Caribbean Rain Read Free Page B

Yunque could cause irreparable damage if camping and tourist interactions weren’t regulated more stringently. One reporter covering the event said he was a man among children in his field, but acknowledged that tourism, and rum production, was what made Puerto Rico roll and it would take an act of God to accomplish what his lecture had suggested.
    If they only knew.
    During that time, he’d became obsessed with reconnecting with his mother and finally found her in one of the southern suburbs of Chicago. He remembered knocking on the door of the tiny apartment and how special their reunion had been. They’d spent the night talking about everything, especially where his life had taken him. She was so proud. The look in her eyes said so. How could he ever forget that? The love, the satisfaction. Nothing matches the approval radiating from the eyes of a parent. Nothing. But he’d never see it again, thanks to them .
    Over the next few years, he’d visited his mother as much as he could and constantly asked her to join him, but she refused. Chicago was her home, and she wanted to stay there.
    He walked away from the armoire, stood next to the window facing the east, and watched the sun rise over his precious El Yunque. He had considered moving back to be with her, but that would have taken him far away from his rainforest, and this was his home. A move back to Chicago wouldn’t work for him on many levels, including his guest-teaching position at two of the local universities. The phone sitting on the lampstand suddenly drew his attention. It was nearly eight a.m. and that’s when they would talk practically every morning since they’d reconnected those seven years ago. She’d tell him about the snow and wind of Chicago, and he’d tell her it was eighty-five degrees and not a cloud in the sky. She’d laugh like mothers do, and it helped to begin his day on the upbeat side of this life. But the phone hadn’t rung for three months to the day. It never would again unless she, somehow, figured out how to call from beyond the grave.
    Reaching for the sixteenth-century German rapier hanging from his belt, he gripped the hilt, drew it from the sheath, and hugged it tightly.
    He’d begged her, again, to move to San Juan with him. He’d buy her a nice condo overlooking the ocean, and it would be like old times—before they’d taken her away from him. She always said she was thinking about it, but he knew it would never happen. Then finally, in October, she had agreed to fly down to see him for two weeks. They’d shopped, ate at great restaurants, and he’d taken her to beautiful El Yunque. In some ways, it was like introducing your girlfriend to your mother. He wanted her to approve, and she had—until they’d encountered those out-of-control campers. Gripping the sword tighter now at the memory, his hand dug into the ornate crosspiece, but he didn’t really feel it. He bit his lip and closed his eyes on the vivid picture of three young men, toting full camping backpacks, hurrying down the steep steps to the La Mina waterfalls.
    The weather had been perfect. He could still recall the singing birds and the smell of fresh rain. She’d even commented on the difference of the air compared to the city.
    They’d stopped at the bamboo-covered rest area, which was just before the last, severely abrupt set of stairs that descended to the bottom of the falls and the churning, emerald pool waiting there. They’d listened closely and heard the water rushing over the thirty-five-foot ledge. She’d grinned in anticipation.
    Just then, the first camper of the three nearly ran into them both in his haste to reach the falls at the bottom of the trail, managing to avoid them at the last second. He’d turned to tell the camper to slow down and be more careful when he’d heard it. The second young man had lost his balance, and plowed directly into his mother. The third, unable to correct his path, crashed into both his mother and