Meu: Cousins & Friends, #6

By Clotilde Martinez

All Carolina Gonzalez ever wanted in life was to be loved. Never dreaming that she would find the desire in the arms of the dark blond special agent who once hunted her. Never dreaming that the clock strike twelve. Thus, ending Carolina’s dreams of love before it even began. Years later, Carolina returns home to Ardura, seeking help. Not for herself but for the pint-sized version of the man she loved. How will Alvaro Alvarez reacted when he discovers the reasons behind Carolina’s decisions to leave and her reasons to come back?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Aranga2Cee
• Release date: Dec 1, 2017
• ISBN: 9781386411284

Clotilde Martinez

For those who are curious to know about me. Here’s a few tidbits. This Jersey girl comes from a large super close Galician family. My siblings and cousins were the first to rallied around me when I was diagnosed with both ovarian and uterine cancer. After working overnight, my brother drove to the hospital where I was getting my surgery. My sister held my hand when I went to my first chemo treatment. My other brother drove me back and forth to my treatments. Cancer for me has been a blessing. It sounds weird saying that but it’s the truth. I have so many people praying for me, sending me positive thoughts, that it gave me the strength to deal with the aftermath of the treatments. When I lost hair, I couldn’t stop staring at myself in mirror. Which I could explained how powerful and how fucking beautiful I felt in my bald head stage. The hair has grown back. It’s curly. The color’s now salt and pepper. I’m rocking it.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

For a girl like me , this was a dream. A fairytale dream tailor made for princesses not for trash like me. But this was my dream and maybe it was wrong to want things-no not things. It was him that I wanted. The man who was never too far from my thoughts and...my heart. Not that he will ever know how he makes me feels. I sighed. This was part of the dream where I stopped and looked all around me. Do I continue to dream of a future that will never happen, or do I waddle in self pity? It was a no brainer. I have the rest of my life to muddle through and if I’m lucky – five minutes of where my dreams could come true. Those precious minutes will anchor me when reality hits me.

Like all good fairy tales, my dream starts out the same. He stood with a whiskey glass in his hand. Talking animally to the blonde hair man whose arm snaked around his beautiful bride. They were laughing. I could have stand there and listen to his laugh all day. His laughter reminded me of comfort and I want that. To be cocoon and protected by this wolf. My alpha wolf.  His gray eyes held my gaze. Refusing to look away. I had to admit that I looked positively stunning in my short black dress. While I usually have my color of the month hair tied up in a ponytail. Tonight however, I had my hair loose and draping over my shoulders. Waterworks surged from the beautiful bride and my best friend Gemma Alvarez when she saw me. But then again, she has been crying a lot since she married the love of her life-the blonde man -Nathan Halle in his home state of Montana.

Originally, Gemma and Nathan traveled to Montana to witness the wedding of his brother Jack and his brother’s beautiful finance. One thing led to another and my best friend tied the knot with her Viking from the North at his family home ranch. My heart simply burst with so much happiness for my beautiful friend. The one I wish was my sister for real instead of the real malicious one that is currently locked away in prison. You honestly didn’t think that there wasn’t going to be a villainess in this dream. It is in the bylaws of fairy tales dreams. The heroine needs her villainess as much as she need someone to lend her a hand.

As if those metal bars could keep her from getting to me. I have no doubt that one of these days, that vicious remorseless woman will escape from prison and will start up her reign of making my life a living hell once again. Something she learned from the vindictive sadistic woman who tortured me for the first nine years of my life.

Our grandmother.

Correction, she was not my grandmother. Not where it counted. Notwithstanding the fact, that I came out of her dead daughter’s womb. I was the parasite that killed her daughter. And you do not treat parasites with kindness. You beat them. You starve them. You freeze them out. You do what you need to do to kill the parasite.

For the first nine years of my life, that is exactly what the salt and pepper hair heavy set woman tried to do to me. Do you have any idea of how many sleepless nights I had to endure on those rare nights I was allowed to sleep indoors but that was because Mrs. Duran would try to smother me with a pillow or have my sister beat me with anything she can get her hands on? Leaving me bloody, beaten and with marks all over my body.

