Right Where I Belong (5 page)

“American design tends to be a little less streamlined
than Spanish design. When I first moved to Madrid, I remember thinking that Spanish apartments appeared sterile and uninviting. And the furniture seemed like it belonged in a dollhouse. Now that I’ve lived there for five years, this does look a little big and a tad messy.”

“A tad?”

“Okay, maybe a little more than a tad. Americans just tend to have more things, and things get dusty. But we can shop at Ikea and you can be in charge of dusting every day.”

“No maid?”

Maureen shook her head. “Here I am just a middle-class woman living paycheck to paycheck. I don’t even know what that paycheck is going to be at this point. I’ve got enough savings to last about three months, then I’m done. No maid. No new clothes or eating out. I tried to tell you this before we left, Natalia. This is a much different way of life than what you’re used to.”

“It’s all right.” Natalia prayed God would help her adjust to this new lifestyle. “Where you go, I go, remember? Just promise me I won’t have to share a room with cockroaches!”

Two hours and three houses later an exhausted Natalia and Maureen returned to Carol’s house. There the pair was greeted by Maureen’s two nieces and her frazzled sister.

“Aunt Maureen! Guess what?” Little Calla asked, her four-year-old face beaming. “I made you something! But you have to close your eyes. You too, Natalia. Close your eyes!”

Eight-year-old Nora grabbed Natalia’s hand. “Close your eyes! We don’t want you to see it!”

The girls had attached themselves to Natalia, caring little that she was a “stepcousin.” The little blond-haired, blue-eyed girls were adorable, and Natalia hoped their presence would cheer Maureen, whom they loved even more than they loved Natalia.

Eyes closed, Natalia felt her way past the large dining room table to the kitchen, which held the overwhelming smell of burnt caramel.

“Ta da!” the girls sang out in unison.

“We made a flan!” Calla clapped her hands together. “We wanted to make something Spanish and Mom said this was a Spanish dessert. Do you like it?”

“Wow.” Maureen looked at the dark brown lump of congealed custard. “Flan! I do love flan.” Her eyes widened as she peered at Natalia, warning her without speaking that they had to eat this, no matter how bad it tasted.

“Georgie came in while we were cooking”—Calla pointed at the beagle eagerly panting beside her small leg—“and I had to take care of him because Mama says he is my job because I wanted him. So I gave him a treat, and it just took a minute. But Nora was in the bathroom at the same time and she didn’t know I was helping Georgie and the sugar got a little burned at the bottom of the pan and Mama—”

Carol placed her hand over Calla’s mouth. “What she’s trying to say is that it might not taste like what you’re used to.”

“But it’s still good.” Nora’s curls bounced as she nodded. “Just a little crunchy.”

“Crunchy flan.” Maureen cautiously dipped her fork into the now-fossilized dessert. She took a large drink from her glass of water, then placed the flan in her mouth. “Mmmm . . .” Maureen tried to say more, but she probably could not open her mouth.

Natalia gulped as the two girls turned their big blue eyes to her. She couldn’t refuse their gift. But one look at Maureen’s face, and she knew she’d be tasting this flan for a week.

Just then the front door opened and Jack, Carol’s husband, walked in. The girls ran to greet him, giving Maureen and Natalia just enough time to dump their desserts into the trash and return the empty plates to the table.

“Wow! You ate the whole thing?” Nora gasped as she ran back into the kitchen. “You loved it! I knew it! I’ve got more.” As she made her way to the island in the center of the kitchen, Carol cut her off.

“That is sweet, Nora, but don’t you think we need to save some for Daddy?”

Jack shot Carol a look that said, “I’ll get you for this” but smiled as he was served a heaping pile of the girls’ Spanish concoction.

Chapter 8

I
think that’s the last of it.” Jack grunted as he dropped yet another oversized Ikea box on Natalia and Maureen’s new living room floor.

Carol had stayed home with the girls so Jack could help the pair set up their new town house. After several days of searching, their Realtor found a new three-bedroom/two-bathroom town house just minutes from the beach right in Maureen’s price range. Surprisingly there were no delays with the contract or closing, allowing them to move just two weeks after their arrival in Tampa.

Natalia could see God’s hand in the entire process—finding a house they both liked, that Maureen could afford, in a community with a pool, gym, and yard maintenance. Maureen was even able to take out a loan for a few thousand more than the mortgage so they could decorate the place. It was perfect.

Unfortunately, Maureen’s discouragement had only grown in the weeks since the two returned from Spain.

“If God worked so hard to provide for us here, why didn’t he work in Spain? Why didn’t he make your father want to stay with me? It’s hard to be thankful for a house when my life has fallen apart.”

Natalia had learned to stay quiet. Her attempts at helping Maureen either resulted in tirades or tears—neither of which was pretty. Or beneficial.

“All right, ladies, I’m going out to get some lunch. I need a Big Mac and some fries to get me through the rest of this day.” Jack laughed, stretching his back muscles and grimacing with the effort. “You guys want something while I’m out?”

“I would love a salad.”

“No,” Maureen snapped. “We’ll take care of our own lunch. Jack, you’ve done enough. Go ahead home and we’ll put these things together.”

Jack and Natalia both looked at Maureen as if she were crazy. “Maureen, don’t be silly. It would take you guys forever to put all of this together. Besides, your sister would skin me alive if I came home now. Natalia wants a salad. What about you?”

Defeated but still angry, Maureen gave Jack her order and watched as he walked out the door. As soon as his car pulled out of their driveway, Maureen began to cry.

