A Fierce and Subtle Poison - Samantha Mabry Page 0,54
window; the hood of her sweatshirt was still up, covering most her hair, and all I could see of her face was a dim reflection in the glass. “If she’s alive, she’s out near Rincón, in one of my dad’s cabins. I’m sure once we’re out on the road, I can find them again.”
I had to believe her. I had no choice. This mission was set in motion, and unless I wanted to take off by myself and search the entire island with nothing to guide me but weakly burning hope, I was forced to follow Isabel’s lead.
“What is this place we’re going to, exactly?” Isabel asked.
Earlier, when we’d first climbed into the cab on Calle Sol, I’d given the driver the address of the abandoned hotel on Condado Beach. He’d lowered the volume of the guajira-son music that had been blaring from his speakers. His eyes had shot up to the rearview mirror and narrowed to indicate he hadn’t heard me right. He blurted out a question in such rapid Spanish that the only word I could understand was “hotel.” After watching me try to sort out the words of two languages in my head for a couple of seconds, Isabel answered the cab driver in Spanish. Even then he’d still seemed confused.
“De veras!” she’d exclaimed, tossing her hand in the air. That I understood. It roughly translated into, yeah, really.
“It’s an old hotel.”
“I gathered that.” Isabel turned her head, which allowed me to glimpse again the iron-gray strands of hair falling from her hood and across her chest. “I guess I meant, how did you come across it?”
Isabel pulled the blanket more tightly into her lap. The bruise on her hand, the one I’d touched, was larger now, extending down toward her wrist, spreading like a blue-black rash. My kiss didn’t make it better. Of course it didn’t.
“Rico and Ruben and Carlos and I found it when we were kids,” I replied. “Every summer when I come back to San Juan, I’m surprised it’s still here.”
“It’s nice you’ve all been friends that long,” she said.
I realized she was baiting me, subtly, and I didn’t want to bite. The plan was for us to get to La Andalusia and stay there until Isabel finished up whatever she needed to do. I’d find a phone, call Rico, and convince him to let us borrow his scooter. Isabel and I would head west as quickly as we could, ideally before sundown. There was no part of the plan that involved Isabel and me making small talk or getting to know each other better.
And yet. A small slice of the anger I felt towards her was softening into pity. Back in her courtyard, she’d mentioned her sorry excuse for a life, and there was no way I could argue with that. Physically, she was withering away. Her poison blood was seeping to the surface, bleaching her hair and marring her skin. She had no friends, no mother. No one had ever held her hand. Her closest companions were her plants and the desperate strangers who threw their wishes to her.
“Things will be different next year,” I said. “My dad told me they’re tearing the convent down. We’ll be staying out at Rincón, where his firm is building a new resort. Rico and Ruben could maybe come out for a day or two, but I know once Carlos has saved enough money, he’s leaving the island completely.”
“Rincón is not so bad,” Isabel offered. She turned again to face the window, craning her head to try and peer down the shoreline. “You think we’re close?”
I pulled the sheet of plywood away from the window and followed Isabel into La Andalusia.
Once inside the old ballroom, Isabel made a beeline for one of the tables, opened her suitcase, and pulled out a small sewing machine. She stripped off her sweatshirt and then set the machine up quickly, positioning a spool of dark-colored thread on the spindle and winding it through the machine. After that, she attached a pedal, which she placed down by her feet.
“There’s no electricity in here,” I said, noting the coin-sized bruises that ran up and down both of her arms. “You should’ve told me.”
She shook the leaves onto the table and unfolded the blanket. “Not a problem. The machine runs on a pedal.”
I watched as she pumped the pedal with her foot and brought the machine whirring to life. I remembered the shirt she’d given me on the night of the hurricane,