Right Where I Belong (4 page)

Natalia rubbed her temples, trying to ward off the Georgia-sized headache pounding in her brain. Meanwhile she and Maureen were passing through yet another gate to board yet another plane. And, again, Natalia had no idea what she was being asked.

“He wants to see your boarding pass,” Maureen said. “Just show it to him, with your passport.”

“Spain, huh?” The older man looked through Natalia’s passport and whistled. “My wife has always wanted to visit there. Heard it’s real purty, all that good food and them
flamenco dancers.” The man did a little twirl, his arms raised above his head, clapping to an imaginary beat.

Natalia looked at Maureen, who shook her head and smiled. “Southern people are very friendly.” She answered Natalia’s unspoken question as the two made their way through the terminal and into the airplane.

Natalia grunted. “I think I like New Yorkers better. I may not understand what they’re saying, but at least they move a little quicker. These people act like they have all day!”

Maureen laughed. “Language isn’t the only difference between Spain and the US. Our cultures are pretty different too. Not as different as other places, though. I had some major adjustments when I moved to Madrid.”

“Like what?” Natalia squeezed into the middle seat, a heavyset woman on one side, Maureen on the other.

“Kissing.”

“What?”

“We don’t greet with a kiss in the States. It’s a handshake, a hug if you’re really close. But never a kiss.”

“Really?”

“I was stunned at my first business meeting with your dad’s company. All these people coming and kissing both my cheeks. It was awful. Until your dad came along. One look at him, and I couldn’t wait for the daily greeting.” Maureen’s smile faded and her eyes began to fill with tears. Again.

Her stepmother was grieving, but Natalia didn’t know anyone could cry as much as that woman had in the weeks since the divorce. She had hoped stepping back onto US soil would help. Apparently it did not.

Natalia looked out the window as the plane made its way from Atlanta to Tampa.
What am I doing? I don’t understand the way anyone talks. I don’t understand the way they act. God, did you really mean for me to come here, or was this just my own stubborn idea?
She thought this would be good for her, good for Maureen. But maybe she should have listened more to Carmen.
Maybe I should have stayed.

Natalia’s mind continued to wander as the plane descended into the Tampa International Airport. She took a few deep breaths and tried to convince herself that this was a good decision.

Forty-five minutes later she was ready to get on the next plane back to Madrid.

“It’ll show up.” The airline employee assured Natalia as she filled out the paperwork for her missing luggage. “This just happens sometimes when there are several legs to a flight.”

“Legs?” Confused, Natalia looked up at Maureen. Would she
ever
learn American slang?

“It means stopovers. Because we were on so many different planes, the luggage got mixed up.”

“How long until it arrives?” Natalia stared at the man behind the counter. He shrugged and slid a form across the counter.

Maureen pulled a pen from her purse and filled out the information required, Natalia standing beside her. Was this a sign? Her luggage didn’t even want to be here.

Maybe I should just go home. This certainly isn’t starting out well.

Maureen handed the completed form back to the man and dragged herself to a chair a few feet away. Gazing into her stepmother’s face, Natalia knew she could never leave.

Suddenly, Maureen burst out laughing. People around her looked at her as if she were crazy. Natalia looked at her as if she were crazy. The woman hadn’t laughed in weeks. “Maureen?”

Maureen wiped tears from her eyes—tears that, for once, weren’t from weeping. “This is all so ridiculous. It’s like a really bad comedy. ‘Everything that can go wrong, does go wrong.’ No job, no husband, no money. And no luggage.”

Natalia didn’t really see the humor in their situation, but she was so happy to see a smile on her stepmother’s face, she didn’t care. Maureen’s blue eyes swam. “Oh, Natalia. I can’t believe you’re here. But I’m so glad. Thank you.”

The switch from laughter to sentimentality was abrupt, but Natalia squeezed the hand that Maureen placed in hers.

