Epilogue


On his hillside farm, Juan was happy. His hogs were happy, eagerly slurping the slop he was feeding them, unaware that their days were numbered. Looking down at the Palm Estates, he noticed the golf course was beginning to emerge from the flood waters, a mass of mud over what was once bright green grass. The huge houses remained islands in a murky lake.

Juan had no pity for the displaced homeowners. The Palm Estates never should have been built. The rich delta flatland was best used for farms, not for palace playgrounds for the wealthy.

***

There were two new faces in the back of the garbage truck as it jerked and stopped on Main Street. Ivan and Gomez were not smiling as they hauled up the smelly bins and sorted the refuse.

Further up the street, sweating heavily in blackened orange jumpsuits, the man who was once mayor and his nephew, who had once been a town cop, listlessly shoveled hot asphalt into potholes. The new mayor wasn’t waiting until the next election for city workers to start improving things.

***

The crowd standing on the entry stairs to the church burst into applause as the doors swung open and the newlywed couple emerged into the sunshine. Potpourri and rose petals showered down on Eddie’s bare head as he ushered Gina into the waiting limousine. As he crouched to enter, she placed a brand new cowboy hat atop his gray curls and the limo sped off.

Another round of applause erupted as a second couple came out of the church. Hand in hand, Frank and Fernanda dodged the rain of confetti and ducked into a second limo.

Cheers drifted through the air as the town’s newest couples drove away.

***

With less fanfare but equally joyous, another resident was leaving town.

Both hands holding on to her wide brimmed hat, wind caressing her happy face, the mayor’s wife, Lulu, stretched languorously across the red leather back seat of the Caddy. She’d closed out the joint bank accounts, sold the house, and now, with Jasmine curled up beside her, she was leaving for the big city.

“No hurry, Pepe,” she purred to the driver with whom she’d been having an affair for years.

In a few weeks, Lulu would be dumbfounded when her beloved white poodle birthed a litter of very strange looking pups.

***

Planted on their bench, beer bottles in hand, a Dodgers game on the radio, the three kings of Main Street surveyed their kingdom, waved and nodded at passersby. Life had returned to normal in Puerto Cielo.

At least for now.

***

In City Park, filled with townspeople relaxing on a quiet, warm afternoon, music floated out from the gazebo. A girl in a wheelchair sang as her friend played guitar.

“Guantanamera
Guajira Guantanamera
Guantanamrera
Guajira Guantanamera

Yo soy un hombre sincero
De donde crecen las palmas
Yo soy un hombre sincero
De donde crece la palma
Y antes de morir yo quiero
Echar mis versos del alma
Y antes de morir yo quiero
Echar mis versos del alma

Guantanamera
Guajira Guantanamera
Guantanamrera
Guajira Guantanamera”

***


THE END

can a frustrated single mom and failed big city journalist save her family and salvage her career by returning to a town run by a gang of bungling thugs?


“The Resurrection of Puerto Cielo” is a novella published in serial form, 43 posts.




41


Max hoisted his front half up the pole. The monster iguana eyed its possible meal and flicked his long red tongue.

“Ayeyouga! ayeyouga! All hands on deck! All hands on deck! ayeyouga!” a frightened parrot screeched.

Max flicked his tongue again.

“Shiver me timbers! Shiver me timbers!”

Laughing, Sam called out as he and Gabe descended the stairs into the courtyard, 

“Quiet Hook, you’re going to wake the neighborhood.”

Convinced that the noisy thing atop the perch wouldn’t do for breakfast, Max lowered himself and sauntered back into the garden greenery.

Somewhat relieved, Hook stretched and flapped his wings, “Walk the plank! Walk the plank!”

Sam advised, “You’d better feed the old fart or he’ll pester us all morning.”

Rescued from Mitch’s shack, Captain Hook was now in temporary residence with the Diaz family. Gabe gave the crotchety parrot a slice of mango.

“Hallelujah!”

The women of the house arrived at the table. Lucy with scrambled eggs and sausage, Manny with hot tortillas, and Espy with coffee and juice. All ate hungrily. Arnold crawled out from his basket under the altar and trained his big brown eyes on Gabe. The pitiful look resulted in his own breakfast plate.

