Her eyes snap back to me.
“Or we could just work in gestures. I can ask yes or no questions, and you simply nod or shake your head?”
A slow, sly smile appears on her lips as though she’s well aware of what I’m trying.
I match it with one of my own. “We both know it isn’t your commitment to the faith that has you keeping silent. Which tells me more than you think.”
Her smile falters a bit and she diverts her attention back to the beach, hiding behind her glass of sangria.
Julio comes back to inquire about food, and I order a few of my favorites from the menu.
While we wait, I decide a bit of stream of consciousness musing might help move things along. Before I begin, I grab the pitcher and fill her half-empty glass. Thankfully, she seems to have a taste for the sangria.
“So,” I begin, settling back in my chair as I watch her closely for any facial or bodily clues, “An American, at a Spanish convent. You at least know a bit of Spanish. I’ll take an educated guess and assume you’re from somewhere along the southern border states in the west? Or maybe New York or Florida, based on what I know about the country.”
She just takes a sip of her sangria, now focused on the beach with hard determination.
“I know there are more than enough convents in that country you could have taken advantage of, which means Santa María was chosen for a reason. All the more so considering its isolated location. Perfect if you don’t want to be found.”
I think back twenty years to when my mother brought me to that very island to escape Richard Coleman. I have only a vague idea of what happened when she left me, but to her credit, she did do a good job of picking the location. My biological father never found me.
But right now, I’m more focused on the way Diabla takes another sip of her sangria.
I’ve found her tell.
Biting back the smirk I feel itching to come to my face, I continue on.
“Your clothing tells me you aren’t yet a nun, all the more so since I found you without them on.”
Her eyes flash to me, filled with angry irritation.
“Even a soon-to-be-nun knows better than to go swimming naked where any man passing by could find her. Then again,” I pause for effect, “not many people know about that lagoon. As far as I know, there’s only one way there from the convent. Which means you’re an adventurer, certainly more than some on the island. That’s if they could even fit into that narrow opening and last long enough to make it through the other side.”
I feel a smile tug at my lips as I think about one in particular who once conjured up images of Winnie the Pooh.
The tiny hitch in her smile tells me she might be thinking about the same nun, imagining her trying to work her way through that narrow cave.
“Sister Ana comes to mind.” I still remember her slapping the back of my head over something when I was five.
A small giggle gurgles up from Diabla’s throat and she brings a hand up to silence it, her eyes wide with guilt.
“I’m guessing she’s still around, and her sour attitude hasn’t changed over the years.”
Her brow lifts in mild acknowledgment and a hint of a smile touches her lips as she takes another sip.
I chuckle and take a sip of my own.
I’ve been back to the convent only a handful of times since being adopted. This was mostly to visit Sister Clara during that phase as a young adult when I was conflicted about my identity. That was also the period when I learned the truth about my adoptive parents.
“So what are you hiding from, Diabla?”
She swallows hard and brings the glass down, giving me a hard look.
“You don’t need to deny that one. It’s obvious. I just think it’s fair for me to know what kind of danger I’m putting myself in front of, being your gracious host and all.”
She tilts her head and gives me a pointed look, as though to inform me that there’s an easy solution to that.
I laugh and lift my glass toward her. “I think not, señorita.”
She rolls her eyes and looks out toward the beach.
Julio comes back with our food, and now there’s something far more appealing to attract her hungry eyes. I give her first dibs, being that I had a little something to nibble on earlier with Ulrich.
I smile with amusement as she tests everything.
She takes almost all of the patas bravas, a simple dish of cubed potatoes with cream sauce drizzled on top.
The pulpo a la brasa, grilled octopus, she takes one look at and passes on.
She favors the albondigas morunos, lamb meatballs in couscous, taking more than half.
The queso de cabra horneado, goat cheese and pear chutney with toasted baguettes, she devours.
I’m going to have to order another round of most of this, which is fine. I love a woman who enjoys food as much as I do, especially that from my adoptive country, which I’ve grown to love.
It’s like watching a kid exploring some new-fangled toy store, excitedly trying out this and that to determine what they will and won’t enjoy.
It’s refreshing to watch.
Chapter Fourteen Leira
I take another bite of the slice of baguette I’ve just spread cheese on. It’s delicious, all the more so considering how ravenous I am.
How are there not more tapas restaurants in Los Angeles? Not that Dad would have let me venture to any, at least not without one of his goons accompanying me.
Ricardo isn’t eating, just sitting there watching with a bemused smile on his face. That’s fine. More food for me. Save for the octopus, I’ll eat everything laid out before us.
Let him watch.
I sip some more sangria in between bites. That’s another thing I’ve discovered I have a taste for. It’s definitely
