The Waves Take You Home: A Novel by María Alejandra Barrios Vélez

Author:María Alejandra Barrios Vélez [Vélez, María Alejandra Barrios]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Lake Union Publishing
Published: 2024-03-19T00:00:00+00:00

I woke up in Abuela’s chair, my neck bent in a weird position and my whole body hurting from sleeping on the chair. It was early, and Liam was still sleeping upstairs. I would be back before he woke up. I dressed in a rush and left the house to look for the only person who could give me answers to what Abuela’s spirit was looking for.

Doña Rocío.

Her house smelled like a blend of tobacco, marine breeze, and something earthy like the grass after a long day of rain. She opened the door with a smile, as if she knew I was coming. Doña Rocío, Abuela used to say, had the gift of premonition. She predicted and felt things before they happened. She greeted me with a cup of coffee that had so much sugar it tasted like a syrup rather than something I could drink.

She took me to her office and spread her tarot cards on the table just to gather them back.

“No,” she said. “No cartas. It has to be the caracoles.” She stood up and brought two handfuls of small shells. “Two rolls.”

“Doña Rocío, tell me something,” I said, sweating under my summer dress. Terrified of what she was about to say.

“Drop the Doña,” she said without looking at me. She threw the caracoles on the table and studied them as if the position of the shells spoke to her. She counted them. Rocío closed her eyes and became quiet. The sugar from the coffee was going straight to my head. I hadn’t had breakfast, and my stomach was rumbling in protest. Drops of my sweat dripped from my forehead.

“Rocío?” I asked, and she opened her eyes. Her face was as relaxed as if she had awoken from a nap.

“Si sigues así . . . you’re going to hurt many people.”

I cleared my throat. My indecision and cloudy thoughts were hurting the people I loved the most. It wasn’t enough to try with Caminito—I had to do something that mattered. Fear. Abuela had talked about that the night before. My emotions these past few days had oscillated between scared and confused.

“Cómo así?” How come? She lifted my right hand, covered by the bandage.

“Are you taking care of this?”

I was telling everyone that I was. And yet my hand felt weaker every day. Every night I put the cream on without looking, rushing to wrap my hand, too scared to see what was underneath.

I nodded, lying.

“You can’t really heal and close cycles if you don’t look. What good has ignoring done to your familia? Mira, Vi, you can lie to other people. But are you lying to yourself? You are confused now, but if you’re honest with yourself, Vi, you already know the answer. You’ve known all along. You’re wise. Listen to yourself.”

What good had come from listening to myself? I was in New York, and then I wasn’t. I had listened to Abuela, and I had run away, built a new life. But I had run away from myself so much, I no longer recognized my own voice.

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