Clutch Hit, Faith O'Shea [read along books TXT] 📗

a site that had such historic underpinnings. By the time they’d seen the outside of the Old South Meeting House and the Old North Church, they came to Faneuil Hall which she explained was the end of the line. There were restaurants and bars and Quincy Market, retail stores and tourists.

“Why don’t we stop in for a beer and an appetizer. I was surprised you ate so little for lunch.”

He squeezed her hand and smiled. “When you suggested a day’s excursion with you, food was no longer a priority.”

The genuine smile she gifted him with was heart-warming. She seemed to be enjoying the day as much as he was.

When she ordered a Sam, he asked, “What is that?”

“It’s a Sam Adams beer. Local brewery. Everyone from Boston knows what Sam means. You might prefer the Guinness.”

He duplicated the order and found it had a clean lager taste, and for as much as he liked it, he wanted to try the Guinness, so he switched before the appetizers came. They munched on nachos and onion rings and stayed just long enough to warm up for the walk back to the car. The weather might be chillier than he was used to, but everything else about the place was almost heaven. No one watched his movements, there was an abundance of food, all kinds, all ethnicities, it was historic but well kept, he had money at his disposal, a job he loved, and the company, especially today, was beyond compare. He’d found a home here in more ways than one.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

When they got back from their excursion, Mateo went right to the television. His absorption with the medium was a bit off the charts, but Allie guessed when you were used to a very limited selection, hundreds of channels must seem like a candy to a kid in a candy store. When she heard him say, Cuba into the remote, she waited, interested to see what would come up. Within a few minutes, he called over, “Allie come and see. I have found something I’d like to watch with you.”

She came out of the kitchen, where she was making a list of what they might need for the next week and took a seat beside him, paper and pen still in hand.

“Where did you find it?”

“Something called Amazon Prime Video. Is that a station?”

“Not really. It’s a streaming service offered by Amazon. You’ve heard of that, right?”

“The river?”

“No. It’s the biggest sales venue in the world. Books, videos, clothes… the list is endless. You want it, go to Amazon.”

“It is extra?”

She explained as the montage of Cuban landmarks passed over the screen, guitars, bongo, and maracas playing in the background.

“I thought it might be something you could use, so I applied for it. If you have a prime membership, you get free delivery for all your purchases, no matter the cost or weight, videos, and even discounts at Whole Foods. Why this documentary? I’m sure you’ve seen every part of the island when you played the different provincial teams.”

He took her hand, met her eyes. “I wanted to go with you, see my country through your eyes. This will give me the opportunity to do that. Please sit and watch with me.”

She wanted to. While she’d been walking the streets, Mariposa playing tour guide, she’d yearned for his presence. She would have loved to talk to him about all she saw. Even though there were signs of wear and tear on people’s faces, their clothes, their possessions, the citizens looked happy. They were friendly, with broad smiles, and witty banter echoed across the open spaces. There were men in the parks playing dominoes, throwing their tiles down with gusto. She’d observed those who sat on the seawall on the Malecón, an esplanade that ran along the coastline. She could hear the waves crashing on the rocks, smell the brine that filled the air, witnessed lovers making out and fishermen dangling their rusted rods over the sides.

She put the pad and pencil down and sat back, recognizing many of the historic buildings that appeared on the screen.

Mateo excitedly pointed to the marble statue that was situated in the middle of the Plaza de Armas.

“There, there is a statue of Céspedes. Remember I told you about him?”

“I do. He is one of your heroes.”

She’d seen the statue from the hotel, had passed by it when they strolled through the plaza late Friday afternoon. His mother giving him a running documentary on who he was and what he’d done to gain fame.

The camera was panning over an open-stall book market.

“And there, that book he’s displaying is a famous one about Che.”

She’d seen the iconic picture of Guevara everywhere, but didn’t know one of the facts the narrator spoke to.

“I didn’t know Cubans were voracious readers.”

“Yes. When we can get books. There are many good authors, but many topics are off-limits. I can order on Amazon now. Anything I want. Am I right?”

“You are and you can order many of them in Spanish if it’s easier to read for you.”

“I need to learn to read English better if it is to be my first language. I do that by practice.”

She glanced back to the TV to see the Santa Isabel. More excitedly than she’d intended, she exclaimed, “That’s where we stayed.”

He whistled. “Very exclusive. My mother told me she stayed there, as well. I told her she should have insisted you stay at the casa particular where she was registered instead. It’s more reasonably priced and you would have gotten a better idea of what life there is really like.”

“But I would have missed the street life.”

“Was it what you expected?”

He hit pause, intent on her answer.

“You think you can conjure up the images of what you’ve heard, but no way did my imagination capture the sounds, smells, and sights. The architecture alone is worth the trip. I never gave a thought to the kind of Spanish influence that would be evident in Havana. And