But the mission had to go forward. Missions always did.
Once she had planted the tracker on the target ship’s hull, she started back. Her arms and legs moved on autopilot. She was barely conscious when her team pulled her out. Back in Clinic’s hypothermia chamber, she had vowed she would never go into the ocean again. Not if she had a choice.
But this water was so different, like swimming in a giant’s bathtub.
She rolled over and executed a few backstrokes. Extending both arms behind her head, she arched up and pulled herself through a long backward roll. Salt flavored her lips when she surfaced.
While Cuba hadn’t been the sanctuary she had sought when she first set foot on the wood planks of Marina Hemingway Harbor, she was grateful that it had given her someplace to run to, someplace to land.
A place where she could meet with Gianni face-to-face and settle things with him once and for all. Even her anxiety over their impending rendezvous couldn’t completely smother the stirrings of freedom, the butterfly-wings sensation deep inside. It fueled her hope that she could still have the kind of life she wanted.
She treaded water a few more seconds, gingerly working her sore leg, then headed back to shore.
When Roberto arrived, she was sitting in the rocking chair, a plate of bread in her lap and a glass of lemonade on the porch railing. She called out a greeting in response to his wave.
“I see you found the food Magdalena left.” He walked up the steps to the porch. “It’s not fancy, but she hoped you would enjoy it.”
“It’s delicious.” Anika swallowed another morsel of bread. “And the lemonade … I’ve never tasted anything so good. Where do you get it?”
“It’s Magda’s own recipe. You can ask her about it when you meet her. We were hoping you’d join us for dinner tonight.”
Roberto’s eyes were warm and open, not guarded like last night.
“I’d like that.”
“Have you tried working any of the appliances? They must look like antiques compared to what you’re used to in the States.”
“You mean Canada.”
“Yes, right. Canada.”
The thought flashed through her mind that he was testing her, but she let it go.
Good people
, she remembered Brad telling her.
“We’re waiting for the next lift in sanctions from the States to begin upgrading.”
“¿El Dulzor?”
she asked, using the expression
Señor
Alejo had mentioned. She wondered if he had been released by the authorities yet.
“
Sí.
The next Sweetness. But until then … ”
Roberto shrugged. “Come, I will show you.”
Strands of a bead-and-seashell curtain clicked together as they entered the kitchen from the living room.
Roberto twisted and turned and flipped the dials and knobs and switches. He rattled off instructions on how to operate the different appliances and navigate their many quirks, the result of his numerous repairs using mismatched parts. It was clear from his efforts that he could show agency operatives a thing or two about improvising in the field.
Anika paid close attention to the stovetop coffeemaker, a five-sided metal cylinder twenty-five millimeters tall. She might not be here long enough to master the other appliances, but she definitely wanted her morning dose of coffee. Even now, a dull throbbing that she attributed to a lack of caffeine lodged at the back of her head.
Roberto poured espresso into a mug full of heated milk. He added sugar to taste and handed it to Anika.
She inhaled the enticing aroma and took a sip.
Heaven
.
“I’m glad you like it.” Roberto’s eyes warmed at her obvious enjoyment.
“Aren’t you having any?”
“I must get back to the hotel.”
“What kind of engineering work do you do there?”
“I don’t. I fix whatever breaks. And I drive the guests to and from Holguin.”
“You prefer that kind of work to being an engineer?”
“It’s better pay than most engineers in Cuba make. So I don’t complain.” But his eyes had lost their warmth and his lips tightened. “Can you meet Magda and me in the parking lot later this afternoon? Five o’clock? We’ll drive to our house.”
“You don’t live in town?”
“No. A short distance away.”
She followed him back outside and leaned against the railing until he became a speck of white clothing topped by a brown head.
Anika drummed her fingers on the porch railing. What was she going to do the rest of the morning?
She could go into town. Stop in at a computer center and see whether Gianni had left a follow up message for her. It was too early for one, but it wouldn’t hurt to check. She could also buy supplies. There was enough food in the kitchen for lunch, but that was it. And she needed clothes.
