No, I don’t know, but I hear what you’re saying. It gave you perspective.”
“Yes, exactly. Then compound the loss by having to leave your home and your country while consoling five grief-stricken children in a country where you don’t speak the language or have a source of income or a place to live, and you wonder how she survived. Her struggles make mine look simple by comparison.”
“And yet there was nothing simple about it.”
“No, there wasn’t. There still isn’t. It’s like this ache that just stays with you. Even on really good days, like this one has been, the ache is always there. It becomes a part of who you are now.”
I take her hand, link our fingers and look into her beautiful brown eyes. “I think who you are now is every bit as admirable as who your great-grandmother was.”
“That’s nice of you to say, but I’d never compare my loss to hers.”
“I have to believe she’d be proud of the way you’ve put your life back together and figured out a new path for yourself, the same way she did.”
“I’d like to think she would be.”
“How could she not be? You’re a very impressive young woman, Carmen.”
“That’s high praise coming from a brain surgeon.”
“Don’t do that. Don’t use my accomplishments to diminish yours. I’ve never been through anything remotely close to what happened to you, not to mention at such a young age. I’m allowed to think you’re impressive for the way you’ve survived it.”
“Thanks,” she says softly as amusement overtakes her expression. “It does mean a lot coming from a brain surgeon.”
I smile and roll my eyes at her. “This music is annoying me. Let’s go find somewhere quieter.” I hand my credit card to the bartender, who runs it through and returns it to me. After I sign the slip, we take a walk into the hotel. She shows me photos of how it looked when my parents were here.
“That seems more their speed than the jet-set vibe it has now. I saw a sign for luxury car rentals. Want to rent a Lambo?”