“So, will you be partaking in Carnival festivities since you’re here? Or go to the gala?” Martín asked, pulling me from my thoughts.
“No.”
“And definitely not going to the gala then?”
“Definitely not.” I felt myself smile. He obviously didn’t understand the feud between the families. Maybe he thought it was a legend, like the curse itself.
“That’s too bad. It’s the only time we can walk to and from the house,” he said, as if that was a huge selling point.
“I know. I just don’t know why anyone would risk being stuck there.” I raised an eyebrow at him. “You know what they say about that house.”
“I know, but aren’t you curious? Don’t you want to see what it’s like?”
“No.” It was a lie. I would give up my shiny white EF 800mm lens to walk those halls and see how it really was inside.
“You look like you would.” He eyed my attire. “Dressed in all black like that.”
We both reared forward, then back as the boat was parked and anchored. Martín was still waiting for my response. There were a million things I could say—I always wear all black, like Johnny Cash, like Batman—but I chose to go with the truth, one I hadn’t spoken aloud to anyone at all, so why not say it to a complete stranger?
“I’m here for a funeral. Or do you suppose I should wear a celebratory color to honor my own father’s death?”
Chapter Two
“The Devil is laughing tonight, but he laughs alone,” Don Jose said during his eulogy. “We will not succumb to his greed or be tarnished by his wrongdoings. Maximo Guzman was a good man, a great man. Gia Guzman is a great woman and needs our help and prayers now more than ever. May we lift her up in the light so that she will come back to us.” He bowed out and walked back to his seat at the front of the church. Both women and men muttered their prayers in agreement and wiped their faces.
I stood in the back of the room, with my head bowed, thinking about how much I hated funerals. I hated the condolences that came with the side hugs, shoulder pats, and the eulogies that spoke of everyone being so perfect, when most people sitting in the room knew otherwise. We were all fallible. We were never all good, despite how much we tried to be, or all bad, despite what others said about us. I wished this entire thing wasn’t so hypocritical. Maximo Guzman was a good, great man. Sure, he’d turned his back on his own daughter when she was just a kid. No one had anything to say about that? No one cared about the fact that I’d had to couch surf and pay my own way through photography school all the while my parents were sitting in their golden mansion surrounded by yes-people and praying to false prophets? It angered me to think about, so I tried to push it away, but it was no use, the anger simmered. Instead of walking toward the open casket, I walked outside, shutting my coat tightly around myself as I pushed through the cold breeze.
“Hey.” My best friend Dee’s voice made me glance up. She flicked her cigarette away and blew out smoke. “I’ve been looking for you.”
“Before or during your cigarette break?”
“You know I hate funerals.” She walked over and wrapped her arms around me.
“Where’s Law?” I asked.
“He’s around.” She pulled away. “He had to leave. He and his girlfriend got into a huge argument.”
“Huh. Did you get to meet her?”
“No, she was too spooked by the island to even come out for drinks last night.” Dee smiled, shaking her head. “Her loss.”
“Yeah. Her loss.” I smiled back. “Speaking of drinks . . . ”
“Yeah, let’s go to Dolly’s. I’m sure she’ll be happy to see you and serve you until you get so drunk you won’t even remember this awful time.”
“I doubt anything can make me forget this.” I linked my arm around hers.
“How was the ride over? I’m not going to lie, I can’t believe you took that shitty bus.” She smiled as we walked, the gravel beneath us crunching underneath our boots.
“It was fine. I mean, it had four wheels and brought me over. It was safer than the alternative.”
“I’m sorry.” She groaned. “Have you been to visit your mom yet?”
“Not yet. I’m not sure that I’m ready to see her.”
The truth was, I wasn’t even ready to be back here at all. My parents had been in a freak accident when their seaplane went down. By all accounts it had been a clear day, which wasn’t uncommon in the summer. Those who saw the plane go down assumed it would be fine, as it was already landing and grazing the water, and then everything went wrong. The clouds turned black, the fog lifted out seemingly of the ocean, and lightning struck. An awful combination that sounded more like something from a Hollywood movie than real life, but it was, and there was enough video evidence being sent all around the world for anyone to question the story’s validity. Ever since the accident my mother had been flowing in and out of consciousness, at home, with nurses watching her twenty-four-seven, and my father suffered a heart attack as he was being pulled out of the plane. None of it made any sense, but here we were.