Page 20 of Every Heartbeat After

With an arm around my shoulders, he takes control of my ratty suitcase and guides us both toward the check-in desks in the far left corner of the room. Every surface here is white or beige or some shimmery shade of almost-pink or almost-blue that gives the impression that you’re gazing at the inside of a conch. Couches and tables arranged haphazardly throughout the space allow people to enjoy the view through the windows along the back wall, which face the pool deck and, beyond that, the Gulf.

The desks—three stand-alone pods forming a half circle—are framed with driftwood boards harvested from the beach. Exposed wooden beams traverse the lofty ceilings overhead, with fans constructed to look like palm fronds dropping from them. They circle lazily, stirring up the Florida humidity that gets swept in each time the door opens behind me.

I tug my blouse away from my chest, allowing some of that air to cool my sweat-dampened skin. It’s not busy season yet. A few regulars, whom I acknowledge with a nod, pass through the lobby on their way to the half-empty parking lot. Give it two weeks, though, and the place will be slammed with every tourist along the I-65 corridor.

The desks on either end are empty. In the center pod, two familiar women huddle close. Jenna glances up from a paper she’s been studying on the raised counter that shields the computer from view, her brown gaze finding mine and instantly illuminating. “Tess!”

Jenna co-owns the Carmen with her husband, Alejandro, who is Mauricio’s older brother. Their daughter, Xiomara, is poised in front of the computer to her mother’s left. She started working here officially when she turned sixteen two years ago, though she, like me, has been around the place since infancy. Mara tears her gaze from the key jacket she’d been scribbling on and squeals at the sight of me.

Mo barely releases me in time for the women to envelop me in an embrace that’s all pointy limbs and long, dark hair.

“Ouch!” I pull away, laughing while rubbing my sore boob. “Someone nailed me with an elbow.”

“Can you blame us?” Jenna squeezes her daughter since she’s been rejected from squeezing me. “We’re just so excited. Tess time is our favorite time of year.”

Despite a forty-year age difference, the two women could be twins. Short and thin but strong, both built like gymnasts. Ears that poke out from their lush, dark hair and skin that’s always kissed by the sun. Jenna struggled for years with infertility. She finally got pregnant with Mara by accident just when she figured her fertile days—if she’d ever had any—were long behind her. I remember the summer we showed up to find a rosy-cheeked and swollen-stomached Jenna, and all the summers after where I pretended Mara was the baby sister I never had.

“Can’t blame you at all.” I stick my tongue out at Mara. “Wasn’t sure if I’d get to see you this year or if you’d be too busy with college prep.”

“If you had social media, you’d know I deferred a year.” She flips her hair over her shoulder as she circles her mother, returning to her spot in front of the computer. “I’m going to travel the world first.”

My rounded gaze meets its match in Jenna’s. “Is that so?”

Jenna crosses herself but doesn’t comment. I can’t imagine it’s easy to loosen the reins on a baby you never thought you’d get to have.

“Yep. Some friends and I are going to backpack through Europe. Have you ever been?”

I tug at one of Mara’s curls. “I spend all my vacation hours with you, you dork. When would I have been to Europe?”

Mara shrugs and types something, probably my name, into the computer. I unzip my purse and reach for my wallet, but a firm hand lands on my wrist, stopping me.

“Not a chance,” Jenna says, glaring.

“You know the rules. Monroes stay for free at the Carmen.” Mauricio pats my back, his eyes crinkling at the edges. “Though I wouldn’t say no to help if you feel like folding sheets.”

“I’d rather give you my next paycheck,” I tease, bumping him with my hip. Internally the realization that I’m the only Monroe left carves out a notch in my heart that I’ll be nursing for days.

We all seem to think it at once, because a silence falls between us save for the click of Mara’s nails against the keyboard.

Discomfort settles in the nape of my neck. No matter how hard I try to make returning to the Carmen a happy occasion, somehow the sadness always leaks through. I clear the lump from my throat, plastering a smile on my face to remind everyone I haven’t actually forgotten how to make the expression. “You know what’s crazy? I actually found out last year that I have an uncle. Mom had a half-brother that she never knew about.”

“That’s amazing!” Mo says just as Mara adds, “When do we get to meet him?”

My smile thins, and I glance from Mo to Mara to Jenna in turn. “Well, he lives in Colorado, so even I haven’t seen him since Christmas. But next summer, maybe.”

I try to picture Gary here, in one of his fishing shirts and a pair of cargo shorts, surrounded by the shimmering lobby. Enveloped in an embrace by the Ortiz family. Witnessing me floating down the halls like a waif or saturated with grief as I lie in the same room where my parents made plans for the years that lay before them, never realizing how few there would be.

A haze of tears like fogged glass clouds my vision. My friends become a blur of colors before me. Funny how easy it is to only remember the sunshine and salty skin and sand-ridden carpets when I’m away from here. The minute I step through the door, it’s like I become a different version of myself. A truer one, I fear.

“Is that where you met your man?” Jenna asks, completely missing whatever mist has suddenly turned my eyes overcast.

I blink once, twice, to clear it. “My man?”

She laughs. Mo hip checks me. Mara places my key card on the counter, and even she is smirking.

“No need to play coy with us. Christopher arrived yesterday, and Mara here had the pleasure of checking him in, but we all watched the security footage after.” Jenna’s full lips curve wickedly. “Very handsome, Tess.”

“I’m sorry.” I shake my head, trying to reel my thoughts back to a place where what they’re saying makes sense. “Christopher who?”

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