The food our group had ordered arrived, along with another round of beers. Paulo stood, holding up his drink and speaking in Portuguese.
Kiri interpreted for him. “He says that he and his sister thank us. Their parents cannot begin to express the gratitude they feel for what we’ve done to make their family whole again.”
I choked up as I looked around and realized that it had taken all of us, along with the DEA, Detective Kass, the SFPD and its SWAT team to pull off the raid.
I asked Kiri if she had heard anything more about Francisco Santos. “Is he being charged with any crime?”
“No. But his parents are keeping him on a short leash.” She grinned. “From what I hear, he’s a decent kid. Almost too innocent for his own good. That’s how he and Liliana got themselves caught in the middle of our mission.”
“What about Liliana?” I asked. “Do you think she’s learned her lesson?”
“Probably.” Kiri smiled. “Her parents have threatened to send her to a convent school on the Portuguese mainland if she steps out of line again.”
“That should do it,” I said. “Considering how much she cares about fashion and designer clothing, the thought of wearing a convent uniform for the next three years would scare her straight faster than the threat of another abduction.”
“What about the other girl?” I asked. “Did you find her parents?”
“Unfortunately, no,” Kiri said. “It turns out she was orphaned and homeless. The good news is we were able to place her with a Cuban-American foster family in Miami. I hear she and Liliana promised to stay in touch.”
“Here’s to happy endings.” Nick raised his beer. We all joined in the toast.
With evening coming on, the members of our party broke up to head their separate ways. Nick and I had decided to get an early start the next morning, taking the ferry to Madalena. We were finally going to have our chance to hike to the summit of Mt. Pico.
Outside Pete’s Café, Nick took my hand. “Want to walk the marina before we go back to your parents’ house?”
“Sure.”
Holding hands and walking with Nick had never seemed as special as it did that evening.
The air was comfortably cool, with the sun riding low in the west, about to dip into the sea. As we walked along, enjoying the tinkling music of riggings moving in the breeze, I noticed a young couple strolling toward us. The woman wore a baby carrier on her chest like the one I’d seen on the mother back in Marin County.
Their lively child was obviously a little girl, decked out in a pink fleece jacket and a matching knit beanie with a fluffy pom-pom on top. As the family came near, the baby’s joyful, bubbling laugh set dimples dancing on her rosy cheeks.
After they passed by, I flashed back to the evening in Boston when James O’Brien had asked if I was thinking of starting a family. I had told him Nick and I were taking our time. Then I recalled how delighted Nick was several months ago when his nephew was born and he was asked to be the baby’s godfather. I wondered then how he would react to having a child of his own.
Back to the present, I turned toward Nick. “Did you see the dimples on that baby?”
“What baby?” he said.
“With the couple who just passed by.”
We both turned, glancing behind us. The little family had disappeared from sight.
“I guess I missed it,” Nick said.
Why had I taken such notice of that little family? And of the other couple I’d seen walking the dock back in Marin County with their baby? And why the dream about carrying a child of my own? Was it because of James O’Brien’s offhand comment back in Boston? Sooner or later, Nick and I would have to talk.
I thought about his dangerous work, and about the risks he and I had faced in the past, not just during Liliana’s rescue. Nick’s recent revelations about the intrigue and danger involved in his work for Buck Sawyer cast the idea of raising a family in a stark and troublesome light. Considering the trouble we had been getting ourselves into, what kind of parents would we make?
Nick’s next comment interrupted my thoughts. “There are no babies in sight now. Are you sure about what you saw?”
“Of course. They passed by just a few minutes ago.” I turned in a full circle but still saw no sign of the family.
He stopped my spinning, put an arm around my shoulder, and kissed my forehead. “Aimee, you seem a little worked up. Is something bothering you?”
“Maybe, but I don’t know if we’re ready to talk about it.”
A light dawned in Nick’s eyes. “Ah, babies. That’s it, isn’t it? Your clock is ticking.”
“Come on, my clock will still be ticking ten years from now, but remember your reaction when I told you about Kiri’s concealed weapon? Right away, you thought she was pregnant. Somehow that must have stuck in my mind. It got me thinking about whether people who go around carrying concealed weapons are parent material. Maybe that’s why I’ve been seeing babies everywhere. I even dreamed ….”
