“No.”
I watch his chest rise and fall as he processes. “Okay. I’ll trust you.”
Chapter Twenty-One
For the remainder of our trip to Santa Luz, we act as if the incident by the side of the road never happened. But neither of us has the same enthusiasm or excitement we held a few days ago. An hour outside of town, our conversation dries up and Fernando flips the radio on to fill the silence.
Lost in my thoughts, I replay some of the events from over the past few days. I think about the Alhambra, enjoying the orange ice cream in Seville, and finding out Dylan was engaged in Toledo. It’s amazing how a week can feel like a lifetime. So much has happened.
With each mile we pass and every city we visit, I’ve shed a little more of the old Ava. Regardless of how confused I am emotionally, I’m proud of myself for being able to hold everything together and know that while I’m hurting, I’m still helping out a friend.
Fernando exits the highway and turns onto a main road. There’s a long stretch of hotels and white sand beaches. I can see why this town is considered a hidden gem.
“Welcome to Santa Luz,” he says.
“It’s lovely.” I look out the window. Although it’s cloudy, there are plenty of people out and about. Some are dressed in bikinis ortrunks for swimming, while others are walking their dogs. But most people we drive past are in wet suits. “Is surfing a big thing around here?”
“Sí. This time of year, we have some of the larger waves in the area.”
“Huh, I never would’ve guessed that.”
Fernando maneuvers the car into the left lane and turns onto a narrow road. The cobblestones shake the car, reminding me of a series of speed bumps. Wild bushes stick out from the hills on his side of the vehicle. On my side are a series of compact sand-colored flat-fronted buildings.
He comes to a stop in front of a building with a sign labeled “Pequeña Casa de Luz” in gold and turquoise writing, and turns off the engine.
“This is it. My parents’ home,” he says tiredly.
“The little house of light?” I guess at the translation.
“Sí. They thought it would sound better than the Casa de Alvarez. It has about ten rooms.”
We step out of the car. I scrunch my nose. “Are they small rooms?” The building may be three stories tall, but unless the property extends out to the back, I have no idea how you’d squeeze ten rooms in.
“Hmm? Oh, they’re about the same size as what you might find back in America. The bed and breakfast is actually made up of three of these buildings. When Mamá and Papá renovated the place, they didn’t want to lose the character or the original features.”
“Oh, that makes more sense.”
He pops open the trunk and begins pulling out our luggage just as the front door swings open. “Ava! Fernando!” Mrs. Alvarez cries. “Welcome home. We’ve been waiting for you. You’re an hour later than we expected. Did you get stuck in traffic?”
Mrs. Alvarez is about my height, five-foot-six, and has curly hair that’s pulled back into an elegant updo. She has the same dark-brown eyes, hair, and skin coloring as her son.
“Something like that,” he responds. “Is Papá inside?”
“Sí, he’s watching football.” She rolls her eyes. “It’s the big match between Madrid and Barcelona.”
“I should’ve known.” Fernando snorts. “In other words, we won’t see him until the game is over.” Closing the trunk and turning to face me, he adds, “Papá’s team is Barcelona. We could have a volcanic eruption, and he still wouldn’t leave his office. Nothing else matters when a game is on.”
“Unfortunately.” His mother sighs. “I’m sorry he’s not out here to meet you in person, but I promise he’ll come and find you as soon as the game is over.”
“It’s okay. I understand. My brother-in-law is the same way when hockey is on. It’s like speaking to a wall.”
Fernando’s mom wraps an arm around my shoulder. “Please, come inside. And call me Mamà Alvarez. You must be famished. I have some fresh snacks and sangria waiting for you. Leave the bags for Fernando.”
I glance over my shoulder, but he shakes his head, mouthing,“Do as she says,”to me.
We enter the building. The ground floor is smaller than I imagined, but has a warm and inviting ambiance. A set of four windows, all made up of stained glass, flood the area with plenty of natural light. There’s a rich-red sofa and a quirky glass coffee table adorned with seashells and a small stack of magazines.
We continue through to an outdoor patio, where two other women are seated at a long rectangular table. I recognize them as Tía Yulia and Tía Maria. Yulia is the youngest sibling. She has shoulder-length blond hair, square glasses, and bright-green eyes. I wouldn’t know she was related to Mamá Alvarez if Fernando hadn’t told me.
