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“Come on. The fun’s about to start.” He pulls me toward the sound of a steadily beating drum, followed by raucous chanting that vibrates through the air.
Penelope stands with Cat and the girls under a tree as tall as its canopy is wide. Their faces glow in the orange firelight as she waves us over to the outer edge of a crowd.
Mateo sits serene, cross-legged in the grass with a drum nestled in his lap. Beside him are three men, shirtless and barefoot, yipping and hollering as everyone moves closer.
Marcus places me in front of him so I can get a better view of a tan man with braided raven hair and red markings splashed over his upper body.
“That’s César, the leader of Augustine, and beside him are his brothers, Angél and Santiago,” he informs me.
Penelope leans over to add, “Santiago is Ernesto’s father.” I study the male covered in dull green paint. He and his son share the same proud nose, brows, and curly hair. “He brought Dad before Mateo twenty years ago when he came here to purchase land.”
It’s hard for me to imagine these proud Topicans giving up their land to a man of power like Patrick Vance. He would have been an outsider; someone whose money held no value like that of the land he was surely after.
“How did a foreigner convince them to consider his proposal?”
Penelope shifts her attention back to the proud leaders of Augustine. Adoration glints with the dancing fire in her eyes when she says, “He became one of them.”
Mateo hits the cured hide of the drum one last time, and a hush falls over us all.
He speaks in Spanish, riling the crowd who clap and pound their chests with their fists before he switches to English. “Tonight, we come together as one in celebration and to honor our ancestors.”
Two young boys carrying a roasted pig stop behind the purple-painted brother, César, to place it on a table with the rest of the food.
The man raises his arms toward the sky. “T’slastais a time for cherishing those we have loved and lost, but also a time for new beginnings. A time for change, forgiveness, and starting over.” He looks at each of us, placing his fist over his chest. “My friends, do not waste this evening being angry, do not waste it on regret.”
Mateo hums low as he beats his drum. When his voice starts to rise, chanting a song, everyone around me joins him, including Marcus.
The red man starts again, “Let us rejoice in all thatT’slastabrings us this night.”
I’m jolted forward as the crowd erupts in a flurry of chanting and clapping.
When a string of people race toward the fire, I turn to Marcus, who reaches out a hand. “Let’s have some fun tonight, what do you say?”
I scoffed at the idea of magic surrounding this place, but it gusts around the field in heavy, balmy waves, and the fire seems to dance, flickering toward the sky as salt from the sea blends with the smoke.
Marcus raises my knuckles to his lips, placing a heated kiss on them before tipping his head back and howling at the full moon above.
Genuine, full-bodied laughter consumes me as I allow him to guide me straight into the melee. We join Tobias, Yennifer, and the other kids from the shelter, as well as the people of Augustine, in dancing around the fire.
Penelope, Cat, and her daughters hold hands as they round the pit, howling just like Marcus, and I jog with them in a dizzying circle, laughing so hard tears prick the corners of my eyes.
Like a seagull gliding over the coast, my heart soars freely.
Then I tilt my head toward the inky night sky and throw my arms up as I howl right along with them.
CHAPTERTHIRTEEN
Heather
Acurvy Topican woman by the name of Momma G brings me another clay mug filled to the brim. I haven’t had the courage to question how she concocts her special brew, but it’s making my pulse thumpy and my toes tingly, like they’re being kissed by a hundred bees.
“How is your wine?” she asks with a thick accent like Ernesto’s.
“I’m not sure,” I say, peering at the suspiciously dark liquid. “It kind of tastes like berries mixed with dirt.”
Helping herself to the spot on the fallen log beside me, she pats my knee. “Don’t drink too much. Puts hair on the chest.”
When I glance at my boobs warily, the older woman chuckles.
