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The words to send him away were on the tip of my tongue, but I hesitated. Music would’ve been nice, especially since there was nothing else to do. I forced a tight smile. “Si. Muy amable, joven.” As soon as I said the words, I wondered if his niceness was a carefully curated mask due to his training.
The smile fell from my face.
Discerning whether or not a person was being genuine would be impossibly hard—for the rest of my life.
Oblivious to the gut punch stealing my breath, the young man smiled, and nodded his head before walking back to a room I hadn’t noticed yet.
Unwilling to dive into reflective pools of hell within my mind, I continued on the brick path that led out to the trees. The air was astringent with the citrusy smell of orange peels. Orange trees weren’t very tall, and several of them had a decorative bush sheared into a ring around the tree trunk. Scores of leaves were tinged yellow and orange to compliment the changing season.
I looked at the white and ochre tones painted across the house which were accented by dark brown wood and allowed myself, for the first time, to appreciate the beauty. Rosa de Oro wasn’t bedizened with dazzling surfaces, but it was needlessly bejeweled in other ways. It was like a tarnished gold surface, scratched and barely glowing.
For some reason, I found it endearing.
On the opposite side of the field, there was a wall of taller, thicker trees that separated my view from the world around us. The ocean was near, mixing in with the citrus of the air, but thankfully the waves weren’t close enough to frighten me. It would be easy to get lost in this place.
Scraping sounds came from behind me, and I glanced over my shoulder to see two young men moving a table with the large music player on top.
One of them pressed buttons on the front of the speaker, and, a few clicks later, a lovely sound poured out of the large cone. I smiled. This was not flamenco music, but the melody was dramatic and rich. The young men hadn’t lied about the music washing over the orchard in an unexpectedly resonant way. The space between the rows was dirt, but the ground was packed hard enough that it was easy to walk through.
The early afternoon sun had already come high in the sky, and I bathed in its light. The more time I spent outside, breathing in that rich scent, the better I felt. The paths were long enough to require a good ten minutes each way. I took my time weaving in and out of the space, sometimes reaching out to graze a hand over the soft leaves or smell the fresh air.
The awkward loneliness from breakfast slowly melted away, drop by drop, to the tune of “La Vida Bella.” I even found myself spinning down the walkways, and skirting around the turns at the end. The clothes that I was wearing continued to be incredibly comfortable.
Though the sun was warm, the cool breeze still kept me from getting sweaty.
I must’ve been out there for well over an hour and a half before I decided to venture back into the house. I paused in front of a particularly lush tree.
When I got back inside, what was I supposed to do?
Crouching down, I considered going back to my room. Maybe I could set a schedule on my alarm clock, or practice some of the routines? My fingers ran over the skin of one of the oranges in a crate, and I wondered if I could have something to play music in my room. Isolda would probably be annoyed.
All the more reason to do it.
Picking up a fruit, I stood up and peeled it as I walked, careful to throw the peels on the roots of the trees. Carefully, I parted one slice.
Maybe it was because I was walking slower, or perhaps it was because the music had turned sad, but I thought of the last time I went to the market with Magda.
I squeezed the fruit hard enough for beads of juice to swell all along the surface. I popped the slice in my mouth, and chewed. It was exceptionally sweet.
I savored every last bit, spitting the seeds out into my hand and tossing them at the roots as well before reaching the dining area. One of the boys was sitting there, waiting for me to return.
My voice raised as I called my gratitude over my shoulder and returned to the house. Back in the house, that same eerie coolness washed over me. I rolled my shoulders back, determined not to spiral into sadness. It was good that I was alone—I would be able to practice finding my way back to my room.
Then, I saw Javier and Manuel waiting around the corner. “Hola chavales,” I said brightly.
Javier looked at me. Manuel smiled.
“Señorita,” Manuel said with a nod.
“Want a piece?” I asked. A look passed between them. “Of course you don’t. Too bad I don’t care.” I grabbed Manuel’s hand and put the rest of the orange in it. “I’m happy to see you two again.”
They remained silent and hung back while I continued walking to my room.
Chapter19
Punctuality Isn’t An Abstract Concept
It was nearly impossible to sleep.
