“Do you think Rafael and Mamá meant it when they seemed enthusiastic about us buying a house here?” I asked Emmy later.
“Yes, I think so,” she answered. “The way I believe they see it, it is an indication of permanence from us. If we own a home here in Cartagena we will visit frequently and for the foreseeable future. If we are successful and have a child with Angela’s DNA, they will have a granddaughter to dote on, a granddaughter who will be a continuing part of their lives and not merely a distant American relative.”
“Yeah, I can see that,” I admitted. “And if our house here is physically close…”
“Exactly. If we spend a month or two out of the year here in Cartagena, our daughter will grow up accepting this culture- and more specifically the Castro family- as part of her heritage. She will know Mamá and Papá as her grandparents and Cecilia as her aunt in a more… complete way than if she merely visited once in a while,” Emmy said. “Us staying here at the Castro family home… it has been very good for me, and convinced me all the more that I do want their influence on our daughter. They are wonderful, loving people- and I do not mean this with any disrespect towards your mother, Leah, but the Castros are better family for our child than either set of our parents.”
“No, I’m gonna agree with you on that one. Like I’ve said before, I’m convinced your parents love you in their way, and I’m also convinced they’ll love our baby, too, but yeah. They aren’t the warmest people I’ve ever met. And my mom… Again, I know she’s done her best, but…” I agreed. “So, yeah, having Rafael and Mamá to give our little girl all the family love and affection she can get would be a very, very good thing.”
“I have come to love the city as well,” Emmy said. “Yes, it is noisy and dirty, but there is a… vibrancy here that I enjoy.”
“You’ve really only seen the old town, the touristy areas,” I reminded her.
“I have seen Barrio Albornoz, and that is as far from touristic as it is possible to get,” she countered. “But yes, you are mostly correct. I have not spent any time in the working-class areas of the city. To be fair, that is true of Paris, Los Angeles and New York as well.”
Chuckling, I said, “My sweet, pampered princess!”
Smiling wryly, Emmy admitted that it would never have occurred to her to ever come to Colombia when she was younger. “Monaco, Saint-Tropez, Barcelona, yes, but Cartagena, Colombia? No. And yet I find I enjoy it here more than those other places I mentioned. Life takes us on an unexpected journey.”
“‘Life is what happens when you’re busy making other plans’,” I quoted.
“That is very true,” Emmy conceded.
“I think I am ready to go back to Los Angeles,” Emmy said as we lay in bed a couple of weeks later. “I think I need to see our fertility doctor, to have her check that everything is healing correctly. I am also,” she paused, trying to think of a way to phrase it, “Feeling creatively limited here. I have been writing songs, but I need to get back to the studio to work on them properly.”
“If you think you’re ready, let’s go. I’m going to need through Friday to finish up some things, but we can go after that,” I told her.
“What things?” Emmy asked, a bit surprised.
“I’ve been negotiating the purchase of a chunk of land with a pier and a few warehouses on it just north of Albornoz. I want to build it out as our functional headquarters. Rehab the old office building, build out the warehouses to function as training centers and material storage, use the pier to improve transport back and forth to Bocachica… You get the idea.”
“Have you set up such a facility in the US?” Emmy asked, surprised.
“No, we haven’t yet, but I think we need to,” I admitted. “Well, we sort-of have. There’s the facility in San Jose that we used to train our guys, but it was never really intended to be permanent. It was really useful, though, when we were just getting rolling."
“Could you bring your people down here to train?” Emmy asked.
“I thought about that, but I don’t think it’s really feasible. No, what we really need is to set up a training campus inside the United States somewhere. It’s just a matter of figuring out where. It’s actually come up in discussion a few times.”
“What would you actually use this training facility for?” Emmy asked, curious.
“Training,” I replied. Laughing at the indignant pinch Emmy got me with, I said, “Well, the thing is, our outreach teams have developed a set of best practices, but it’s mostly just word of mouth as to how the information gets spread. It would be good to have a systematic training regimen for newbies, and a place that old hands could discuss and work up new techniques. So our training center would have classrooms, conference rooms, things like that.”
“And this is where you would teach new… citizens the sorts of things that Donny used to teach them in Palo Alto?” Emmy asked.
“No, but we’ll teach the people who will teach those things. That sort of instruction needs to happen locally, not in some centralized location. I mean, maybe we can have those classes for new, um, citizens, as you just called them, if they happen to be local to our facility, but that really isn’t the intention.,” I explained.