The only time, I could get any rest was when I was forced to sleep outside in the worst possible weather conditions. I was probably the only seven years old girl who actually prayed for rain and thunder. I was safe when it rained and thundered. Neither my sister or her grandmother dare to come out of that iniquitous house when the weather was foul.

You might be wondering why didn’t anyone step in and protected me from those monsters.  I can tell you why. We live in the middle of nowhere. There was no one to comfort me. No one to tell me that it was going to be okay. No one to saved me. I had to be the one to tell myself that one day I will be big enough to escape from my living hell.

That someday, someone will tell me that I’m a pretty girl. That someday, someone will be happy to see me or even hear me. No more walking on tip toes. No more of having my hair cut off with animal shears. No more of my belly hurting from not eating. Someday I was going to have an honest to goodness family who will love for me. But most of all, someday I was going to have a real name. A name of my own. A name that say that I mattered.

For the first nine years of my life, my name was Nobody.  Mrs. Duran refused to name me. You are nothing but shit. She told me when I made the colossal mistake of asking her what my name was. Carmen overheard Mrs. Duran’s cutting remark. Ha ha! Carmen laughed as she pointed to me. Your name is shit.

I stood stoic. Trying very hard not to cry in front of Mrs. Duran and Carmen. Not an easy task for a seven-year-old to do. Mrs. Duran edged her favorite granddaughter on. Do we allow shit in our house?  No. said Carmen. What do we do with shit? asked Mrs. Duran. We put in the garbage. answered Carmen. Where do we put the garbage?

I remember thinking that I didn’t like the way this conversion was going. Outside. cheered Carmen. Mrs. Duran then stood up and barked at me to get out of the house.  That night, I cried myself to sleep. I knew I was hated by the people who were supposed to love me but I didn’t know how much until I was told I was shit.

Still, I didn’t shred nearly as many tears as the friendly police officer who found me shivering outside in clothes that longer fit me on that glorious night that Mrs. Duran died.

What is your name, sweetie? The police officer asked.

Shit. I answered.

The police officer shook his head. No, sweetie, I’m asking what your name is.

My name is Shit. I returned.

His face crumbled. I remember that he tried to hug me, but I recoiled. Anytime, Mrs. Duran or Carmen tried to get close to me. It usually meant that I was getting a beating.

No sweetie, your name is not shit. You’re too pretty to be called shit. His voice shook with emotions. Then what is my name? I softly asked.

The officer didn’t waste a second on giving me my name. Carolina. Your name is Carolina

Carolina. I repeated. Testing the name on my tongue. The officer didn’t stop at giving me a first name, he gave me his surname. I learned later that he named me after his mom who passed away a month before.  He was going to adopt me, but the agency voted against the adoption. Stating that single parents weren’t allowed to adopt. That I would thrive better if I was living with a mom and dad.

I cried the day, they took me away from the only person who protected me. The agency was wrong. I wasn’t better off. To my horror, the agency put me with Carmen. They reasoned that sisters need to be together. My six months retrieve was over. Once again, I had to sleep with one eye open. Once again, there was no one to save me.

I was eleven the first time I ran away from the foster home Carmen and I were staying at. I had to. There was no choice in the matter. It was matter of my right to protect my changing body. Carmen had me boxed in a corner of the room I was staying in. The sneer on her face had me on high alert.  That and her threats of what would happen to me if I didn’t do as she demanded. I couldn’t do what Carmen wanted me to do. There was no way I was going to let that creepy man laid his hands on me. It wasn’t right for 45-year-old man to look at me as though I was a sirloin steak.

The turn of the key on the door gave noticed that Carmen had locked me. Laughing as she walked away with the one item that I need to escape. It was matter of time when she will return with him. Time that I didn’t have to waste. I took a quick glance around the room. My eyes settled on another escape route that I didn’t see before. It wasn’t safe, but neither was staying here waiting to be sacrifice on the virginal altar. There was no time to pack anything but then again. I had nothing expect for the clothes that I was wearing and the two small items that I carried with me all of the time. The small photograph of the police officer who named me and a small blue blanket.