BAM! . . . BAM! BAM! BAM!

The excited table chatter was broken by exploding firecrackers.

For better, for worse, this was going to be a big day.

***

BAM! . . . BAM! BAM!

Jolted from sleep, Ricky crashed to the floor.

BAM! BAM!

He lashed out for his gun,

“D-D-D—amn!”

The gun was still at his waterlogged house.

BAM!

Flat on his stomach, Ricky frantically looked around.

BAM! BAM! BAM!

W-w-ho was shooting?

The memory hit him.

Those damn kids and their fireworks.

BAM!

He crawled to the open balcony door and peeked out.

There was nothing to see but a thick, gray fog.

BAM! BAM!

Then he heard the chants.

“No more corruption!”

“Vote them out!”

“Take back our town!”

BAM!

Cautiously, Ricky stood, slipped outside, and leaned on the balcony railing. He looked up and down Beach Drive. Nothing to see but a chalky gray cloud.

The voices came closer.

“Jail the crooks!”

“Carmen for mayor!”

Footsteps sounded on the street below, but the marchers remained unseen.

“Your vote counts!”

“Free Puerto Cielo!!”

As the invisible procession paraded past, Ricky realized something big was happening on this early Sunday morning

“BAM!”

***

Farther down the street, hidden by fog and palm trees, Blue Boy hadn’t had so much fun since blowing the tops off garbage cans in the alley behind his house. He lit another of the big ”Devil Bombs” and tossed it high in the air. 

KA-BOOM!

After all, he thought, the priest had told him God smiled on celebrating holy days and Sunday was about as holy as it gets.

KA-BOOM!

***

“Stop the crooks!”

“Vote them out!”

Standing in front of the Star office, the Diaz family could only see fog. But calling out from Beach Drive and echoing down Main Street, the voices of protest were coming together at City Park.

“No more!”

“Our town, our way!”

“What’s happening?” asked Manny, 

No one had an answer as the sound of voices and marching footsteps approached.

Streaks of sunlight began to melt the mist. Slowly the street in front of the Star came into focus and, as the fog evaporated, the family saw another flood surging down Main Street.

But this was not a torrent of muddy water, rather a promenade of colorful umbrellas, an outpouring of chanting, cheering people waving signs.

“Throw them out!”

BAM! BAM! . . . BAM!

The parade of parasols swept by. Grinning at each other, the Diaz family plunged into the river of protesters.

***

“Sheriff! Sheriff, you there?”

Eddie picked up the mike, “And good morning to you, Gloria.”

“Sheriff, I’ve got calls coming in about a mob moving down Main Street and another one on Beach Drive.”

“True enough,” answered Eddie, watching the crowd swarm pass his patrol car parked outside the public market.

“What’s going on?”

Eddie smiled.

“Jail the crooks!” shouted a passing demonstrator waving his sign in Eddie’s face.

“People have had enough. They’re turning out to vote for change,” Eddie answered.

There was no reply from the other end of the radio.

“Close the office Gloria, nothing bad’s happening today. Get out and join the party, come out and vote.”

Eddie put the mike back, thinking, no, nothing but good today.

***

Under a brilliant blue sky, in a chaos of excited greetings and laughter, two boisterous collages of umbrellas, signs, and animated faces tramping down Beach Drive and Main Street collided at City Park.

The ladies of the circle had been busy.

The city engineer, eager to restore his domestic status and leave behind the agony of sleeping on his brother’s sagging couch, had been up all night with workers restoring electricity. Other men had been cajoled out of bed to set up tents and install voting machines in the park at the base of the stairs leading up to the church. Now, power lines snaked across the street from the Public Market and, with the ladies of the circle manning the registration tables, election day was going to happen in Puerto Cielo.

The Diaz family bumped into Carmen, Dante, and Gina in front of Mama G’s. They watched as the crowded confusion magically transformed into a long line stretching from the voting tents, through City Park, and down Beach Drive. Umbrellas collapsed and joyful smiles soaked up sun.

A bell peeled. The crowd calmed. The priest appeared at the top of the church steps. He raised his arms heavenward, crossed himself and heads bowed as the priest prayed.

