23

THE LIMO PULLED up to the gates of a two-story apartment complex. There was a uniformed guard stationed out front in a little booth, and our driver needed to get a parking pass from him to enter.

“See that guard? It’s his job to keep the wrong people out,” said Uncle Ramon.

Even when Papi was the most famous baseball player in Cuba, anybody could walk up to our door and knock.

“The wrong people?” I asked. “You mean, like busboys and factory workers?”

“No, I mean autograph hounds and favor seekers,” he emphasized. “The salary ballplayers get paid in the States makes it so they won’t leave you alone.”

Inside the complex, there were six buildings laid out in a circle, with manicured lawns, shrubs, and palm trees in between.

“Look in the middle—there’s a huge swimming pool with a twisting slide,” said Luis. “And all of those lounge chairs. That must be where the honeys go sunbathing in bikinis. Maybe even topless.”

We slowly rolled up to building number four. I could see Mr. Oliva standing in the glow of our headlights, his red tie still knotted tight.

Getting out of the limo, Luis asked him, “Is this the apartment where El Fuego lives?”

Mr. Oliva put a finger to his lips and murmured, “Please, keep your voices low. It’s close to four in the morning. The people on the ground floor are probably sleeping. We’re upstairs. Follow me.”

So we did. The keys in Mr. Oliva’s hand looked shiny and new as he opened a trio of locks on the heavy wooden door.

We walked into the living room, which was connected to a large open kitchen on one end and an outdoor balcony overlooking the lighted pool on the other. The apartment was spotless and the air was a little musty, as if no one had been living there for a while.

“Are we staying here for a few days?” asked Uncle Ramon.

“No, this is your new home,” answered Mr. Oliva, handing him the one set of keys. “It was rented once the plan to defect became a reality. That’s how much faith Mr. Ramirez had that you’d make it.”

“How big is this place?” asked Luis, beginning to explore.

“There are three bedrooms—for Ramon, Luis, and Julio,” Mr. Oliva continued. “Gabriel, of course you’re welcome to stay until your business with Mr. Ramirez is complete.”

Uncle Ramon and I exchanged glances. We didn’t need any words. We both quickly understood that Papi didn’t want me in his house.

“So where does my uncle live?” asked Luis.

“Mr. Ramirez owns a modest home in South Beach,” answered Mr. Oliva.

“Modest, in South Beach?” questioned Luis. “I heard that place is packed with mansions.”

But Mr. Oliva started toward the front door and said, “I’ll call tomorrow to see if you need anything. There are boxes of new clothes in the bedrooms. I hope they fit. There’s lots of Marlins gear, too.”

At that moment, I couldn’t see myself wearing a Marlins shirt.

Standing just on the other side of the door, Mr. Oliva turned around. He finally loosened his collar and tie, and then said, “I know this hasn’t exactly been a family reunion so far, especially for young Julio. I’m sure that in the coming days, you’ll find the connection you’re looking for. For heaven’s sake, the World Series is on the line.”

Maybe that was as personal as somebody’s lawyer could get. After all, we weren’t his family. He was just paid by Papi to do a job. But his speech didn’t change the way I was feeling.

Then Mr. Oliva left, along with the limo outside.

I turned to Gabriel and said, “Why don’t you take one of the bedrooms? I’ll sleep on the couch. I’m used to it.”

“No, that’s not my place here,” he said.

I opened the sliding glass door to let in some fresh air. Then I walked out onto the balcony overlooking the pool. I rested both hands on the iron railing, staring at the little cuts and ripples on the surface of the light-blue water.

“Quite a change from twenty-four hours ago,” said Uncle Ramon, walking out behind me.

“There are waves out there,” I said, trying to see through to the bottom of the pool. “How’s that possible? There are no currents or winds. No kids splashing.”

“Maybe it’s the pull of the moon, or the way it just has to be,” he answered. “Listen, Julio, my brother is a man of family, ever since we were young. I know the last six years have been hard on you. But remember, he’s the reason we’re standing here.”

“The reason I’m standing here is freedom,” I said.

“That’s only partly true,” said my uncle. “Now you have to deal with the rest of it. And there’s going to be no easy road.”

Luis walked out onto the balcony. He was wearing a Marlins home jersey with the tags still hanging from it, along with a huge smile. I figured we were about to hear all his plans for tomorrow—for turning Miami into his personal playground, before anyone got the bright idea of sending us back to school.

I was surprised when he called Gabriel to join us, and then said, “Before we left Cuba, we prayed on the beach to make it here alive. Now that those prayers have been answered, I think we should give thanks.”

We all bowed our heads in silence. But what jumped into my mind was the thought of my half brother. I didn’t know him or his name. But I was positive he followed Papi around the way I used to—like he was some kind of superhero. So after giving thanks, I prayed the kid would never lose faith in Papi the way I had, even if I was going to be jealous of that.

After everyone else was gone, I stood on the balcony a while longer, watching those little waves in the pool. I decided that I really didn’t care how they got there. That if I wanted things smooth I would have sat in my bathtub back in Cuba, instead of crossing the ocean in a ’59 Buick.

By the time I went back inside, Luis and Uncle Ramon had claimed their bedrooms. Walking into the remaining one, I saw the huge bed, dresser, boxes of clothes, and private bathroom. Right away, I thought how Lola would die for a bedroom like this. And if we were still living in the same house, how I’d do anything for Lola to have a bathroom of her own. That way I could actually get some time on the toilet.

But deep down, I knew it was more than that. The truth was that I was going to miss being her big brother every day. Because even when she was a royal pain in my behind, she was still my sister—someone I’d shared losing Papi with.

I got into the bed, but I just couldn’t get comfortable. Despite being bone tired, I kept tossing and turning. Then I remembered what I’d said to Gabriel about someone else making your bed. So I got up and pulled the blankets down to the hardwood floor. And that’s where I slept.