“It depends.” Roberto shrugged his shoulders. “Who’s Gianni?”
Anika whipped her head around. The sudden movement made her head swim.
“Gianni?” She fought back the panic that sucked the air from her lungs.
“The morning after our dinner together, Maggie found you curled up on the floor with a high fever. You were calling out for someone named Gianni.”
Anika stared at a point past Roberto’s shoulder.
Did I mention more than his name? Was I recorded?
“He’s a friend from back home. Did I say anything else?”
“You seemed to be dreaming about something bad that happened in the summer. You kept saying ‘summer, summer.’” Roberto shook his head. “Nothing that made any sense.”
“I don’t remember.” Anika stared at the ceiling. She wished it were true. “Why did Maggie stop by here?” she asked, even as she reminded herself that Maggie and Roberto had shown her so much kindness and generosity.
“Woman’s intuition. She had the feeling something was wrong. More than the heat from the sun.”
Anika pulled herself up to a half-seated position. The slight exertion made her pulse race and she sank against the pillows. Her physical weakness worried her as much as her nightmare ramblings.
Maggie returned with a tray of dry toast and tea. On it, a folded piece of paper angled against the mug. A stick figure drawing of a woman with long dark hair lay in bed and “Get Well” was squiggled at the top. Next to the paper was a bracelet of coral- and aqua-colored beads.
“Daisy made them for you.”
On the inside of the paper, two more figures stood side-by-side, the taller one holding hands with the shorter one, in pigtails. The message read, “Come back and play. REALLY SOON. Love, Daisy.”
Anika fingered the small beads of the bracelet. No one had ever made her a present before. A tiny glow radiated through her heart. Then her mind kicked back in.
Have I blown my cover? Do Maggie and Roberto still think I’m a high school art teacher visiting from Canada?
She sensed Maggie’s eyes on her, steady and watchful. But maybe that was only genuine concern. She slipped on the bracelet. “Please thank Daisy for me.”
“Have some tea,” Maggie urged. “Roberto and I have to get back to Las Estrellas, but we’ll check on you later.”
“You don’t have to do that.” Anika spoke quickly. “You’ve done so much already. And with a storm on the way — ”
“It’s no trouble.”
“I’ll be fine. Really.” Gianni had to be in Havana by now. She wouldn’t be staying.
A frown marred Maggie’s face. Anika tensed for another protest, but Roberto took his wife’s hand and squeezed it gently. Her lips softened and the moment passed.
“Very well.” Reaching into her skirt pocket, Maggie withdrew a black rectangular object. “Do you know what this is?”
Anika shook her head.
“It’s called a pager. Like a handheld, but without as many functions. It just sends and receives brief messages. You push these buttons to send,” she said, demonstrating, “and our reply comes through here. Please use it if you need something.”
“Okay.” Anika took the strange device. “Thank you again. For everything. And please thank Daisy for me.”
“You can thank her yourself,” Roberto said. “She made us promise we’d have you back for a visit.”
“I’d like that.”
Even as she said it, the pain of never seeing Daisy again zipped through her chest. Why did she feel such a connection to the little girl? She needed to stay focused.
“One more thing.” Maggie stretched out her hand. A green gel tab lay in her palm.
Anika remembered Daisy explaining the different colors, blue for her stomach and pink for her head.
What did green do?
“It will help you rest,” Maggie said.
“I just woke up.”
“You need to get your strength back. Sleep is the best thing for you now.”
“I’ll take it after I’ve eaten.”
“It works better on an empty stomach. Go on.” Maggie handed her the tea. Smiling, she added, “Doctor’s orders.”
Anika slipped the tab into her mouth, brought the mug to her lips and tipped it back.
Maggie watched her for a moment longer. “I left some soup in the refrigerator. Try to eat something when you wake up.”
“I will. And thank you again. For everything.”
As soon as the door closed, Anika spit the pill out. Her palm turned the color of tobacco leaves.
Gianni is the best thing for me now.