The chorus of “Amen!” resounded through the air.

And so began a grand fiesta. Friends catching up on gossip, vendors passing by with tacos, tamales, ice cream, aqua fresca. Kids running, screaming throughout.

A keen observer of life on Main Street would notice that the bench in front of the Three B’s store was empty. Even the brothers, towed along by their wives, were in line to vote.

The throng was keeping a safe distance from a clutch of scantily clad young women. Occasionally, one of these ladies would call out to a familiar male face.

“Hola, Emilio!”

A man suddenly turned scarlet as the woman beside him gaped in shocked surprise.

Seeing that the girls from the Pink Pillow had shown up to vote, other customers turned their backs, hoping not to be recognized. 

“Shoo! Go away!” scolded the lady with the big white hat trying to protect her poodle, who didn’t seem to mind the attention she was getting from the little three legged chihuahua.

Arnold’s nose was dragged away by the arrival of Lazy with another tasty treat from the butcher.

Nearby, Julio stood in line between two remarkably identical women. Eyes glazed, he listened dutifully as G2 and mother Gloria extolled the merits of democracy.

Manny poked her mom and pointed, “Look!”

The voting line had been joined by another family. Manny dragged Espy across the street.

They stopped beside the girl in the wheelchair being pushed by her father.

The two girls hugged as their parents watched.

Ricky looked over at Espy and simply said,

“Thank you.”

High in the church tower, the bell continued ringing for the resurrection of Puerto Cielo.

***

can a frustrated single mom and failed big city journalist save her family and salvage her career by returning to a town run by a gang of bungling thugs?


“The Resurrection of Puerto Cielo” is a novella published in serial form, 43 posts.




40


She stood on the balcony overlooking the courtyard. The night was so still, so strangely quiet, even the roof dogs were silent. After the bewildering chaos of the rally disaster and then the flood, Espy should be exhausted, but her mind wouldn’t slow down.

She stared up at the face in the moon.

As a little girl, Sam had taken her finger and traced the lady in the moon’s smile. He’d told her that the moon was happy because she had all the cheese she could eat.

But that was a childhood fairy tale. And fairy tales wouldn’t save Puerto Cielo from the criminals and corruption that plagued the town.

Tomorrow was the election.

Would anyone show up?

***

On another balcony, Ricky looked out at the glimmering reflection of the full moon on the sparkling Gulf. Thanks to the good people of Puerto Cielo, people who had every reason to despise him, he and his family were safe, lodged in a beach front hotel.

Brought up to trust only blood, Ricky had done everything to please his father. When Ricardo Ruiz died, Ricky kept on with the only life he’d ever known. He became a mob boss.

He became a man who was always alone.

Moonlight glistened on the tear sliding down the solitary man’s cheek. His heart had stopped when he heard his daughter’s cherubic voice entrance every soul in the church. An angel singing. His angel. An angel now in a wheelchair because he couldn’t let go of a business that had first killed his father, and then his own wife.

For the first time in his life, Ricky Ruiz prayed.

Something had to change.

***

can a frustrated single mom and failed big city journalist save her family and salvage her career by returning to a town run by a gang of bungling thugs?


“The Resurrection of Puerto Cielo” is a novella published in serial form, 43 posts.



39


The subdued sounds of “gracias” soothed the night air.

It was midnight and still a line of people remained to be served at the sidewalk kitchen. Gina had thrown open the doors to her restaurant and, with candles everywhere, set up serving tables outside her restaurant. This was her town and her people, many without electricity, and they needed to be fed.

Carmen and Espy dished bowls of hot posole to the procession of grateful smiles.

Manny and Maria handed out bread.

And, to the surprise of everyone, El Tiburon and his bodyguard were ladling drinks. Smiling, Ricky, wearing jeans and a sweatshirt, seemed to be enjoying himself.

In the kitchen, Gina and Lucy, aided by the Zorros, were preparing enough food to feed everyone. One of the helpers was having difficulty.

“No, Julio,” G2’s command rang out above the din, “you cut the onions like this.”

The usually brash bully had become quite timid.

