He chuckles. “Really, and that’s why you’re sitting here with me and not cleaning cabin ten?”
“It’s break time.” I point at the cup of coffee beside his diary. “You told me to drink water at regular intervals. I’m sitting and sipping.” The bottleneck tips to my lips and a bite of icy Evian kicks my brain. “So . . .” I screw the lid back on. “You have a sister?”
Sal sets his pen down and interlocks his fingers. “I do. And how would you know that?”
“He, who I’d rather not mention, told me about her.”
His forehead scrunches, and he makes a weird noise from his throat. “El Fantasma told you about Carina? When?”
“After Bruce’s funeral. I saw them together . . . well, not together, not like that.” My insides squeeze. “He was leading her in this direction. To the medical facility.”
“Okay . . . he told you about her?” Sal cocks a skeptical brow. “He doesn’t speak about her to anyone, other than me. In fact, he rarely talks to people, period. What exactly did he say?”
“He mentioned her birthmark and how Jackson removed it.”
Sal blows out his lips and throws his hands behind his head, stretching back in his seat. “Holy fuck, Iris? Why did he tell you that?”
“I only asked who she was,” I say without commitment.
“I’m shocked. I didn't know you guys were on speaking terms. I thought you hated him?”
“We aren’t . . . and I do. We haven't spoken since then.” I’m not lying. The hatred still festers like an open wound. The attraction still seethes under the surface like an active volcano. “Enough about him. Why don’t you talk about your family? You know about Emmie, my parents’ late-in-life miracle baby, and I had to learn about your sister from someone else.” I’m craving information, details, a mental escape.
“I don’t bring them up in conversation because I know how much you miss home.”
Technically, I don't miss home. I miss my family: their welcoming hugs, silly stories, and the sense of belonging. I’ve grown to appreciate my new surroundings now that he’s given me permission to wander and record my findings. It's both a distraction and a source of mental sustenance.
“I get homesick, but I’d like to hear about life outside of the oasis. To remind me it's still there. Sometimes I think this place is like the Bermuda Triangle. Like a time blip, and when I finally make it out, everything will be exactly as it was, as if a second has only passed. Bruce will be alive, and Emmie will reveal another kooky game she played at summer camp.”
“Carina didn’t have much of a childhood. She seldom played with the other kids because she was too self-conscious. We couldn’t afford the corrective surgery. I was working two jobs to save up for it. Then el Fantasma gave me a job here. The healthy salary meant I could quit the other two jobs. Even at that, it would have taken me years to get anywhere close to the medical fees.” Thoughtful eyes drill into his fingers. “Once he found out about Carina, he took over, and Jackson completed the surgery within weeks. El Fantasma offered to help and wouldn’t take any money from us.”
The toothed puzzle pieces fit together when Sal’s lips press together, and he gazes at me with a sheen of gratitude. He’s loyal to the man who gave his sister a life. His mood simmers to somber, and he clears his throat. “We’ve got a shit ton of work to get through if you’d like the afternoon off.”
“Have you ever played trust fall?”
He lowers his lashes to the pages, pretending to study the roster. “I’m not good with heights. Getting in a helicopter is a huge deal.”
“Stand up. Come on. Emmie loves this one,” I encourage him with a wave of my hand. “Indulge me just this once.”
Raising a brow, he wheels out from under the desk. “It’s a kid’s game? My sister is eighteen, Iris. Those days have long passed.” He smirks.
I ignore his reluctance and grab both of his wrists. “Put your arms over your chest and let your palms rest on opposite shoulders. Then turn around.”
“Is this the part when you pull my trousers to my knees and push me, so I hit the floor with my ass in the air?”
Without thinking, a giggle fizzes in my heavy chest cavity and casts a lighter, carefree energy into the state-of-the-art medical facility. “Sal, it’s supposed to be fun. I’m not a bully.”
I laugh again when he clutches his belt and pretends to hold up his pants. “I’m not sure I like this game.”
“Humor me, Sal. I’ll keep my hands to myself and hold back from dragging down your trousers. As hard as that might be,” I joke.
“That definitely won’t happen, beija flor.”
I freeze. Sal spins around, facing me, but keeps his startled gaze past my shoulder. “Sir.” His crossed arms drop to his sides, and his spine goes stiff. “Do you need help with something?”
A glut of uncertain tingles race over my scalp and numb my fingertips. I take a breath and fight the instinct to greet Dante with a wide smile. As I turn around, bulky arms cross over a khaki T-shirt. “What’s going on?” His lips contort as if he’s quashing a barrage of verbal abuse. “You’re supposed to be working,” he snaps.
I shiver as Sal rushes behind the desk. “Sorry. We were having a five-minute break. It’s my fault, sir.”
