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“It’s a small town, Francisco.” She sighed and turned to face me. But she was smiling, her expression shiny with something I couldn’t quite place. Hopefully levity.
“I didn’t say anything,” I said, a loud laugh leaving my mouth, echoing slightly in the valley below us. “I just find it amusing that, quite literally, in the middle of?—”
“I know,” she blurted. “I guess they didn’t have much to do when they named these peaks, right?” She turned to her right, focusing on a small clearing close by on the side of the mountain. “See right there?” She lifted her hand and pointed her finger towards that location. “It’s called Eagle’s Nest.” She smiled. “Ask me how many eagles I’ve seen in my lifetime.”
She laughed. This time, her smile finally reached her eyes.
“¿Ves?”I said. See? “Tengo razón.”
“There’re people in this town who have never, ever left. Not even to go to the small city that is less than an hour down the mountain. I’m not talking about Buenos Aires, you know?” She sighed.
From what I could tell from my conversations with herbrother when we worked together in Buenos Aires, all of their siblings had moved to the city for their education. Her brothers had chosen to go straight to law school, following in their father’s and grandfather’s paths. But she went to med school, obviously. It wasn’t clear to me why she had chosen a different career, especially if her family had a long and successful legacy in what they all did. Her father and grandfather were really respected family attorneys in the area, and her sister-in-law had joined them too. She didn’t owe me any type of explanation, of course, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t curious.
“Why—”
“I don’t get it,” she interrupted my question. I wanted to know more. She raised her eyebrows at me in response, urging me on with my question. But at my silence, she kept going. “Why would you not at least go andseewhat is out there?”
“Well.” I turned to face her. The sun was slowly inching up beyond the mountain peaks, coloring the tops of the trees in a bright orange that I hadn’t seen in years. “I guess it could be said the same of people who never leave the city.” She looked at me, her eyes studious over my face. “I’m partially guilty of that myself.”
I smiled, even though the reasons for that statement were not worthy of happy memories. Jazmín was born when I was in my early teens, and everything after that was chaotic for me. For my family.
My upbringing was already nontraditional, the son of avery prominent political figure. I never had structure, being carted around from event to event. Missing out on school because of my family’s obligations. And then when my sister was born, everything for me just… stopped. I stopped going out in public except to go to school and back. My parents fought a lot. Things in the house were tense.
“It’s the first time I've been to this province.” I shrugged. “To any of the provinces, really.”
“You’re lucky, then,” she drawled, cocking her head to the side. Her eyes roamed my body for a fraction of a second, and then she turned her body to look out onto the large valley behind her, bright blue sky engulfing her frame. “It’s the best province.”
“Yeah,” I agreed.
“And the best time of the year too.” I took two steps and stood next to her at the edge of the trail. Voices got louder and louder behind us, and the sound of gravel under shoes lingered in the air. “Ready to head back?”
“Yeah.”
Her so-called run ended up being a leisurely and quiet stroll through the trails that wrapped around her small town. By the time we made it back to the town square, the sun was burning hot high in the sky, and the townspeople and tourists were out and about, moving in practiced motions through the streets. Lucía took a deep breath once we reached her brother’s hotel, her eyes looking straight ahead in the direction of her parents’ house. It was the first day of the year, and it felt exactly like it. People weremoving about in fast, hurried movements with a sense of urgency, like their resolutions started right then and there, and if they didn’t hustle, they would catch up to them.
The polar opposite of what our morning had been. There was a sense of intimacy to what had just happened, like we knew each other.
Because we did. But so many years had passed that maybe, definitely, we didn’t know the next thing about each other.
“I love the smell of this town in the summer.”
I laughed in response because of all the things she could have said after those moments of silence, this was what she came up with. “What do you mean?” I chuckled, waiting for her response.
She smiled, the movement making her features light up with eagerness. She took a deep breath, then exhaled dramatically, smiling and rolling her eyes at me. “The smell of the flowers is addicting.”
Huh. “I don’t think I’ve ever paid any attention to the smell.”
She shrugged. “It’s my favorite thing ever.”
She kept walking, and I trailed behind, following every single one of her movements. Paying closer attention to the things she had mentioned during our walk. The smells, the sounds, the colors. Anchoring me to the town.
“Hey,” I whispered, reaching out to grab her elbow. She looked over her shoulder at me, her arms relaxed at her sides. Her skin was flushed from the heat andthe long walk, and a few tendrils of her hair were sticking to the side of her face, damp with sweat.
“Mm-hmm,” she answered.
I stopped. “I…” I ran my fingers through my hair. “I wanted to say thank you for last night.” Her eyes widened in response, a kind smile on her lips.
“No problem,” she said, lifting one shoulder almost dismissively. I hoped she was doing it for my own good, to spare me the embarrassment of the whole thing. Of a grown man being afraid of the dark.
