Page 11 of The Lost Guardian

“Yeah, I think I do,” he admitted, again remembering the letter.

You are the only one who can do what needs to be done.

The stories were true. You must believe.

He knew they were the words of an old man coming to grips with his mortality. But Santiago would be lying if he didn’t admit there was a small part of him that longed to do just that. To believe that the stories his grandfather had told him as a child were real. That somehow, he—Santiago Rios—was important. Special.

And even though that wasn’t the case, he still felt honor bound to fulfill his abuelo’s final request in whatever way he could.

“I do,” he repeated more confidently. “But it’s bad timing. With Silva leaving for Chile and the new project…” He rested his head in his hands. “I can’t just take time off. There wouldn’t be anyone left in the department.”

“Then just a few days,” she urged. “A long weekend. You’re allowed to have time off, you know. It’s bereavement!”

“It’s not that simple,” Santiago argued. “I’d have to fly to Lima, collect his ashes, and who knows how long that paperwork would take! Then I’d have to figure out a nice place to spread them—”

“‘Figure out a place’?” Brooke interrupted. “Didn’t your grandfather have a spot in mind?”

Santiago hesitated.

“What?” Brooke asked.

“He did…” Santiago hedged, wondering how much to disclose to his oldest and closest friend.

“Okay, so what’s the problem?”

“It’s just that…the place I know he would want to be laid to rest?” he recalled. “It doesn’t exist.”

The skin between Brooke’s brows scrunched. “What do you mean ‘doesn’t exist’?”

He hesitated. He knew that if anyone would understand, it would be Brooke, but the thought of explaining it to anyone, even her, felt daunting.

No, Santiago decided. There’s no point getting into all of it now.

“I mean that it doesn’t exist anymore,” he lied, twisting his grandfather’s necklace in his hand. “It, uh, was destroyed in an earthquake.”

A plausible excuse. Peru had lots of earthquakes.

“Oh,” Brooke answered, her face smoothing. “That sucks. But I’m sure you can find a lovely place that your abuelo would approve of.”

“Well, it wouldn’t be in the city, which means I’d probably have to hike somewhere remote, even bring some camping equipment…”

“Okay, Boy Scout,” Brooke interrupted him with an eye roll and salute. “Like you wouldn’t love that!”

“You know, most people consider Eagle Scout to be an accomplishment,” Santiago argued. “Like, a huge one.”

Brooke waved her hand dismissively.

“But you see my problem?” Santiago said. “I’d have to go find a place nice enough to spread Abuelo Manco’s ashes or his ghost would haunt me forever.”

“Santi, if you don’t go and lay him to rest, his ghost is going to haunt you forever anyway,” Brooke replied. “This is just another excuse for you to procrastinate.”

Santiago sighed. “Okay, okay. I’ll get time off for later this month,” he conceded.

“Promise?”

“Promise,” he said, halfway sure he meant it this time.

After that was decided, they poured one out for Abuelo Manco and Santiago ate his lukewarm meal. Jesus’s tacos were amazing at any temperature. With a belly full of bad wine and thankfully better food, he looked back on his day.