Page 43 of Landing Her Eagle
“Don’t worry. You have your privacy. We have our own things to do, and we aren’t watching you make out with your boyfriend.” She shudders. “It’s enough that I have to see your Gran and Pop make up for lost time. I don’t need to see my little girl getting jiggy with it.”
It’s my turn to shudder. No one needs to hear their mother use the word “jiggy.” Haven’t I suffered enough? Oh my gosh, am I making a joke about losing my parents? What the hell is wrong with me?
“Nothing is wrong with you, Daphne. You’re allowed to find humor and joy and be irreverent. It doesn’t mean you don’t miss us or didn’t love us. That’s why I’m here. We want you to be goofy and have fun and go on your adventures. Don’t be afraid of the future. Embrace it. If there are bumps along the way, you’ll deal with them. Plans shift. And so does your boyfriend. He’s gorgeous as his eagle, by the way. You’re strong and resilient. I think you’ve forgotten that, so I’m here to remind you. Don’t waste your life being safe. That doesn’t mean go out and be reckless. We’re in no rush to have you join us.” She laughs. “Sorry, couldn’t help it.”
A chuckle slips out. What else can I do? My mom is sitting here on my bed, holding my hand and making jokes about being dead. I’m not sure if I’m never eating chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream before bed again or eating it every night if this is going to happen.
“You know what I mean,” she says. “Don’t be reckless, but live your life. Fall in love, have a family, follow your dreams, go on adventures. Love is an adventure. It’s the best adventure you can have.”
My phone buzzes, and I reach over to see I have a text from Logan letting me know he arrived safely. It’s just before seven in the morning now. I look around the room. “Mom?”
Silence. I’m alone.
Did I dream her visit, or was she really here? My boyfriend turns into a bird, so I don’t think my dead mother visiting me is that outrageous in the big scheme of things. Whatever the truth is, she told me what I needed to hear.
“Thank you, Mom. I love you.”
I never thought a Howlbark movie and a visit from my mother’s ghost would offer the key to my future, but I guess stranger things have happened. Grabbing a pen, notepad, and my laptop, I make lists and google until it’s time to get ready for work. I have the start of a plan, and I’ll work on it more when I get home from work tonight.
26
LOGAN
It’s been a long day.After landing in Madrid, I texted Daphne good morning and picked up my rental car to go to Marisol and Pierre’s home, a lovely villa in Nueva España within the District of Chamartín, situated north of the city. I park my rented Mercedes and approach Marisol’s door.
Before I can knock, the door swings open, and Pierre greets me with a hug and a warm smile. “Logan! Welcome! It has been too long. Mari is changing Ariana and will be down in a moment.”
From behind Pierre, I hear, “Lolo!” A little black-haired missile rushes into my legs.
I bend to scoop him up. “Henri, I almost didn’t recognize you. When did you start shaving?” I blow a raspberry against his cheek, making him giggle.
“Lolo, stop!” When I lower him to his feet, he grabs my hand, dragging me toward the salon. “¡Mira!”
He’s pointing toward a black-painted rocking horse and tells me to look. He speaks a mishmash of Spanish, French, and English, depending which word comes to mind first. He understands all three languages. It’s incredible. I can handle Spanish and French, but I’m not fluent, and Mari and Pierre have requested I speak English to Henri, partly to increase his familiarity with the language, but mostly so I don’t confuse him with my poor grammar. I don’t know what is normal for an almost three-year-old in terms of language skills, but Henri seems advanced. He climbs on the horse and starts rocking.
“What’s its name?” I ask.
“Guillermo,” he answers. All righty. I peek over at Pierre. He grins, shrugs, and shakes his head.
I hear steps approaching and turn to see a radiant Mari holding the prettiest baby I’ve ever seen.
“Ariana, meet your Lolo,” she coos to her daughter, who gives a drooly, gummy smile in response. She has wispy dark blond hair and her mother’s dark gaze and lashes. She’s in a dark blue dress/shirt thing with blue-and-white striped footed pants underneath. Is it possible for a six-month-old to be fashionable? It must be because Ariana is like a little model. Henri is in brown corduroy pants with a green long-sleeved T-shirt, looking dapper too. I feel a bit rumpled and underdressed in the jeans and pullover I’ve been wearing since yesterday afternoon.
“Hello, Ariana,” I say to the baby as I reach out to run a finger along her cheek. She grabs my finger in a powerful grip I wasn’t expecting and tries to put it in her mouth.
With a laugh, Pierre rescues me by gently loosening her grip before she can start chewing. “She’s teething, and everyone else’s fingers are tastier than her own.”
“Here, hold her.” Mari hands Ariana to me. “I’ll get her soother.”
I smile at the bundle in my arms. “Hello, merry girl. I’m so happy to meet you.” I glance at Pierre. “You’re a very lucky man, my friend.”
Smiling at his little girl, he runs a hand over her curls. “Oui, I am. How about you? Mari said you went home to visit your Daphne. Any progress?”
“Pierre, you didn’t offer him anything to drink or tell him to take a seat,” Mari says in admonishment. “I’m going to tell your mama you’re a poor host!”
With a wry expression, Pierre extends his arm in invitation to sit on the sofa. I sit with Ariana on my lap. Mari hands her daughter a chilled teething ring she promptly puts in her mouth and starts gumming, making a nom-nom sound. Henri is content riding Guillermo while watching a Spanish cartoon.
“I started coffee. Did you sleep on your flight?” Mari glances around. “Where are your bags?”
