She releases her arms from the doorway and inches toward me. Crossing her arms again, she squints her eyes as she tries to piece together what I am telling her. “What do you mean, gone?” she presses.
“I saw a man I did not recognize just watching Leo and me from outside the tattoo shop. It was the strangest thing. He was just standing there, smoking, as if he were waiting for us to leave. Then, he was gone. It’s like he just disappeared,” I reply, feeling defeated at how pointless even mentioning this now feels.
Rose pauses a minute. Her bun bobs again as she tilts her head, as if she is working through a difficult equation in her mind. “What tattoo parlor did you two go to?” she asks with an intensity that makes me feel as though I am being interrogated, instead of trying to figure out what happened.
“Umm, Oogie’s over on Market Street. Why?”
She mumbles something under her breath in Spanish. I wish I could make out what she was saying. Despite Spanish being Mama’s first language, she never taught me. The only Spanish I know is what I learned in school, which I had trouble absorbing.
Rose remains quiet, her eyes beginning to well with tears. She is around the age Mama would be now if she were alive and always looked so youthful for her age. Yet, now, with the sadness seeping all over her face, her smooth forty-something-year-old olive skin looks instantly haggard.
“I was hoping that we’d beat him to it, or that he would forget,” she says, with a small tear streaming down her face.
“Forget what?” I press, waiting for her to answer me. Again, Rose is deep in thought now with tears streaming down her face. She takes a deep breath as I stand there, waiting in vomit-inducing anticipation, for whatever she needs to tell me. She finally wipes away the tears dripping down her cheek and looks at me with puffy, grief-stricken eyes.
“Did your Mama ever tell you the legend of Alida and Taroo? It was a popular myth ourabuelasused to tell us as children in Puerto Rico.”
How ironic. This is the second time in less than twenty-four hours someone mentions the same legend to me. First Eddie, and now Rose.
“No, she didn’t, but Eddie, the tattoo artist mentioned it yesterday. His wife is from the island, and she painted a beautiful piece inspired by the legend. He had it hanging in the shop.” I shake my head, trying to figure out how this story has anything to do with where Leo is. “I’m sorry, but what does this have to do with Leo?”
“Do you believe in soulmates?” Rose asks, going over my question.
“I guess?”
“You know, your Mama and I were raised hearing that the concept of soulmates was for fools. We were raised to believe that who we end up with is determined by God. But the story of Alida and Taroo, the hummingbird meeting its vibrant flower, that is a story that gives even the most pessimistic or questioning souls hope. Whether you believe in God or our island’s myths, it is important to ground yourself in what feels right to you, Sienna. Do you understand?”
“I guess so,” I lie. I’m still trying to understand what is happening. So, the philosophical lesson in soulmates and faith is quite literally soaring above my comprehension.
“Good,” Rose says as she reaches into the front pocket of her robe. She takes out a crumpled piece of paper. Before she hands it to me, I catch a glimpse of the sepia card stock and my heart sinks. It’s the poem Leo read at the cemetery—my poem that inspired our tattoos.
Suddenly, I feel grief wash over me. An unsettling feeling, considering I still don’t know what has happened, but I know whatever it is, it’s beyond my comprehension right now.
She outstretches her hand with the crumpled paper. “Here, Sienna. He would have wanted you to have this.”
“He gave this to you?” I ask, taking it from her hand.
“No, it was left in his room,” she replies.
I look at the poem, wanting to burst out in tears once more. This makes no sense. I don’t even know how I should feel. Should I be angry or sad? Worried? Did he leave me? Did something happen to him? Rose clearly knows a lot more than she is telling me. I want to shake her, yell at her, but I don’t. Whatever she knows, she isn’t telling me for a reason.
“You must promise me that you won’t go looking for him,” she warns.
“Where is he?”
“Just remember, the soul lives on. It may take different forms or avenues than you expect, but what the heart wants, you must allow the heart to get.”
“Where is he?” I ask again, ignoring her poetic spiel. Ordinarily, such poignant words would soothe me, but at this moment, they are only digging a knife into my heart, making me feel a pain I didn’t think I was capable of. Not even Mama and Papa’s death left such a hole in my heart as the possibility of losing Leo forever is doing to me right now.
“You need to trust me. Go, now,” she says again, looking around nervously.
“But Rose—”
“Go, now!” she repeats.
“What happened to him? Where is Leo?” I burst into tears.
“You know more than anyone, given the circles that your father conducted business in, that when a debt is owed, collection is inevitable.”