Nick took my hand and led me to one of the marina’s concrete benches. “Let’s sit. I’m thinking this could take a while.” I let him pull me toward the bench and a conversation that might scuttle our second attempt at a romantic island vacation.
The sun had dipped into the sea, cloaking us in azure shadows deepening toward indigo. Light fixtures placed low at intervals along the marina cast muted pools of illumination along the walkway. In the tranquil semi-darkness, water licked against the hulls of nearby yachts moored in their slips, while their riggings danced to the rhythm of the tide.
Nick took my hand and broke the silence between us. “Ready to tell me what’s on your mind?”
“I might as well, since you’ve already put the subject on the table.” A waft of chilly air passed over me, causing an involuntary shudder.
“Hey,” Nick chuckled, “was that your gut reaction to the idea of motherhood?”
“No, but you have to admit the topic of having children seems to be the elephant in the room.”
“Or in our case, maybe the whale on the dock,” Nick said. “We’re in the middle of an ocean, so we might as well go with seafaring metaphors.”
That earned him a laugh and lightened the moment. “Okay,” I said, “but to extend the metaphor, we need to decide whether that whale could turn out to be Moby Dick.”
“Wait. You’re worrying that a talk about kids could sink us?”
“That’s just it. We’ve never discussed our future, and now that I know what your job entails—the dangers and intrigues—it’s started me thinking. Maybe you don’t see yourself in the role of family man.” I shivered again, this time from the emotion of the moment.
“Let’s put that aside for a moment.” Nick snuggled closer and put his arm around my shoulder. “Better?” I nodded. “Then tell me, if you had kids, what kind of parents would you want them to have?”
“I’d want them to have parents like my own. Loving, kind, honest, courageous. Parents who have the special kind of love and courage it takes to marry as an interracial couple.”
“We have that covered,” Nick said. “What else?”
“I’d want us to teach them to look beyond their own egos and desires and find ways to improve the lives of others.”
“You work in a hospital; I work for a foundation that battles the illegal drug trade. I think we’ve got that covered, too.”
“We have it all covered, Nick, except for the whale on the dock.” I took his arm from my shoulders, turned toward him and linked my hands with his. “I want my kids to grow up with two parents who are alive and safe and well. How do we guarantee them that?”
Nick pulled me into an embrace. “How can any parents guarantee that?” He kissed my forehead. “And speaking of your parents, last month when I went sailing with your dad, he quoted his favorite saying about sailing. Want to hear it?”
“I know the one you mean. A ship is safe in harbor, but that’s not what ships are for.”
“There you go,” Nick said. “No guarantees. If having a family is in our future, I expect that there will still be occasions when either or both of us will have to leave the harbor. That’s the best I can offer.” He didn’t say take it or leave it, and I didn’t want him to.
“You’re right, of course. I know there are no guarantees. Anyone who works in a hospital realizes that.”
“So are we okay for now?” Nick said. “Is our ship still afloat?”
“We’re okay.” I leaned into his physical warmth, treasuring it. “I’m glad we talked.”
“So am I, but we need to get off this metaphorical ship and onto dry land. We have a big day tomorrow on Pico. What do you say we turn in a little early?”
“We might as well,” I said. “We do have that mountain to climb.”
* * *
Photo courtesy of Lowell Martinson
Sharon St. George had the good fortune to spend an idyllic childhood in a small Northern California town, riding horseback and camping with her family in the nearby mountains. One of her favorite pastimes was reading fiction, and a trip to the library was always an occasion of great joy. She’s traded horses for llamas, but she still treks to the high mountain lakes near her home—always with a mystery novel in her backpack.
Sharon’s writing credits include three plays, several years writing advertising copy, a book on NASA’s space food project, and feature stories too numerous to count. She holds dual degrees in English and Theatre Arts, and occasionally acts in, or directs, one of her local community theater productions. Spine Damage is her fourth novel and the fourth book in the Aimee Machado mystery series, which began with Due for Discard and continued with Checked Out and Breach of Ethics. Book 5, Primary Source, will be released in 2018.
Sharon is a member of Sisters in Crime and Mystery Writers of America, and she serves as program director for Writers Forum, a nonprofit organization for writers in Northern California.
For more information, go to www.sharonstgeorge.com.