She looked down at her T-shirt and pants, the same clothes she had been wearing when Roberto picked her up at the train station. Other than the skirt and top that still bore some marks from her fight in Havana, she didn’t have anything else to wear. She needed to fix that. And shopping would enhance her cover.
It’s what civilians did with their free time, wasn’t it? Shopped. Bought stuff.
In her years as an operative, between missions, briefings, tutorials, training and sleeping, there hadn’t been many hours left to develop her own interests. Even down time had been a routine of mindless vids, sessions in relaxation tanks and binges at Amnesia.
The only non-regimented part of her life had been Gianni. A last-minute invitation to dinner, an occasional walk or drive through a nature park, 3-D virtual opera performances in his flat.
Her fingers tightened around the empty coffee cup. Those were all part of her past. The sooner she accepted that, the better. She needed to pursue new interests for her new life.
She set the cup down and massaged her temples. The caffeine hadn’t helped her headache. And her leg, which had barely bothered her during the morning swim, was starting to tingle again. A walk into town seemed like too much effort right now. She would go later, before meeting up with Roberto and Magdalena.
She turned around and leaned back against the railing. The knapsack lay on the porch floor. A corner of one of the sketchpads she had bought in Havana peeked out from the opening. She supposed she could shore up her cover as a high school art teacher.
A few hours later, Anika flipped through drawings of the hammock, the porch floorboards, her thick-soled sandal. In her head, Madame Morrisette’s French-flecked voice offered praise and encouragement. Her vanilla-and-rose scent perfumed the air and her silver bracelets clinked against each other as she demonstrated how to add a stroke here, alter a line there.
A tiny glow that had nothing to do with the sun overhead spread through Anika.
Her rumbling stomach reminded her of the food on the top shelf of the refrigerator. She sat crossways in the hammock while eating tamale pie and spicy cornbread. They tasted even better than the bread from that morning. She took another sip of the lemonade and tried to guess the secret ingredient that gave it such a distinctive flavor. Mint? Honey?
Stretching out in the hammock, she dangled one foot over the side. It pushed against the porch floor and rocked her back and forth. Her limbs grew heavy in the humid warmth.
Magdalena and Roberto had gone out of their way to make her feel welcome. She was looking forward to dinner tonight.
“Sorry I’m late.” Anika called out to Roberto, who stood by the car in the parking lot. She tried to speed up, but the fiery twinges in her leg stopped her. Her head hurt, too, worse than this morning. “That hammock is too inviting. I’m afraid I overslept.”
“Is your leg bothering you?”
She paused mid-stride, then focused on evening out her steps. “It’s a little stiff from a recent fall.”
Is that what she had told Brad?
“I’ve run out of pain blockers. Could we stop at a pharma-mart on the way?”
“Magda can give you something. Better than pain blockers. She’s quite good with herbal treatments.”
“Brad mentioned that. She treated his hand?”
“Foot,” Roberto corrected her. “He cut it on some coral.”
Check
. Her mind turned on her.
Stop it. Brad vouched for him. And Magdalena.
She eased into the passenger seat, lifting her leg in with both hands. The pain snaked in both directions from the wound, up to her hip and down to her ankle. The car’s interior had absorbed the heat of the day and sweat sealed her against the back of the leather seat.
“Is Magdalena meeting us?”
“She got off early today. She’s already home and cooking up a feast.”
Anika took a steadying breath. Right now, the thought of food made her stomach rebel.
Thirty minutes later, they pulled up to a single-story house in the middle of a block of similar looking structures. Bright blue window frames adorned a white stucco exterior and a vase of yellow flowers brightened a ground floor window. In the middle of the smoothly cut lawn lay a child’s bicycle with pink streamers on the handlebars.
Not just a house. A home.
A little girl came flying out the front door.
“
Papi, Papi
.” The girl raced down the walkway, dark pigtails streaming behind her.
Roberto jumped out of the car and ran to greet her. He bent down, swooped her up, and swung her around in a circle. Their laughter danced in the air.
Anika stepped out of the car.
The girl’s espresso-brown eyes widened with curiosity.
“This is my daughter,” Roberto said. “Daisy, this is Jane, the young woman I told you about. Can you say ‘hello’?”
