Page 80 of Freedom's Kiss
Chapter 33
Present Day, Florida
Olivia took a deep breath as she stared out the side window from the backseat of her dad’s truck. He killed the engine, his hand lingering on the keys in the ignition. The three of them sat there, she in back and her parents in front, gathering courage about them like sandbags in the trenches. None of them knew what the day held, what kind of projectiles might be hurled their way.
Amy had seemed super friendly and cheerful in her email and over the phone when they’d hashed out the meeting, but that didn’t settle Olivia’s stomach. It flipped and turned over on itself like two wrestlers in a match. On the one hand, she was beyond excited to be meeting a sister—and she still reeled over the fact she even possibly had a sister! But what if Amy turned out not to be her sister at all? What if Olivia wasn’t any closer to finding her blood family than she had been when she’d first discovered her adoption? What if Amy told her all about their mom and then tacked on, “Oh, by the way, she still wants nothing to do with you.” The unknowns gave her a queasiness that made her want to hurl.
She glanced at the backs of her mom’s and dad’s heads. The guilt about her parents killed her. Dad had woken her that morning with fresh-squeezed orange juice and a plate of huevos rancheros. The smell of sautéed onions and garlic, tangy tomatoes, and cooked eggs triggered a memory of a morning about twenty years before. It had been summer break, and she’d prepared herself for a boring, lonely day at home with a neighborhood teenager who spent more time talking on the phone to her boyfriend than paying any attention to Olivia, because while Olivia had off for the summer, her parents didn’t.
Dad had surprised her that morning though. She’d padded out of her bedroom to find him in the kitchen, ingredients lined up on the counter and a hand-printed recipe card propped up against a bag of coffee beans. He’d called in to work and spent the whole day with her, starting with teaching her his grandmother’s secret recipe and ending with watching a soccer match, or, as he’d call it,futbol, featuring the national team from Guatemala. He was a man proud of his heritage, and he’d wanted to share it with his only daughter.
A crease formed between her brows as she both reminisced and watched a woman dressed in authentic Native American clothing exit her vehicle and trek across the grounds. What would her childhood have looked like if David and Eileen Arroyo hadn’t adopted her? Would she have spent her growing-up years learning traditional stomp dances instead of play-dancing the salsa to Latin American music with her dad? Or worse, maybe…
She shook her head. She could think up a thousand scenarios, but the truth was, she really couldn’t picture growing up any other way or with any other parents than the ones she had.
Her dad cleared his throat, snapping her out of her thoughts and bringing her focus from out the window to meet his gaze in the rearview mirror. “Ready?”
She nodded and pulled on the handle to open the door. She stepped out and shut the door, two echoes following. Her dad walked around the front of the truck, looking first at his wife, communicating silently, then moving to focus on Olivia. He reached out and gripped her shoulder, pulling her into his chest and encasing her with his strong arms.
“We’re here for you,mija.” He whispered into her hair. “Anything you need.”
Olivia nodded, and her dad loosened his hold. Mom’s eyes glistened, but she smiled.
“I’m so sorry, you guys.” Olivia shook her head. Yes, finding out her parents hadn’t given her life had come as a shock and a punch to the gut, and yes, she still dealt with some residual anger over it, but she hadn’t been exactly understanding or kind since the revelation either.
Dad’s arm still lay across her shoulders, and Mom stepped up, winding an arm around Olivia’s back. She returned their hug, and they stood there a moment in a huddle. She soaked it in. Their love. Their support. The unconditional way in which they relayed that they’d be there for her no matter what. No matter how much doing so might hurt them in the process.
She let her arms fall, and her parents followed suit, but instead of allowing them to distance themselves, she grabbed and held their hands. She used to walk with them like this—father, daughter, mother—all the time. When she was little, she’d pull up her legs and they’d swing her by the arms between them. A family.
As they neared the outskirts of the grounds where pop-up canopies had been erected, the sound of milling people underscored the announcer speaking over a sound system. Somewhere, drums played. A rainbow of vibrant colors everywhere.
Gratefulness seeped into her limbs that her first introduction to her biological culture and heritage was here at a small intertribal powwow and not the large event held at the Seminole Hard Rock Hotel. As it was, sights, sounds, and smells bombarded her senses and threatened to squash her initial excitement and send her into a tailspin of panic.
As if sensing her mounting nerves, Dad squeezed her hand and pointed between two canopies where a little boy about five years old with a roach headdress spiking and running down the middle of his head pranced about in a dance that had his knees rising high as he made tight circles. The feathers attached to his white, blue, and green shirt and pants bounced with his movement.
“You think he’s practicing for one of the dance competitions?” Dad asked while Mom cooed, “Isn’t that the most darling thing?”
Olivia nodded but didn’t comment. She and Amy had agreed to meet at a booth featuring art from a local artist who carved animals into natural materials, such as antlers, and attached them to a blade created using an old technique calledknapping. So far, they’d passed a few vendors selling food and some more artsy ones featuring beadwork.
She looked to her right. Knives on stands two booths down caught her attention. From the distance, she couldn’t distinguish the carving at the end of the handle of the closest, but it looked to be made out of an animal bone of some sort. She scanned the other four knives on display. One had teeth.What animal did that jawbone come from?
They drew closer, the second row of art behind the knives becoming visible. Her heart skipped a beat at the beautifully carved or painted pieces of driftwood. She’d never seen art quite like this before, natural in its rugged elegance.
Olivia’s gaze scanned the inside of the booth, but only a middle-aged balding man sat in a fold-up camping chair, not a college-aged girl who could possible share parts of Olivia’s DNA.
The man gave them a friendly smile and held up a few strands of leather in his lap. “I’ll be right with you, folks.”
Pressure on her right hand brought her head up. Mom focused on something beyond Olivia. She turned. Time stood still. All the sights and sounds and smells drifted away like someone pressing a Mute button to her senses. Her heart kicked up a notch, and her lips twitched, as if they didn’t know if they should smile at the person heading toward her or not.
Silky black hair framed a slightly square face that housed eyes lit by the sun and a smile an eternity wide. She seemed of equal height and build as Olivia, and the colorful patchwork skirt and matching poncho blouse made up of red, orange, yellow, and blue stripes—some solid and some consisting of geometric shapes—swished as her gait picked up speed.
Olivia stood there, frozen, speechless. A squeeze to both her hands, then her parents dropped their hold. A second later Amy—or rather, she assumed the woman was Amy—barreled into her, squeezing her around her neck.
“You have no idea how many times I imagined meeting you. Hugging you like this.” The young woman leaned back to smile at Olivia. “And now I can!” To prove it, she squeezed Olivia again.
Olivia wrapped her arms around the other woman’s waist a bit tentatively. “Amy?”
She stepped back and thumbed a tear from the corner of her eye. “Right. Sorry. Yes, I’m Amy.” She thrust her hand forward at first David, then Eileen. “It’s nice to meet you.” Her gaze landed on Olivia. “Finally.”
