The Jade Notebook (36 page)

Throughout breakfast, Layla keeps staring at Tortue. It’s the first time she’s seen my father’s bare face in daylight—knowing it’s him, at least. She’s uncharacteristically shy, asking him hesitant questions. He answers just as shyly. They’re strangers with a sudden, intimate bond. Layla said she had no expectations—that he’d be a treasure from the ocean. And that’s what he makes me think of, a salt-soaked piece of driftwood, battered by life and the sea, gnarled but soft, and oddly, in his own tender way, tough.

Meche watches this unfold, regarding us curiously.

And all the while, Wendell holds my hand, anchoring me, solid and warm.

I continue to watch for any signs of attraction between Layla and Tortue. As a little girl I dreamed of my parents being reunited, their passion rekindled and transformed into
lasting love, the three of us forming a happy family. And Tortue is even Layla’s type—musical, scraggly-haired, homeless. But now, looking at them, I see something unexpected—a tentative affection.

There’s none of Layla’s usual flirtation, her unconscious effort to charm. And even more surprisingly, this doesn’t disappoint me. It’s actually reassuring to know that my father is not being relegated to fling status.

And Tortue doesn’t seem love-struck by Layla. Not in the least. In fact, most of the time as they’re talking, he looks at me, exactly the way a father would look at his daughter, his eyes full of pride, love.

At one point in the conversation, Layla’s fork clatters to the plate, and she says, out of the blue, “Thank you for our daughter.”

El Tortuga’s lip quivers. “Our daughter.”

And then, as if the spell is broken, Layla launches into the story of my life—the long version—starting with my babyhood in Italy and rambling through country after country.

Tortue listens with rapt attention. It’s a strange feeling to witness my father laughing at the things I did as a toddler. Now that I’ve found him, I have the same feeling I get standing at the tip of Comet Point—that this is the edge of the world as I’ve always known it. The promise of something new stretches ahead, something that’s certain to be smooth at times, choppy at others, something shimmering with the delicious unknown.

After breakfast, the guests scatter, leaving me, Wendell, Meche, Layla, Tortue, and Joe sipping our third cups of coffee. Bit by bit, we’ve filled each other in on our suspicions about Pepe and the developments in the poaching scandals—both the current one and the one that’s decades old. Meche wants to go to the authorities immediately and clear Tortue’s name, but he insists that his family should be the first to know. “I want to tell my whole family at once,” he says earnestly. “Not just about Meche, but about Zeeta. That she’s my daughter. And that I’ll be claiming my land,
our
land.” He casts a hopeful look at Layla and me.

“Gracias,”
I say, grateful for this moment, the morning sunlight on the ocean, the glittering aftermath of the storm, everyone I love here in this place I love. Finally.

“I know!” Layla says, clasping her hands together. “Let’s invite your family here tonight—Lupita, Rogelio, Cristina and her kids.…” Her voice trails off. She must be remembering Pepe and the probability that he had something to do with Wendell’s nearly dying last night.

Tortue looks at his lap and says, “Maybe you should check in with the authorities. See if they have any leads on Pepe.”

Wendell nods. “I’ll call the fire chief,” he offers, heading to the phone in the office.

Tortue lets out a long breath. “Let’s not tell the rest of my family about Pepe. Not just yet. I want tonight to be a festive occasion.” He gazes at me, the loving gaze of a father. “I’ve waited years for this day.”

We assign tasks to prepare for the celebration tonight. Layla will buy ingredients for dinner; Tortue will head out on his boat to catch fresh fish; Wendell will go to Restaurante Tesoro Escondido to invite El Sapo and his sisters and Cristina to the party. I’m in charge of inviting my grandparents.

I swing by Lupita’s house and manage to catch Rogelio just before he leaves for his shop. I’m nearly bursting with giddiness as I give them the mysterious invitation. I simply say there will be an important gathering at our cabanas tonight at sunset. A big announcement will be made. Rogelio and Lupita pelt me with questions, but I press my lips together in a contained smile and say, “You’ll see!”

Meanwhile, Meche has gone to check on Gatito. But on the way home, I run into her on the jungle path. Her hair is mussed, her face puffy and tear-streaked.

“What’s wrong, Meche?”

“It’s Gatito. The vet came over. My baby’s kidneys are failing.”

I reach for her hand. “What does that mean?”

“He can’t filter out the toxins in his blood. He’s in terrible pain. He might have only a day or two left.” She breaks down into sobs.

I lead her to the bench at the end of my sun-path ray and sit her down. Suddenly, a stream of pent-up words tumbles out. She reminisces about how she first met Gatito, recounts his cute antics as a cub, the adorable tricks he learned. I listen, offering comforting words here and there. For the first time, I really get it—Gatito was her baby, her child, the closest possible replacement for her daughter. And now, she’ll have to live through the sorrow of her baby dying all over again.

Finally, after she’s cried out, she draws in a long breath and glances around. She takes in the
GET WELL
sign that Xochitl and Mayra painted for Gatito. It’s right next to the
TRESPASSERS WILL BE DEVOURED
sign. Looking at the signs now, I get a lump in my throat. It’s as if they’re memorials to Gatito.