It was too risky to take a chance on it. I hope wherever the officer was, that he will forgive me for taking the chance. The answer to my plea came in a form of a roaring thunder. There was no doubt in my mind that the officer wanted me to be safe.  I ran to safety of the underground of the unknowns.

Where nobody cared who you were, and nobody want to know. It was here where I live for a little while. And I would have been living there still if it weren’t for the missing posters of me all over the city. While people might ignore a lost girl, they won’t ignore the reward that was mention at the bottom of the poster.  I couldn’t go back to the foster home. I couldn’t let Carmen tortured me. I knew that whatever Carmen was planning to do to me was going to be the worst torture of them all.

There were times that I wished I had died in my mother’s womb. If there was one word that could summed up my teenage years, it would be run. That’s all I did. I ran and hide. Different places and different locations. There were days and nights that I went hungry because I couldn’t bring myself to steal something as simple as taking an apple from a fruit stand. Life might have dealt me a crappy hand, but I had no right to hurt another human being.

Instead, I worked odd jobs. Jobs that you didn’t know they exist. Jobs that didn’t mean that I was going to get paid but at least I took comfort that I was doing the right thing. One of the jobs that I had was to clean the windows of the store front in this one specific city. 

The owner of the store was specific about the way his window exhibitions were showcased. I took notice of how he set up his display as I clean the front of his store window. I notice how he placed the red purse in the woman dummy’s left hand. The child dummy was to the right of her wearing red sandals. I think that owner was going for a red theme. He went back inside to grab an item. The yellow squeegee was still in my hands when I took a good at the child sandals. They were not same. Granted that the sandals look alike. But the strap on the left sandal had two buttons while there were no buttons on the right.

I wonder if the owner did it on purpose. He came back to finish the rest of his display. I completed cleaning the window and went inside to see if the owner had any more jobs for me to do.  A woman came in with a small child. She gave me no notice and went straight to the owner. She inquired about the red sandals in the window. Do you have any without buttons? She queried.

The owner replied Sorry, but they had buttons.

I don’t know why. I think it was because I felt that the owner need my help. The right sandal has no buttons.

The owner and the woman look at me strangely.  Who did I think I was to speak?

What did you say, girl? said the owner in a brisk tone.

The sandals in your window are not the same. There are no buttons on the right sandals and the strap is light red while the one on the left is a darker shade.  I couldn’t believe that I spoke that many words in less than fifteen minutes.

The owner tilted his head at me. My eyes fell towards the ground. I knew I had overstep the boundaries of what was acceptable. I can kiss cleaning this store window goodbye. The only course of punishment was for the owner to fire me on the spot for daring to speak without permission.

I knew it. The owner knew it and even the woman knew it.

I waited for the words. They never came. Instead, the owner told the woman that he was going to check his window display.  He left. The woman held on tight to her purse and her child while keeping an eye on me. I dare not move from my spot. The owner came back, explaining that I was right about the sandal. There was astonishment in his voice as if he couldn’t believe that he himself didn’t notice the difference between the two sandals.

The woman asked if perhaps he could take a look and see if he might have a size four for her little girl. The owner replied that he was going to his stockroom and check. Sure enough, he came back out with a box containing the sandals. He had the little girl tried them on.  I felt a pain of sorts inside me when I heard the little girl’s delight and her mother telling her how pretty she looked.

An aching pain. A sharp pain. A pain that I knew could only be healed by tears. But this wasn’t the place for the tears. The mother purchased the sandals and told the owner that she was going to tell her friends about his store. The owner thanked her. The mother and the little girl left.  I was still waiting for the owner’s decision on whether or not I could keep cleaning his windows.  He stepped in front of me.

What is your name? He asked me.

I stuttered C...Carolina. 

Well, Carolina, do you know who that was? asked the owner.

I shook my head.

That was the mayor’s wife and child.

