The Most Beautiful Girl in Cuba - Chanel Cleeton Page 0,59
letting me down gently. My legs are limp beneath me, and I slide down to the floor, my limbs boneless. Mateo joins me, leaning against the wall and wrapping his arm around me, resting my head against his chest.
His hand finds mine, and our fingers intertwine.
Neither one of us speaks, the force of our joining startling both of us, I think. There is a quiet desperation I have kept at bay in the face of the circumstances surrounding us, and there is a sense of immediate relief in letting go, even for a moment.
I have never felt safer or more myself than I do with Mateo.
I tilt my head, studying him. Some of his tension appears to be gone, but his expression is still filled with worry.
“What are you doing here?” I ask again, realizing he never answered me to begin with.
“I’m here trying to get some intelligence. What are you doing here? Those men in the hallway. Were you meeting with them? What have you gotten involved with?”
“I’ve been passing information,” I say reluctantly. “As a courier.”
A blistering oath falls from his lips.
“At this point, you’d be safer on the battlefield. Of all the jobs you could do, that has to be one of the most dangerous ones you could have chosen. Do you know what will happen if you are caught? Do you want to live out the rest of your days in Recogidas? For Isabella to grow up without both her parents? Marina, you have to be careful.”
“Of course I don’t want that. I’ve been keeping everyone safe, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to do my part as well. This isn’t just a man’s war. You went off to fight, but the war came to us. We were forced from our home and sent to Havana. What was I supposed to do? Nothing?”
“You were doing something. You were taking care of our daughter. Our home.”
“Our home is gone. All we worked for, all we built. The Spanish have taken that away from us. We can’t come out of all of this having lost so much with nothing to show for it. We must defeat them, and I won’t rest until I’ve done my part. This war—there’s no room for anyone to not take a side, to not join and fight. We’re outmatched enough as it is. Did you really think I wouldn’t do what I could to help you? To help myself? The longer this war drags on, the worse it is. I want to see it finished as much as you do.”
“I know that. I know it’s been hard for you. When we heard that Weyler had reconcentrated the Havana province, I was sick with worry.”
He doesn’t know how hard it has been. Not really. He can guess at what we’ve endured, but it’s not the same as living it.
He runs a hand through his hair. “I can’t lose you. I am fighting for Cuba, yes, but never think I’m not also fighting for you and for our daughter. If anything were to happen to you—”
“Nothing will happen,” I interject, even if we both know it’s not a promise I can make. “I’m being careful. Your mother is watching Isabella when I am gone. It was her idea, actually.”
“Why am I not surprised?” Mateo says, a trace of affection in his voice. “I miss them both terribly. Isabella must have grown so much.”
Not as much as she should given how we struggle to find good food for her, but I don’t tell him that.
“She’s wonderful. You’d be so proud of her. She misses you and can’t wait until we are all together again. And your mother is so proud of you.”
“And how are all of you?” Mateo asks. “Truly. You don’t have to pretend with me. You don’t have to protect me, too. They say things in Weyler’s camps are bad.”
I can’t bring myself to tell him the truth. I can’t bring myself to worry him. If this time together is all we have, I don’t want to spend it dwelling on our troubles.
“We’re fine. I promise. We’ll all be together soon.”
“I wish I could see Isabella.” He swallows. “Does she ask about me?”
For a moment, I picture sneaking him into the camp, letting him see his daughter, even as it’s a dangerous impossibility. Still, the force of the image of the two of them together rocks me. I hate that this war has denied them the relationship I hoped they’d have.