Maureen sighed. “I am dreading this first meeting with my sister. We’ve talked on the phone. I’ve Skyped with the girls. She keeps telling me how excited they are that we are coming. But what is it really going to be like? I am divorced. Broken. Embarrassed.”

“Maureen.” Natalia appreciated her honesty. That was one of the traits that endeared her to Natalia from the beginning. “You are a strong woman and your family will see that. Besides, you’ve been away from them for years. How many times have you told me how much you’ve missed your sister and how you hated being away from your nieces? You’re back! This is exciting. You are home, where you understand everyone and you don’t need to kiss anyone. And what about those public subs? You’ve been talking about having a foot-long roast beef sub since we left Madrid.”

Maureen let out a halfhearted laugh. “Publix, Natalia, not public. I want a Publix sub. And I do want to see my sister and hug my nieces and smell the Gulf of Mexico from my backyard.” She dabbed her eyes with a tissue. “I’m sorry, sweetie. This is just so much more difficult than I anticipated.”

The shrill ring of Maureen’s phone screamed from her purse. Both women jumped, then laughed. Maureen dug around for her phone, barely finding it in time to answer.

It was Maureen’s sister, Carol. She was waiting outside. Maureen took a deep breath and stood, Natalia following behind her. She looked longingly at the Departures screen, seeing a flight to Madrid leaving in forty-five minutes.

I could take it.
Natalia walked through the baggage-claim area and took her first steps into the infamous Florida humidity. Her papa would pay the fare. Staying here with a grieving stepmother, a sea of strangers, surrounded by people whose accents she didn’t understand and whose customs she didn’t like was certainly not appealing.
Maybe my lost luggage is a sign from God that I should go back.

Natalia took one look at Maureen’s vulnerable, tear-stained face and knew she could never be so selfish.
She needs me,
Natalia reminded herself.
And I need her.
Trying her best to forget about the lost luggage, forget about the home and the friends she left behind, Natalia smiled as she greeted Maureen’s sister—and her future.

Chapter 6

F
irst thing we gotta do is tear down the paneling,” Mr. King said.

Brian had gotten to the work site at six o’clock. Mr. King insisted on an early start, and Brian decided now would be the perfect time to learn the fine art of coffee drinking, so he gagged down another sip of the gas station house brew.

“It doesn’t have to look pretty.” Mr. King pulled away at the ancient wood paneling. “But you do need to make sure you don’t cut through any wires.”

“And how do I know where those are?”

“No telling in a house this old. It’s probably been rewired several times.”

Brian glanced at the crowbar in his hand. “So be careful not to cut through wires that may or may not be all through the walls we are tearing down.”

Mr. King slapped Brian on the back. “Exactly.”

Brian looked at James, his coworker. “You done this before?”

“Started when I was your age.” James smiled. “I finish up college next year, so this’ll be my last summer. I’m going to miss it.”

“Ever been electrocuted?”

“I wouldn’t call it electrocuted.”

Brian didn’t have the time—or the desire—to hear that explanation.

“I’ll be working with you boys most of the time,” Mr. King said. “But I need to run over to the kitchen to give that crew the rundown. You okay without me?”

“Sure.” Brian gripped the crowbar.

“Don’t worry.” James laughed. “You’ll be fine. Plus, this is great for the physique.” He flexed a large bicep at Brian. “The girls will be falling all over themselves to go out with you by the time this summer is over.”

“All right, then.” Brian threw his tool at the wall. “Let’s get started.”

Five hours later his entire body hurt. And they’d only gotten to half the walls in the large room. The paneling was so old it refused to come down in one piece. Jagged edges were all over the floor. Brian wore gloves, but splinters made their way into his wrists and ankles.

“Look who we have here.”

Brian turned to see Spencer, sipping a giant soda and smirking in his polo shirt and plaid shorts, not a hair out of place.

“Spencer.” Brian tried to smile, but he was sure it seemed more like a grimace. Acting really wasn’t his strong suit. “I heard your dad bought this.”