“Why does my sister get a guy like him? They’ve been married ten years, and he still does whatever she asks. He treats her like a queen . . . He’s a great dad. It’s not fair!” Maureen slid down the wall to the hardwood floor.

Natalia vacillated between anger at Maureen for wallowing in self-pity and anger at her father for causing Maureen so much pain. She finally decided the best thing she could do
would be to pray—pray for Maureen to get over her dad and pray for herself not to strangle Maureen in the meantime.

Natalia grabbed her suitcases, which had arrived five days after she did, and took them up to her room. A bare mattress on a metal frame sat underneath the lone window and boxes were piled along three walls. Inside those boxes were her nightstands, dresser, and headboard. Jack was right: this would take forever.

I may not be able to put my things together, but I can at least make my bed.

She walked over to the pile of bags and found the one with her sheets—bright red jersey cotton to go with her red-and-white floral bedspread. Natalia relaxed as she placed them on her bed. She wasn’t used to beds being so high, and she would need to return to the department store and get a bed skirt to cover the ugly black rollers at the base of the bed frame. She folded down the bedspread and placed her pillows against the wall, then surveyed her work.

It’s a start.
She smiled.

“Lucy, I’m ho-ome!” Jack bellowed.

Who was Lucy and why was Jack calling for her? Natalia still hadn’t deciphered what he had meant when he said Carol would “skin him alive” when he came home. Natalia doubted she’d ever fully understand Americans.

“. . . and I brought backup!”

Natalia came down the stairs and smiled when she realized she knew what he meant by “backup”—thanks to the American cop shows so popular in Europe.

“You’re smiling like the cat that ate the canary.” Jack laughed at Natalia.

“What?”

“The cat that ate the canary,” Jack repeated.

When will people realize that saying something twice doesn’t make it more intelligible?
Natalia looked behind her stepuncle and froze midthought.

She had never seen hair quite so red. It had golden streaks and was wavy, the locks cut short but spiked. Below the hair was a giant. Her father, a little under six feet, was considered quite tall in Spain. But this young man stood almost half a foot taller. Natalia had to crane her neck to see his face. He had a warm smile—very white—with a strong nose and full, rosy lips. He was paler than most of the boys she knew in Spain, making his hair look even brighter and his big blue eyes, framed by blond lashes, brighter still.

Not traditionally handsome, but certainly attractive. Very attractive. Carmen would go crazy over those blue eyes. Not me, of course. I am not even thinking about boys, not getting involved. Ever. But I can admire some nice eyes every once in a while. For Carmen’s sake.

“Natalia, this is Brian Younger the younger.” Jack laughed and Brian rolled his eyes.

“That joke never gets old, does it, Jack?”

“Never!” Jack smiled and slapped Brian on the back.

“Little Brian Younger?” Maureen gasped, eyes wide. “But you were always such a tiny thing. When did you get so tall?
How
did you get so tall?”

Natalia was so happy to see Maureen distracted she almost missed the young man’s answer.

“Good to see you too, Miss Maureen.” He laughed, wrapping Natalia’s stepmother in a hug, the older woman’s head buried in Brian’s chest. “I hit a growth spurt between my
sophomore and junior years in high school. Eight inches in one summer.”

Maureen stepped back to survey him. “Eight inches! I don’t even think I would have recognized you. And how are your parents?”

“Doing great.” An older gentleman walked in and squeezed Brian’s shoulder.

“Brian Younger the older!” Jack bellowed.

“Pastor Brian, I have missed you.”

Pastor Brian walked toward Maureen and hugged her, whispering into her ear. When he pulled away, Maureen excused herself, dabbing at the tears in her eyes. The pastor looked apologetically at Jack.

“It takes time.” Jack sighed. “This hasn’t been easy.” He gazed over at Natalia. “But this beautiful young woman has certainly made it easier. This is my stepniece, Natalia. Natalia, these are the Brian Youngers. The old guy is our pastor and the young guy is trouble.”

She wasn’t sure what to make of that comment, and, thankfully, she didn’t have time to respond. The younger of the Youngers came and hugged Natalia in the same warm embrace he had given Maureen, bending down to be closer to eye level. Instinctively, Natalia kissed his right cheek and moved to kiss the other.

“Oh, I forgot! Americans don’t greet like we do. I’m sorry.”

“You can kiss me anytime you want to.” The younger man laughed, his face turning an adorable shade of pink. Natalia felt her stomach jump.
No, Natalia. Do not even think about him like that. No boys, remember?

“Excuse my son. Obviously, he’s starved for attention.
Growing up in a pastor’s home can do that to you. It’s nice to meet you, though. Jack and Carol have told us what a blessing you’ve been to our Maureen. To leave your family and your home to come be with your stepmother . . .” The pastor’s voice cracked and he cleared his throat. “Well, you’re already an example to us. We can’t wait to get to know you better.”

Maureen walked in, her eyes red. She smiled at the men and walked over to Natalia. “She is special.”

The room was silent for a moment, then Brian Younger the younger spoke up, breaking the ice. “Since you asked, I am eighteen and about to begin my senior year. My birthday is in May, and my parents decided to wait until I was six to start kindergarten because I was so little.”

Pastor Brian shook his head. “Always have to bring that up, don’t you, son?”

Brian smiled at his father. “I am currently working demolition, running the ESL program at church, and planning to go on a mission trip to Costa Rica in September. In general, I have turned out fantastically well—despite my upbringing.” He winked at his father. “And I’m sure I owe most of it to my elementary Sunday school teacher.”