“What about your… ‘hitters’? Is this where they would be trained?”
“No, any, um, paramilitary training would have to happen somewhere else, out of sight of the majority. Out of sight of everybody, actually. We’ll probably have to do like those right-wing militia guys do and build a compound out in the woods in Michigan or something like that,” I said.
“Or on a piece of land next to the harbor in Colombia,” Emmy teased.
“Maybe,” I grudgingly admitted.
During dinner on Thursday night just a few days before we were scheduled to return to Los Angeles, I mentioned that I had been talking with my people about the home that Emmy and I should buy there in Cartagena.
“I talked to several of the elders, and Ricky and Maggie, too. I point-blank said that I wanted to buy a home here, and asked what I should look for. They all agreed it needs to be, as Doña Fernandez said, ‘un palacio’. They said that it needs to show off our wealth and status. It needs to be a showcase. The two from Bocachica said it should be a Bocagrande penthouse, but the others all thought it should be a grand old home here in the walled city. Their argument was that a four hundred-year-old home shows a respect for tradition, and permanence.”
Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.
“This is my thinking as well,” Rafael said, nodding.
“And it will be close to the family home,” Emmy agreed. “This is important to me.”
“Me, too,” I admitted. “So, with these guidelines, I have a couple of homes for sale I’d like to look at. Tonight, if you all have the time.”
“You want us to look at these homes with you?” Mamá asked for clarification.
“Of course I do,” I replied. “This will be a family home, too. There’s no way I’d go ahead and buy a place without getting your input.”
“Can I come, too?” Cecilia asked, wide-eyed. Although she generally looked nothing like her older sister, at that moment her expression reminded me so much of Angela’s that it made my heart hurt.
“I was hoping you would,” I told her. “After all, it matters a lot if you guys approve or disapprove.”
“We can go after we finish eating,” Mamá announced, and that was that.
The first house was only two blocks away, and while it was really nice, the second, much farther house was levels beyond.
“This is the most beautiful house I have ever seen,” breathed Cecilia as we followed the real estate agent through the kitchen. I had to admit it was spectacular, and had every feature we could want- minus a garage. Of course, our brownstone in New York didn’t, either, for exactly the same reason- nobody had cars when the place was built.
Rafael pulled me aside as the others went off to admire the rooftop pool.
“This house- it was…” he paused, searching for the right word. “Rebuilt by someone who was very concerned with security.”
“I noticed that, too. Do you think it was owned by a member of the cartel?” I asked.
Rafael shrugged. “It is possible, but they are not the only ones who have these concerns.”
“It saves us a lot of hassle having to install cameras and security doors of our own,” I said.
“Yes, but I think you will want your own security expert to look everything over, to make certain there are no… back doors in the system,” Rafael said, mirroring my own thoughts.
“What do you think of the house?” I asked, changing the subject.
“It is worthy of you and Emmy,” Rafael said approvingly. “And for our granddaughter.”
“I like it,” I said. “So that’s two yes votes.”
“I think we know how Cecilia will vote,” Rafael said with a chuckle. “My Marisa will complain that it is too far from our home, but I think she will vote yes, too.”
We wandered out into the middle of the courtyard, inhaling the scent of the many plumeria trees in pots and planters around the open space.
“This is a truly beautiful home,” Rafael said.
“Papí! Lee! Come up here and look at the pool!” Cecilia shouted down from the third floor balcony.
Laughing at his daughter’s enthusiasm, we found the stairs and started our way up to the rooftop deck.
“I really hope she can get all her schoolwork sorted out so she can come to Los Angeles,” I said as we passed through the second floor’s sitting area.
“Me, too,” Rafael agreed. “It will be strange, having the house to only Marisa and me, but life moves on and our children must lead lives of their own one day.”
We found the group on the very top of the house, a patio large enough for a scattering of sun chairs and a cafe table and chairs. On the roof of the fourth floor we were high enough to be able to see over most of the structures between us and the Caribbean three long blocks away. Unfortunately the building directly to our south was a full story taller, but at least it had no windows facing our side.
“I like this house very much,” Emmy said when I wrapped my arm around her as we looked out over the roofs of the ancient city towards the water.
“I do, too,” I said. “I’ll make our offer tomorrow. Should I offer for the furniture, too?”