She breath-counted seven minutes while she pushed back the covers, found her pants and sandals, and retrieved the Glock from between the mattresses. Another two to cross the floor to the front door. The dizziness came in waves, twirling the room in slow motion circles. Only the hope that Gianni had arrived in Havana kept her going.
But when she opened the door, her breath caught in her throat and her resolve stuttered.
Tall waves crashed against the shore and angry clouds stained the sky.
She grabbed hold of the medal around her neck and rubbed the image of the patron saint of lost causes. Every step, no matter how slow, no matter how unsteady, would bring her closer to the town’s computer center, closer to connecting with Gianni. She started down the beach.
The wind picked up, whipping her clothes and tangling her hair. A sudden gust knocked her sideways and she landed on her hands and knees. Sand pelted her. The thin cotton didn’t offer much protection against the stinging grains that hit her arms and legs like rounds of tiny buckshot. The surf roared in her ears and mocked her determination.
She closed her eyes and visualized the dark computer screen flickering to life with the words,
I’m here.
She planted one bent leg in front of her. Dug her sandaled foot into the sand. Lifted up. Moved one foot forward, then another. Each step was a triumph.
At the halfway point, the skies opened. Water poured down, as if she had stepped in front of a fire hose. She gasped from the force that pummeled her head and shoulders.
The sky turned as dark as the despair that gripped her heart. Tears of exhaustion mixed with the rain on her face. The town was still so far away.
The muscles in her legs fired off electric charges. They were ready to collapse under her. She couldn’t crawl all the way to the center. It was useless to try. She turned around and headed back.
Hours later, when she awoke from a dreamless sleep, the rain still poured overhead and thunder growled in the distance. Inside the cottage, darkness drenched the furniture and walls.
Anika rolled over on her side, stretched out her arm, and turned on the lamp. Roberto had been right about the reliability of the generator. Despite the torrential downpour and the powerful wind, the cottage still had power. The lamp cast a pool of light around the interior and chased shadows into the farthest corners.
She lifted up on one elbow. The walls didn’t tilt. She pushed aside the covers and sat up. The furniture didn’t shimmer.
How long had she been asleep?
Her gaze swept the room and landed on the pager Maggie had left on the bedside table. She picked up the palm-sized device. The digital face read 12:17. Just past midnight. She had slept for over ten hours.
Maybe Gianni was as trapped as she was. Had Roberto said anything about the storm hitting Havana? Surely, weather as fierce as this would have affected the entire eastern coast of the island.
Now she wished the original owner of the cottage hadn’t been so opposed to technology. Even a simple radio would be better than nothing. She looked again at the pager. She could send a message to Roberto and ask for an update on the storm. Although given the time, she couldn’t expect a response until morning.
She bit her lip in frustration. This was like all those in-between times during a mission, when all she could do was wait.
Another growl rumbled through the night sky.
Her stomach answered with one of its own. She rubbed her belly. The tray Maggie had made up for her lay on the floor beside the bed. The tea was cold and the toast stale.
In the kitchen, a huge container of broth sat on the top shelf of the refrigerator alongside the leftovers from dinner two — no, three — nights ago. Enough food for several days.
Anika prayed that the storm wouldn’t last that long. She
had
to reach Gianni before then.
Mid-morning, the pager vibrated on the bedside table. She lunged for it, relief spreading through her. At last, some news.
“Are you okay? Roberto.”
“I’m okay,” she typed back. “When will storm end?”
“Two days. More or less.”
More or less? What the hell does that mean?
“Did storm hit Havana?”
“Yes. Some lost power. Trains shut down.”
So if Gianni had already arrived, he would be stuck. Like her.
Anika signed off and the pager went dark.
She studied the device a moment longer. Roberto and Maggie had been more than generous to her. Renting her the cottage, inviting her to dinner, caring for her during the fever, checking up on her.
Why?
The kindness of strangers, with nothing asked for in return, was foreign to her. It made her uneasy. She was used to favors with strings attached. That was the world she knew. Her chest tightened and she turned the pager over in her hands, searching for … what?