Daisy buried her face against her father’s neck.
“
Mi corazon
.” Roberto’s tone gentled. “That’s no way to greet a guest.”
Daisy gave a muffled response.
Roberto looked at Anika, his shoulders lifting a fraction. “I’m sorry. She never used to be this shy. Magda says it’s a passing phase.”
A striking dark-haired woman appeared at the front door. “Roberto,” she called, stepping onto the walkway and sauntering toward them, “why are you keeping our guest waiting on the sidewalk?”
Like so many
Cubanas
, Magdalena wore brightly colored clothes that hugged her body. A sleeveless fuchsia top tucked into a lime green skirt showed off her small waist and rounded hips.
Anika now wished she had gone into town earlier that morning and bought new clothes. Her T-shirt and pants were more appropriate for a beach picnic than for dinner in her hosts’ home.
“Welcome, Jane.” Magdalena extended both hands in greeting. “It’s so nice to meet you. I see why you made such an impression on Brad.” Her espresso eyes sparkled at Anika.
“It’s nice to meet you, too, Magdalena.” Anika forgot her self-consciousness in the warmth emanating from her host.
“Call me Maggie. We’re so delighted you could join us for dinner. You’re settling in at the cottage all right?”
“Yes. Thank you for the food. It was delicious.”
“
De nada.
It was my pleasure.”
She squeezed Anika’s hand, released it, and turned toward Roberto and Daisy. Her arms opened wide to embrace them. They nuzzled together, a sweet picture of affection.
A short pang stung Anika.
A real family
. Something Gianni wanted more than anything. Something she would never have, would never be part of. Because of her background, her profile. She bit down on her lip and ducked her head back inside the car to retrieve the knapsack.
Maggie appeared at her side, linked arms with her and walked them both toward the house. Abreast of the bicycle lying on the lawn, she paused and turned back.
Roberto and Daisy chased each other on the sidewalk in a game of tag. The little girl shrieked with delight as her father pretended to snatch her.
“Daisy, please put your bicycle away before you come inside.”
“
Sí, Mama
.”
A sweet oily smell greeted Anika when she stepped across the threshold. “M-m-m, fried plantains.”
“You have a good nose,” Maggie said, laughing. “They’re Daisy’s favorite.”
“I had my first taste at your cousin’s in Havana. They were delicious.”
Maggie escorted her to the living room. “Please, have a seat.”
She pointed to a sofa, accented with yellow and red pillows as colorful as the ones in the cottage. In front of it sat a squat-legged table with a big pitcher of lemon-colored liquid and glasses. A sultry samba tune floated out from a surprisingly modern entertainment center that took up most of the far wall.
“The sound is great.”
“Roberto’s pride and joy.” Maggie nodded at the gleaming silver and black electronics, a contrast with the simple wood, rattan, and cotton fabric in the room. “He insisted we bring it back with us from Chicago. I’m sure it’s very outdated compared to what’s available in the States now. But for Cuba … ” Maggie shrugged. “Drink?” She poured a full glass of the liquid and handed it to Anika.
“Is that the same lemonade you left for me at the cottage? I think I’m becoming addicted. What’s in it?”
“Secret ingredients.” Maggie winked. “I’m glad you like it.”
Roberto and Daisy raced through the front door.
“Beat you,” Daisy shouted, her breath coming out in open-mouthed gasps.
“You are too fast for your
Papi
.” Roberto clutched his chest and made exaggerated breathing sounds.
“
Mama
.” Daisy ran over to Maggie and threw her arms around her waist.
“¿Puedo cocinar esta noche los frijoles negros?”
“In English, Daisy.” Maggie stroked her daughter’s hair.
“Can I make the beans tonight?”
“I need you to set the table,
mi corazon
,” Maggie said. “But first, you have to put your crayons and paper away.”
At Daisy’s crestfallen face, Anika spoke up. “Do you like to color, Daisy?” The little girl nodded. “I loved to color when I was your age. Still do.”
“Do you want to color with me?
Mama
, can we?”
“May we,” Maggie corrected her.
“May we? Please, Mama?”