“This mansion will be the perfect place to host the homecoming dinner, don’t you think?” Spencer smiled.

With you as homecoming king, I’m sure.
“Yes, perfect.”

“Hello, Brian.” Mr. Adams walked in behind his son. His girth filled the doorway. Mr. Adams was a successful defense attorney. His billboards dotted I-275. Brian rarely saw him at school, though, so he had only met the man a few times.

“Nice to see you, Mr. Adams.” Brian shook the man’s hand. “This is going to be a great place.”

“It better be, for the price I paid.” He glanced around. “Bay-front property doesn’t come cheap. Neither does a complete remodel. But my wife insists.”

Mr. Adams had recently remarried. His new wife was also a model, just like the first Mrs. Adams.
How does a guy who looks like he swallowed a VW Bug get women who look like that?
Brian thought of the billboards again.
Right. That’s how.

“You look tired, Brian. If you’d joined the football team, you’d be used to working out.”

Brian was about as interested in football as Spencer was tactful. “No time for sports, man. Some of us have to work.”

“Spencer is working.” Mr. Adams squeezed his son’s shoulder. “At my law firm.”

“In the air-conditioning.” Spencer took another sip of his soda.

“Don’t mock the help, son.” Mr. Adams turned to walk out of the room. “They keep things running so we important people can do our work.”

Brian rolled his eyes.

“Think you’re smart enough to find your way out of
here?” James said, once he was sure the Adams men were out of earshot. “I’m ready for lunch.”

“I don’t know.” Brian scratched his head. “I’m just the help. Here to serve the important people.”

“Don’t let those guys get to you.” James walked ahead of Brian. “A little hard work is good for everyone. That’s what my dad says.” James looked back at Brian. “And he’s a senator.”

Chapter 7

W
ouldn’t this be just perfect?” Joanne, Natalia and Maureen’s Realtor, gushed. “This place was built in 1984, but the entire kitchen has been remodeled. The bathrooms too. And this is upgraded vinyl in the entryway. Doesn’t it look just like tile? You’d never know if you didn’t look close. Go ahead, touch it. Amazing, isn’t it?”

Natalia wished that woman would stop talking. Just for a minute. She hadn’t kept quiet for more than thirty seconds the entire torturous day. As soon as Maureen and Natalia entered a house, Joanne would spout off the dimensions, the architectural details, the upgrades. Natalia couldn’t stand it. She wanted to be left alone so she and Maureen could have a private walk and talk about the possibilities without having Joanne jump in singing, “And don’t forget, you’re just a mile away from the mall!” or “Look at these fixtures! Top of the line. Try it. Come on, you know you want to!”

“I appreciate all you’ve done for us, Joanne, really.”
Natalia tried her best to sound polite, to show grace, as Maureen had taught her. “But do you think Maureen and I could talk privately for just a few minutes?”

“Why sure, honey!” Joanne drawled. “I’ve got a great little place about five miles from here I’d like you to see. Let me call my partner and see if it’s available this afternoon.”

When the door shut behind Joanne, Natalia sighed. “Do all Americans talk that much? Because if they do, I don’t know if I can stand it.”

“Don’t stereotype, Natalia. There is no such thing as ‘all Americans.’ There are thirty million individuals.” Maureen raised her eyebrows.

Natalia let out a slow breath. “Guilty. Again.” She shook her head. “But you have to admit. This place is . . . what is that word . . . a dump?”

Maureen laughed. “Well, I don’t know if I’d go that far. But I am on a tight budget. I don’t want to live off your father’s alimony. I want to make my own living and be independent.”

“What about child support?”

“That’s for you. I don’t want to use it for a house or anything at all related to me.”

“Maureen . . .”

“No, Natalia. I’ve got to do this. You don’t understand. If I’m ever going to be able to move on, I have to make a clean break from your father.”

She could see the tears forming in Maureen’s eyes, so she quickly changed the subject. “But all this dust! And the furniture. It’s so . . . big.”