“Yes,” Emmy said. “It seems to be high quality, and the style is very sophisticated. We will need to bring in our own art and all the small things that are necessary, but I could be comfortable here.”
“There’s no recording studio,” I cautioned.
“The end bedroom,” Emmy said immediately. “It is the right size, and is the only bedroom without an en suite bath. The small sitting room on the second floor will be your office.”
“It sounds as if you have it all mapped out,” I said with a laugh.
“I do,” Emmy said, pulling me in a little tighter. “I can imagine our lives here.”
“Now we’ll have four homes to divide up our time,” I said. “How much time will we be able to spend in any given one of our houses?”
“We will simply have to find that out,” Emmy said, nestling up against my side. Then in a quiet voice, she said, “Thank you for the life that you have given me, Leah.”
“Thank you, Em, for the life you’ve given me. This is all because of you. You’re the reason I get up every morning.”
A few minutes later we wandered downstairs and found the Castros talking with the real estate agent in the master bedroom.
“I’ll make an offer in the morning,” I announced. “With any luck, this will be our new home.” Turning to Mamá, I said, “I wish it was just a little bit closer to your house, but…”
“We will ask them to move it closer,” Mamá said, smiling.
As we walked the ten minutes back to the Castro house, Cecilia dropped back to where her father and I walked side by side in the narrow street.
“I think there are people following us,” she said in a low voice to not be overheard.
“How many?” her father asked.
“I think two men, but maybe three,” she replied.
“There are four of them behind us,” her father corrected. “And three up ahead.”
“Que?” Cecilia asked, surprised. She looked ahead of us to see if she could spot the men her father was talking about.
“They are Lee’s men. Everywhere that Emmy goes, they surround her to keep her safe. Cecy, eso es la vida que tienen. Después lo que pasó a tu hermana…” he explained, leaving the rest unsaid.
Cecilia looked back at the guys shadowing us, hunching down a little bit with worry.
I wrapped my arm around her shoulders and gave her a squeeze. “Cecy,” I said. “I have guys following you when you go out of the house, too. And Mamá. It’s very important to me that you stay safe. I want you to know that.”
“They follow me?” she asked, surprised.
“And if they see any threats, they’ll be right there to protect you. Think of them as your guardian angels.”
“Estefania will be so…” Cecilia said, thinking about her friend’s reaction to the news.
“No la digas nada,” Cecila’s father cautioned. “Do not tell any of your friends. They are only effective if they remain a secret.”
Cecilia sighed, letting her shoulders droop again. “O.K., Papí,” she said. “I won’ tell anyone.” Then, perking up, she asked, “Can I tell my friends about your new house?”
“It’s not mine yet,” I said. “Wait until the deal is done before telling anyone.”
“That is no fun,” she groused, but good-naturedly.
In the morning I had our local lawyer draw up the offer for the house and its contents, to be purchased by an offshore holding company. Neither Emmy’s name nor mine would ever appear on any deed or property tax roll. I’d learned my lesson after the New York Night Children had somehow gotten word that we were the new owners of our townhouse. I wasn’t going to make that same mistake twice.
The sellers verbally accepted our offer by the end of the day, which was cause for a little celebration at the Castro dinner table that night.
After we’d all toasted to the new home, Cecilia got a funny look on her face. “When I come to Los Angeles to live with you, what will happen to me if you come to Cartagena to stay for a while?”
“What do you mean?” Emmy asked.
“Will I stay in Los Angeles? What if I have school? If I come here to Cartagena with you, will I live with you in the new house, or with Mamí and Papí?” she clarified.
Emmy laughed in that musical way of hers that I’d been missing the last few months. “Those are good questions. I do not know the answers just yet. I think we will have to decide when the time comes. We must let circumstances determine our decision,” Emmy said.
Grumbling a little bit, Cecilia sat back in her chair, her arms crossed.
“We might also go to New York, or London,” Emmy said, which seemed to be just the thing to stop Cecilia’s pout dead in its tracks.
“I like Nueva York,” Cecilia admitted begrudgingly.
“You will like London, too,” Emmy told her.
“Angela said it is always cold and wet there,” Cecilia objected.
“Not always. Just mostly,” Emmy replied with a laugh. “But it is still a wonderful city.”
“Can we go to Paris?” Cecilia asked, hopeful.
“Who knows?” Emmy said with a shrug.