Blood Waters 1 : The Boy From The Sea (5 page)

Mila and Tomas would meet on the beach after the manor house had darkened into sleep if the weather was good, or Mila would go to Tomas's room-it was farther from her parents' room. They would talk quietly; which is to say that Mila would talk quietly while Tomas listened, awed by her descriptions of Boston and New York. She had to describe snow to him-he didn't even know the word. It was both touching and a little frightening, how naive he could be.

What Tomas lacked in worldliness, though, he made up for in his ability to read and understand people. He was the one who pointed out that Gloria wasn't actually a mean person, just stressed out and under an incredible amount of pressure to make sure everything went off well. "The next time she starts to get to you, ask her what she wants you to do," Tomas advised. Mila was skeptical, but she tried it, and he was right-it worked. Gloria told her to mop the floors, and the tension evaporated faster than the water did.

"You're like a mind-reading genius," she said that night.

"I don't read minds," he said. "I understand the heart."

"So tell me about mine," she said.

It was now a month after their kiss. They were in Tomas's room, lying side by side on his bed, his left arm intertwined with her right one, surrounded by the dark and his scent-clean. They had shared a few more kisses since then, but nothing more. It wasn't just the fear of what Gloria would do, though that contributed some. It was mostly that neither Mila nor Tomas felt the need to go further. They could wait. It wasn't like high school, where every other girl wanted every other boy and sealing the deal was the only way to guarantee (and sometimes, not even that would do it) a certain degree of monogamy. They had oceans of time-and an ocean they could sit next to; the infinite waters recalling the infinite nature of love.

"Are you sure you want to know?" he asked.

"Yes," she said, simply.

He rolled off the bed and took her smooth hand in his calloused one. She could feel his fingertips tracing her palm, kissing her knuckles. "You want something more from this life," he said. "You want me to give it to you."

"And will you?" she asked.

"You want me to say, 'Yes'," he said. "But I don't know if I can."

She sat up. "Well, that was romantic."

He sighed. "You said you wanted to know."

True
, she thought unhappily. But then, what was the point of pursuing this relationship if Tomas didn't think he could make her happy?

"You are more than I could ever hope to be," Tomas said, as she stood up. She shook her head, furious with herself for asking, furious with him for being so honest.
What was so terrible about a white lie every now and then
, she wondered. Why couldn't he be sweet, for once? It wasn't like she expected him to bring her flowers or anything.

His grip on her hand tightened. "Please don't go," he said.

"Give me a reason to stay," she retorted. "Give me that 'something more' that I'm supposed to be looking for then."

Tomas dropped her hand and backed away from her, fading into the darkness. "No, Mila, not like this."

It wasn't until she felt the pang of disappointment that she realized what he was saying. "That wasn't what I meant," she began, but even as the words faltered she understood that it was, indeed, what she meant, what she wanted. Blood rushed to her face, and even though it was dark she had the feeling that Tomas could see her blush.

She left him without saying another word and slipped back into her bedroom, furious-at him, or at herself, she couldn't tell. But either way, she wasn't sleeping that night, and she wasn't going to the beach, either.

MILA WAS AWAKENED the next morning by her father. He knocked on her door and brought her a tray with sweet buns and a cup of coffee. "What's going on?" Mila asked, suspiciously. Her father didn't normally bring her breakfast.

"It's your birthday," he said.

"Shit, really?" She glanced at the calendar hanging above her desk. "It is. Holy crap. I can't believe I forgot," she said.

"I thought maybe you might want to go with Tomas to Cancun today," he said, setting the tray down. He sat down at the foot of her bed, smiling at her as she dug into the food. "You know. Do a little shopping. Show Tomas what a city is."

Mila understood the unspoken part of the suggestion: her father wanted her to run some additional errands as well. She wondered how to tell him that she didn't want to go anywhere with Tomas, not after last night. Refusing to go to Cancun altogether would make him worry.

"I hadn't made any plans for the day," she said, stalling for time.

"It's okay," George said. "We don't have any guests right now, so your mother-" he dropped his voice to a stage whisper, "-wants to throw you a surprise party."

"Papa, you're not supposed to tell me that!" Mila said, laughing. "And anyway, since when does Mama throw me a surprise birthday party?"

George shrugged. "Okay, well, it's not actually a birthday party. But we-and I mean the
abuelos
and Tomas and everybody-thought we'd celebrate finally getting this place into shape."

"At the end of the tourist season," Mila said. It was a bit mean, but she couldn't help it. George, fortunately, didn't seem to mind.

"Yes, it's the end of the tourist season, but we do have another set of guests coming in a week. University people. They're coming to look at the cenotes, or something."

Was anybody planning on telling me these things,
Mila wondered. Just when she was hoping not to have to share "her" bathroom any more, too.

"Anyway," George said. "The Jeep is filled up and ready to go. Tomas is ready to leave whenever you are."

Of course he would be,
she thought harshly. She was surprised at how bitter she was about last night, as if he'd insulted her. And now she was expected to go to Cancun with him? George stood up and left her to finish her breakfast-or, more accurately, to pick over the rest of the sticky buns and then toss them out the window.

Still,
she thought, as she returned the tray to the kitchen, where Gloria was busy shaping the tortillas for the day. A trip to Cancun was a trip to Cancun. And there was one thing she could count on Tomas for, and that was being quiet. It would be awkward, but, well, she'd be able to enjoy herself, at least.

Gloria nodded at a pile of pesos on the counter, and a note underneath it. "That's what we need you to get in Cancun," she said. "We've given you a little extra to buy yourself something nice."

"Aw, Mom," Mila said.

"Happy birthday," Gloria said. Her hands never stopped rolling out the balls of dough.

This was probably as celebratory as it was going to get in the house, Mila realized. She picked up the keys to the Jeep, gathered the money and the list, and went to find Tomas. He was in his room, kneeling next to his bed. "Hey," she said. "Let's go."

He didn't say he was sorry for last night, which was just as well, because it would have been a lie. But at least they would have been talking. As they walked to the Jeep in cold, stony silence, Mila couldn't help but think that maybe all relationships were built on lies. Comments:

-
I wish the story says more about the Alvarezes. What kind of people they are, their ancestry, the kind of life they had in Boston... Where did the abuelos come from? Did they also lived with them in the US, hence George and Gloria brought them along, too when they moved to Mexico? And why Mexico, among other places?

-
I also wanted to see what kind of girl Mila was when she still lived in the US. For the most part, I only feel her anger and resentment of being dragged to Mexico by her parents. How old is she? (Although I'm guessing she's around 20 years old)

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Read the next book by Eve Hathaway:

If you like this book, you will also like The Tribute To The Sacred Waters...

HE COMES FROM THE SEA, BUT IT ROBS HIM OF HIS MEMORY

A YOUNG MAN WITHOUT A PAST, AND A YOUNG WOMAN WITH AN UNCERTAIN FUTURE

Mila's parents run a bed-and-breakfast in one of the most isolated stretches of beach in Mexico. Someone who has migrated from the States into that sleeping corner of the world, she is bored, and lonely, and feels like Cinderella, getting up early every morning for the thankless task of doing chores around the dilapidated house all day.

Then, one day, she comes across a young man who's been washed up on the shore. He can't remember anything about who he was or even what his name is. Her parents take him in, and he begins to fill in what's been missing in her life.

But just when she thinks he might actually like her, he turns away—what is he hiding?

Unravel more of this fascinating book, continue reading The Tribute To The Sacred Waters...

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First, Still the Mind

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