Page 49 of The Last Sunrise

She laughs, despite the circumstance. “Oh yeah. Bad example. But you get my point. You can’t just leave.”

The phone in front of her rings, and she groans. I smile, nodding to deceive her, knowing that I’m getting on that flight tomorrow night and nothing and no one can stop me. As I head to my room, I begin to type out an apology text toJulián, knowing nothing I can say will make it all better, but I don’t know if I can live with just leaving and never saying goodbye. This summer was supposed to be about no fear, no regrets, and I sure as hell will regret not attempting to say goodbye to Julián. I sneak past the elevator, making sure Amara doesn’t see me, and I head out of the hotel. I slowly make my way to Julián’s dock, not having a clue what I’ll say or do when I see him, or worse, what he will say or do when he sees me, but I’m letting my heart lead the way and hoping it steers me correctly.

When I get there, his boat is gone. The water is silent, still, almost eerily so. I look out onto the water, but his vessel is nowhere in sight.

I try to call him, but it goes directly to voicemail. Not even an ignored call; his phone is powered off. God, he must hate me so much and feel such deep betrayal.

“Oriah?” A voice behind me has me whirling around before I realize it’s Julián’s father. They look more like brothers than father and son, but the resemblance up close is uncanny.

“Mr. Garcia?” I stumble over my words.

“Mateo… you can call me Mateo. Are you looking for Julián?” he asks, his accent much more prominent than his son’s.

I nod. “Is he here by chance? I know his boat isn’t, but I thought maybe… Sorry, I don’t know much Spanish.”

Mateo’s long hair shakes with his head. “I know enough English to get by. Had to, to adapt to the tourists.” He smiles a little, and my heart melts when I see the twin smile of Julián’s.

My favorite smile that I’ve had the pleasure of witnessing but may never see again. “He’s not here. He took off earlier without a word.”

“I’m sorry. For everything. I know you must also hate me.”

He holds one hand up, a gesture his son also does. He’s even dressed similarly in a sun-faded cutoff T-shirt and shorts, his feet bare against the wood dock. His hair is much curlier than Julián’s, but they look so similar it makes me want to sob right there on the shore, and try as I might, I can’t stop the tears as they begin to fall down my face.

Julián’s father, a man who loved my mother once upon a time, and potentially still does, steps forward and wraps his arms around me. He smells like wood and ropes, like the comfort of the sea, like a warmth I’ve never felt from an adult. Despite everything, he consoles me as I cry and cry, my tears falling between the cracks in the old wood and washing away in the sea.

“I will never hate you,” he eventually says. “I can’t speak for my son, but I don’t have any room for hate in my heart,” he tells me, and I wonder if it’s because my mother has left no room for anything else.

“How is that possible?” I ask, shamelessly wiping my snotty nose on the fabric of my shirt while his attention is on the sea before us. “To not be angry at me, when my mom… according to Julián, has ruined your life and is now going to tear down your family business and build a resort on it, and I’m here crying over your son. I swear I’m not usually this selfish,” I say, wondering if that’s true or not. Maybe I am selfish, like her. Maybe the type of person I convinced myself that I am isn’t real at all and I’m the kind of person I’ve always tried not to be.

The possibility makes my heart sink further.

Mateo sighs, clicking his tongue on the roof of his mouth. “You and Julián have nothing to do with Isolde’s and my mistakes. Our debt is not yours to pay.”

I don’t know what to say, so I just stare at him for a moment and he reaches for my hand, gently gesturing to sit down on the dock with him. “Your mother didn’t ruin my life. I know my son has taken to blaming her for everything that has gone wrong.” He smiles, the crinkles around his eyes so charming and nearly nostalgic somehow. I can easily see why my mom fell for him. “He holds grudges unreasonably, and it’s easier for him to be angry at a woman he doesn’t know than deal with the fact that his pare isn’t a saint and that life isn’t always the way it should be. But my life, through its ups and downs, isn’t in ruin. I’m not the kind of man your mother would end up with, I never was, but that didn’t stop me from living my life. So please, Oriah, don’t get even more angry at your mom because of Julián’s words. You’re all she has.”

“That’s her fault,” I retort, sniffling. “She’s boxed herself into a lonely life where the only thing she cares about is her job. She’s never brought me here, never showed me where she’s from. I don’t know anything about my heritage, my family, whether they’re alive or dead. I don’t even know her, honestly, so it’s really hard not to blame her for all this. Not only how I feel, but everything.”

“It’s easy to blame her, but it’s brave to try to understand her. She lost her mare at such a young age, and it takes a lot to deal with that alone. She loves you deeply, I know that. Her life has been dedicated to you, to her work because of what itoffers you. She’s ambitious and was once just a girl your age, with a baby, no family, and scared of failing. You and Julián probably will never understand it, but part of me is proud of her, even during this mess.”

“You really are a freaking saint.” I admire his grace, the empathy he has for my mother regardless of what she’s done, and is still doing, to him.

He shakes his head. “I’m far from a saint. We’re all just human, trying our best. Her too.”

“No wonder she loved you,” I quietly remark, half wishing he was angry, bitter, and ready to tell me all the awful things she’s done in her life, but the conversation is far, far from that.

“So, can you tell me something about my family? Or something about my mom? You know her better than me. Why would she turn her back on this place?”

“I don’t know.” He’s suspiciously hesitant. “She suffered a lot here, too, and wanted to break the cycle. Maybe that’s why she turned her back. Only she knows,” he admits, and finally a flash of anger shows in his eyes, in the tick of his jaw. “Did you know your mom was the first of your family to go to university?” He changes the subject.

“No. I didn’t. I don’t know anything about anything.” I wrap my arms around my legs and curl into a ball.

“She was the top student in every year when we were kids. From the day she learned to talk, she impressed everyone. She was a complete menace”—he laughs lightly—“but the best student. No one could understand how someone so mischievous could also be the perfect student.”

“My mom? Mischievous?” I ask in disbelief.

“Sure as hell. She was always in trouble with your abuelita or the local police, even. She once chased down a man who stole my wallet and pummeled him, nearly drowning him in the ocean.”

“I can’t even imagine that,” I admit. “Well, the pummeling I can, but she’s so… reserved. Calm but deadly.” I smile at the idea that my mother was once a wild woman. The hunger to know more grows with each of his words.

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