She pried open the pager and explored its cavity. Nothing. Her cheeks flushed with guilt even as the invisible bands of anxiety around her chest released.
She picked up the dog-eared sketchbook and resumed her sketching. For the past several hours, she had drawn the one image that dominated her thoughts, working and re-working his broad forehead, squared-off chin, full lower lip, nose angled to the right. She spent the most time on his eyes, the way they turned down at the outer corners.
What are you doing right now? Have you even made it to Cuba? Are you staring out at the rain, too, willing it to stop?
On the morning of the third day, she awoke to an unsettling stillness. Her hand reached for the Glock even before she gained full consciousness. She sat up and listened for the falling rain, the howling wind, the crashing waves that had been the incessant soundtrack to her confinement. Silence.
Outside the front door, a flock of birds streaked along the horizon through clear skies. Lowering the gun, she took a deep breath of the rain-washed air.
She was almost out the door when the sketches of Gianni, spread across the coffee table, stopped her. She hurried over to the drawings, swept them into a stack and glanced around the room. The cavity behind the desk drawer might work. She removed the drawer and jammed the sketches into the back, then slid the drawer into place. It stuck out a little, but not enough to be noticed by a casual observer.
She raced up the beach and reveled in the blood pumping through her legs and the breath chasing through her lungs. The St. Jude medal tapped against her chest and kept time with her breath. Her thigh felt strong again, the wound now a mere shadow of pain. A medical magician, Brad had called Maggie. He had been right about that.
In town, shopkeepers swept the sidewalks clear of debris. Café workers set up outdoor tables and chairs. People were in good spirits, calling out greetings to one another. Lights beamed and machines whirred. Power had returned. That meant the computer center would be open.
Anika picked up speed and rounded the corner where the center stood.
The still-shuttered shops and broken streetlights burst her hope like mini-explosives. Broken glass crunched underfoot as she walked up to the center’s door. A sign had been taped there: “
Cerrado
.”
Her heart sank like a stone in water.
Maybe one of the resorts would be able to provide some information. She started back toward the beachfront. En route, a digital board on a news kiosk flickered with updates on the storm.
Major roads were clear. Trains were on schedule. She’d believe that when she actually experienced it. Still, hope bloomed inside her.
She punched in a request for the train schedule and grabbed the printout while it still chugged from the machine’s mouth. The next train to Havana left in ninety minutes. Tight but doable.
She would return to the cottage, pack up, come back and get transport to the station.
There should be enough time to stop in at Las Estrellas and say a quick good-bye to Maggie and Roberto, if they were already back at work after the storm. If not, she would leave a note.
She turned and ran toward the beach. No more waiting, no more in-between time.
Gianni
. Her heart galloped in her chest.
I’m coming. I’m coming to find you.
Thirty meters from the cottage, Anika dropped to a crouch and pulled out the Glock.
At the front window, a white-shirted torso bent over the desk. The deep V-necked shirt with rolled up sleeves didn’t look like the ones worn by the
policía
. She couldn’t make out the face. The torso straightened and turned.
Thumbing off the gun’s safety, she moved in. The door swung open.
“¡Pare!”
she commanded. “
No se mueva.”
The man stopped, one hand on the door, the other holding her sketches.
She looked up at the face she had been drawing nonstop for the past three days. In slow motion, she lowered her arm.
Those intense brown eyes tracked the movement, then traveled up her body to meet her gaze.
“You asked me to come, remember?”
Hell, yes,
she remembered. Every breath-stealing, gut-gripping minute.
“What took you so long?” She didn’t blink, didn’t breathe, terrified her eyes were deceiving her and the vision was only a dream.
His skin was tanner, his hair blonder than when she had last seen him — when she thought she was seeing him for the last time — behind the desk in his office. Now he looked like a tourist, in drawstring pants and a loose-fitting shirt.
She wanted to run and wrap herself around him, to prove he was really here. But she stayed still to keep the vision alive.