Oh no! My punishment is going to worse than I thought. Nobody is going to hire me when they learn that I spoke in front of the mayor’s wife. Stupid Carolina! Always messing up something. 

I’m sorry, Sir.

His head cocked at me.

You’re sorry? For what?

I spoke out of turn.

The owner laughed Do you realize that you helped me with the mayor’s wife? If it weren’t for your sharp eye to details, the mayor’s wife might not be coming back. But thanks to you, she will be here along with her friends.

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. The owner was thanking me and then he offered me a job to work at his store along with a room and board in his home where he lived with his wife and three daughters. Two of whom were going away to the university in the fall. That was what the owner told me. I didn’t know what a university was, but it sounded magical. 

The two daughters were very excited about going to the university. They were going to live and study there. I wished I could go but I knew that was an impossible dream. Universities were for girls and boys who had somebody to send them there. Who did I have? Nobody. No, I need to paid attention to what Mr. Sanchez was teaching me in the store. He was the owner of Sanchez shoes. I paid close attention to every little detail he told me. Even the simple letters that he wrote on a piece of paper.

Soon I found myself learning a new trade to help me in the future. I was learning to read. Thanks to well intentions of the entire Sanchez family. They were good people. My good fortune didn’t last too long as the block on which Sanchez shoes were located was sold to a real estate developer. The Sanchez family were forced to look for another store location. Mr. Sanchez searched and searched but none of the locations was to his liking. Instead, he accepted a job with Mrs. Sanchez’s cousin over in England.

I knew that my adventure with the Sanchez family was coming to an end. Mr. Sanchez did offer for me to come with them but let’s face the facts that the Sanchez family already had too much on their plate to take in it. Besides, I was not family. I actually heard that there might be a job for me in Leon. I replied. A lie. One that Mr. Sanchez didn’t bother exploring. The next day, I went with the Sanchez family to the bank. They were going to closed out their accounts.

I was taken back when Mr. Sanchez gave me an envelope with money in it.  Unbeknown to me, Mr. Sanchez took the money that I gave him for my room and board and put it into a savings account for me. Consider this one last paycheck. He told me. I want to hug the man and thank him for everything. But I couldn’t do it. Hugs still terrified me. After leaving the bank, the Sanchez family and I came to the silent conclusion that now was the time to part ways.

There were no goodbyes. Just a simple I will see you later. I knew that too was impossible, but it didn’t stop me from remembering every tiny detail about them.  The Sanchez family made to England where Mr. Sanchez worked in his cousin’s restaurant. As for me, I took another gamble on life when I board the bus from Madrid to Orense where I found myself working in a shoe factory by the name of McCanns. I took the money that Mr. Sanchez gave me and opened a simple savings account in the local bank.

After a while, I decided to take a chance of taking a night class. It seemed that someone up there must be liking me. Here I am with a job, school, and a roof over my head. Best of all, no contact from Carmen. Maybe she was dead. I quickly put that thought away. Knowing full well that any negative thoughts that I think of could only attract negativity to my life. That was the last thing I need. I like my life as it is right now. Although I wish that I could share it with someone special. That dream I filed away with the rest of my impossible dreams.

My neighbor who lived three apartments down from me- Mr. Alves was upset. I hope nothing bad happen to his wife Mrs. Alves. I like her. She always came to my apartment door with a pot of caldo.

Mr. Alves, is everything alright? I asked.

There were tears in his fatigued eyes as the short grey hair man answered, They lost my ring.

Who lost your ring?  I inquired.

The people over at the pawn shop. I didn’t have the money to paid for Mrs. Alves’s medicine, so I pawned my wedding ring. They told me that I had a certain amount of days in which I can claim my ring back. I still had five days left but when I went there today. They told me that the ring was gone. What am I going to do, Carolina? That ring is a reminder of the love that I have for Mrs. Alves. 

My heart went out to him. I might not have someone who loves me but that didn’t mean I couldn’t appreciate another human being loving another. Besides, the Alves were good neighbors to me. The least I can do is help them. Maybe the people over at the pawn shop simply misplace the ring when they were cleaning the displays. It