as much as the crazy schedule of interviews, meetings, concerts, and clubs. “Well, we shall see who wins, sí ?”
For the next hour, they talked. He found that it was easy to talk to her. She had a very direct way about her, her answers to his questions honest and pure. There was nothing about Amanda Beiler that spoke of playing games: no half-truths, no dishonesty, no exaggerations. For Alejandro, that was refreshing. He found that he could relax in her presence—be himself—and that, too, was refreshing. He was so used to people who wanted something from him that it was hard to know who was a true friend or who was just using him for money or fame. No one ever seemed to really care about what was going on inside his head. With Amanda, their dialogue seemed much more focused on real conversation, not peripheral topics that masked ulterior motives. She was refreshing, indeed.
When they crossed into Pennsylvania, Alejandro watched her staring out the car window. Her chocolate-brown eyes seemed to drink in the lush green trees and rolling hills. She smiled to herself, and he wondered what she was thinking. There was such a serene expression on her face; he suspected she was thinking about how glad she was to be returning home.
Home, he thought. As he let the word roll around inside his head, he could only think of the endless suites at fancy hotels with room service and housekeeping. He envisioned his bodyguards and staff of assistants, his entire entourage. When he thought of the word home , nothing popped into his mind. Nothing, he realized, that made him feel the way that Amanda looked as she stared out of the window.
The last part of the ride was quiet. He continued to watch her, his eyes drinking in her growing excitement as buildings disappeared, replaced with open farmland upon which horses and cows were grazing. As they neared her family’s farm, they began passing horses pulling simple black boxlike buggies. Alejandro found himself enthralled with the musical rhythm of the horses’ hooves against the macadam. When he looked over at Amanda, she looked like a smiling angel.
Nearly three hours after they had left New York City, they finally pulled off the road and turned down a narrow lane. Alejandro noticed that she sat up straight and seemed to become more energized. He was sure that her leg was bothering her, and he reminded himself to make certain she took her medicine when she was situated in her parents’ house. From what little he had learned about her culture, he was fairly certain that her people accepted fate without question and that would most likely include accepting the pain without taking the medicine.
The limousine began to slow down. He looked out the window and caught his breath. The farm was immaculate. If he had imagined a small, dilapidated farm like he was familiar with, back in Cuba, he was more than pleasantly surprised. The large barn was painted a bright red with white-trimmed doors and windows. There were large yellow flowers alongside it that contrasted brilliantly against the red barn. The driveway curved around the barn and dipped down behind a small hill where the plain white farmhouse stood. There was a large garden on the side of the house with vegetables growing. And in the driveway was a small gray-topped buggy.
“This is home?” he asked, lifting his sunglasses off his face to peer at her.
“Ja!” she said, smiling. Her face glowed with excitement.
“Isn’t quite what I was expecting,” he said softly, sliding the glasses back on his nose.
The car stopped by the farmhouse, and Amanda sat up in the seat, anxious to get out and see her family. The driver parked the car and got out, walking around to the trunk for the wheelchair. Alejandro waited patiently, amused by Amanda’s impatience. She was practically bouncing off the seat, her eyes scanning the farmhouse for any sign of her parents.
And then they saw them.
The door of the house opened, and an older couple
For the next hour, they talked. He found that it was easy to talk to her. She had a very direct way about her, her answers to his questions honest and pure. There was nothing about Amanda Beiler that spoke of playing games: no half-truths, no dishonesty, no exaggerations. For Alejandro, that was refreshing. He found that he could relax in her presence—be himself—and that, too, was refreshing. He was so used to people who wanted something from him that it was hard to know who was a true friend or who was just using him for money or fame. No one ever seemed to really care about what was going on inside his head. With Amanda, their dialogue seemed much more focused on real conversation, not peripheral topics that masked ulterior motives. She was refreshing, indeed.
When they crossed into Pennsylvania, Alejandro watched her staring out the car window. Her chocolate-brown eyes seemed to drink in the lush green trees and rolling hills. She smiled to herself, and he wondered what she was thinking. There was such a serene expression on her face; he suspected she was thinking about how glad she was to be returning home.
Home, he thought. As he let the word roll around inside his head, he could only think of the endless suites at fancy hotels with room service and housekeeping. He envisioned his bodyguards and staff of assistants, his entire entourage. When he thought of the word home , nothing popped into his mind. Nothing, he realized, that made him feel the way that Amanda looked as she stared out of the window.
The last part of the ride was quiet. He continued to watch her, his eyes drinking in her growing excitement as buildings disappeared, replaced with open farmland upon which horses and cows were grazing. As they neared her family’s farm, they began passing horses pulling simple black boxlike buggies. Alejandro found himself enthralled with the musical rhythm of the horses’ hooves against the macadam. When he looked over at Amanda, she looked like a smiling angel.
Nearly three hours after they had left New York City, they finally pulled off the road and turned down a narrow lane. Alejandro noticed that she sat up straight and seemed to become more energized. He was sure that her leg was bothering her, and he reminded himself to make certain she took her medicine when she was situated in her parents’ house. From what little he had learned about her culture, he was fairly certain that her people accepted fate without question and that would most likely include accepting the pain without taking the medicine.
The limousine began to slow down. He looked out the window and caught his breath. The farm was immaculate. If he had imagined a small, dilapidated farm like he was familiar with, back in Cuba, he was more than pleasantly surprised. The large barn was painted a bright red with white-trimmed doors and windows. There were large yellow flowers alongside it that contrasted brilliantly against the red barn. The driveway curved around the barn and dipped down behind a small hill where the plain white farmhouse stood. There was a large garden on the side of the house with vegetables growing. And in the driveway was a small gray-topped buggy.
“This is home?” he asked, lifting his sunglasses off his face to peer at her.
“Ja!” she said, smiling. Her face glowed with excitement.
“Isn’t quite what I was expecting,” he said softly, sliding the glasses back on his nose.
The car stopped by the farmhouse, and Amanda sat up in the seat, anxious to get out and see her family. The driver parked the car and got out, walking around to the trunk for the wheelchair. Alejandro waited patiently, amused by Amanda’s impatience. She was practically bouncing off the seat, her eyes scanning the farmhouse for any sign of her parents.
And then they saw them.
The door of the house opened, and an older couple
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