Meche regards the smiling, sparkling jaguar and sniffles. “Where did that come from?”

“Mayra and Xochitl painted it. For you and Gatito.” I squeeze her hand. “You have people who care about you. We’ll help you through this, Meche.”

She gives me one more hug. “I’d better get back to Gatito.
I’ll come over for a little while this evening. Just long enough to explain to everyone that I was with El Tortuga that night. But after that I need to get back to my kitty.”

After saying goodbye, I head back home, passing Wendell and Joe, who are cleaning the storm debris from the gardens and stone paths. Wendell sets down the broom and drapes his arm around me. “I did it, Z.”

Instinctively, I know he’s talking about accepting the scholarship. There’s something about his tone—a mixture of sadness and excitement. “Good,” I say, determined not to mope, to just enjoy our last few months together. And to trust that some time after that, we’ll be together again. Somehow.

“I start in June,” he says a little wistfully.

“You’ll do great, Wendell.” Swallowing hard, I add, “You’ll love it there.”

From the kitchen hut, Layla catches my eye and waves me over. “Hey, Z!” she calls out, tying on an apron. “Come cook with me!”

I join her, taking a bag of
mole
paste from the fridge. She’s making flan using Cristina’s recipe, humming as she whizzes around the kitchen. “Well,” she says, “I talked with the fire chief. Pepe and his friends haven’t been found. They might’ve left town.”

I breathe out slowly, trying to stay calm. Layla doesn’t seem concerned, but I’d feel better if we knew where Pepe and El Dedo were.

She interrupts my worrying. “I hope J.C. gets here soon
with the fish. Especially if we have to gut it and everything.” She’s taken to calling my father the name she first knew him by.

I glance at the clock. Four o’clock. “He’ll probably be here soon,” I say. But a little part of me wonders, what if he doesn’t come back? What if he freaks out again? What if I can’t trust him after all? I shake off my questions, try to relax and sink into the smells of sizzling chile and chocolate and the excitement about the party. After all, tonight will be the culmination of nearly two decades of longing for family and home. Mine, and
—
I realize—my father’s.

Where is he?
An hour later, Tortue still hasn’t shown up. I’ve showered and changed into a sundress and tucked a pink flower, which I can’t stop fiddling with, behind my ear. What’s going on with him? At this point, it’s too late to cook any fish he might’ve caught. Layla assures me it’s fine, there’s plenty of
mole
. She doesn’t seem worried about him getting cold feet.

Shortly before sunset, Lupita and Rogelio show up, sporting fancy clothes—a flowered dress and woven silvery shawl on Lupita and an old-fashioned, neatly pressed suit on Rogelio. Then come Cristina and the girls, their hair brushed and slicked back into ponytails tied with ribbons. El Sapo is wearing dress pants and a long-sleeved shirt, and every strand of hair is gelled into place. Even his glasses sparkle. The first words out of the girls’ mouths are “Where’s Meche?”

I crack a smile at how fast they’ve embraced the so-called
jaguar lady, the feared
bruja
. “She’ll be here soon,” I assure them. “She’s with Gatito. And you know, your sign cheered her up.” I try to sound natural, as if my insides aren’t in knots.

By dusk, everyone is sipping lemonade and speculating about the mysterious announcement. Everyone but Tortue. To stall, I bring out the guitar and play a butchered version of “La Llorona” for Rogelio. Although he acts impressed, my heart isn’t in it.
Where is my father?

I pass Rogelio the guitar and make an excuse about checking on the
mole
.

Lupita stops me, her face lit up. “So when will we hear the big announcement,
mija
?”

“Soon,” I stall, glancing nervously at Wendell.

Wendell gives me a sympathetic look and follows me behind the counter. Little by little, the sun has slipped farther toward the horizon, painting the sky dusky hues of violet.

Wendell strokes my hair. “Hanging in there, Z?”

Under my breath, I ask, “You think he ran?”

Wendell pulls me close, kisses my ear. “He has to have a good reason for being late.”

Our cabana guests have started trickling in, looking hungry. Layla breezes over to us. “Well, we might as well feed everyone now.
Mole
seems like a perfect distraction till J.C. gets here.”

“You really think he’s coming, Layla?”

“Of course, Z.” She offers a conspiratorial smile. “You know, I heard that guys who sleep under boats aren’t the
most punctual. And he had a rough night last night. He’s probably dozing under his boat now.”

True … or he could be on a plane somewhere.

That’s it. I can’t stand waiting another second. “I’m going to look for him.”

Quickly, Wendell says, “I’m coming with you, Z.”

Before Layla can protest, I turn to the expectant faces of my family. Barely keeping my voice steady, I say, “Wendell and I are going to get our guest of honor. After dinner, we’ll make the announcement.” I take a deep breath, attempting to inject enthusiasm into my voice. “In the meantime, enjoy the
mole
!”

Wishing us luck, Layla begins heating up the food as Wendell and I bid everyone farewell. We hurry in the opposite direction, down the dark jungle path. “Let’s see if his boat’s there,” I say, breathless.