Inside the restaurant, gathered around their table, the ladies of the circle were talking on phones between spoonfuls of soup. The group had a new member. Dona Consuelo sat chatting with Fernanda.

Dinner in hand, folks wandered across Main Street.

In pockets of candlelight, many sat in City Park, restored to order after the flood had swept clean the rally wreckage. Others clustered on the church’s entry steps, dazed by a sky sparkling with stars.

A gasp murmured through the calm night bliss.

“Look at that!”

Fingers pointed.

“Like, super wow!”

Through the palm trees, across the beach and the Gulf, a golden glimmer was growing on the horizon.

The moon, quietly ascending to its full and brilliant majesty, tenderly kissed the town of Puerto Cielo with its loving light.

High in the bell tower, even the two watching angels were awed.

***

can a frustrated single mom and failed big city journalist save her family and salvage her career by returning to a town run by a gang of bungling thugs?


“The Resurrection of Puerto Cielo” is a novella published in serial form, 43 posts.




38


In the evening darkness, the muddy water on Main Street had become a stream of silent church goers. The flood had surprised them all, left the town stunned at how quickly Nature could upend their peaceful world.

As the bell tolled, people crowded into the sanctuary to give thanks. Although the flood had caused minor damage and the power was out in parts of town, not a single life had been lost.

From their candlelit niches along the sides of the church, silent statues of saints peered down at worshippers nudged shoulder to shoulder in the pews. The bare wooden cross hung on the front wall glowed in the light of two tall candelabra. A lofty pulpit rose to the left of the altar. On the opposite side, the serene smile and open arms of Mother Mary reached out to the upturned faces of her children.

The reverent hush was broken by the organ, unseen in the back balcony, floating soft music over a humbled congregation.

All looked up as the padre appeared in the pulpit. He shared thoughts of grace and gratitude for the salvation of Puerto Cielo and its people. He crossed himself. Heads bowed, the people knelt. the priest prayed.

As organ music echoed from the ceiling, they stood and sang together.

Espy, her family beside her, looked around at the faces softened by the glow of dozens and dozens of flickering candles. Dominic and Victoria Prado and their children, Sheriff Eddie and his mother, Gina, Carmen and Dante, the ladies of the circle sprinkled throughout with their families. 

All the faces were there. Weary faces. Shocked faces. Relieved faces. Even the faces of Ricky Ruiz and his mother-in-law, Fernanda, and the bodyguard, Frank.

The priest and altar boys prepared the blessed sacrament. As organ music swelled, the penitent slowly filed forward to receive holy communion. When all had returned to their seats, the music stopped.

Under the loving eyes of the Holy Mother, a girl in a wheelchair rolled to the front of the church.

The organ played.

An angel sang.

“Ave Maria
Gratia plena
Maria, gratia plena
Maria, gratia plena
Ave, ave dominus
Dominus tecum
Bendicta tu in mulieribus
Et benedictus
Et benedictus fructus ventris
Ventris tui, Jesus”

Ricky was spellbound.

His daughter had stopped singing after her mother’s death. He felt Fernanda gently touch his fingers. They looked at each other. Tears streamed down their cheeks.

Throughout the sacred house, faces softened. Hearts melted. Small thoughts were carried off by the clear cherubic voice.

The girl in the wheelchair was no longer the daughter of the gang boss, El Tiburon. She was the beatific love of Mother Mary caressing her downtrodden flock.

“Ave Maria
Gratia plena”

From her chariot, the angel looked out and smiled.

The silence filled with weeping whispers.

Heads bowed for the benediction.

As one, they called out,

“Amen.”

Holding each other close, the faithful slowly flowed outside. 

The church was empty when Manny pushed Maria down the center aisle. The wheelchair stopped beside Ricky. Head down, palms on the pew in front of him, his body shook with sobs.

Softly weeping, Maria reached out and tenderly took her father’s hands..

He looked up.

***

Above them in the balcony, a tear slid down the ghost’s cheek as her family finally came together again.

***

can a frustrated single mom and failed big city journalist save her family and salvage her career by returning to a town run by a gang of bungling thugs?


“The Resurrection of Puerto Cielo” is a novella published in serial form, 43 posts.




37


Puerto Cielo had been built on land sloping up from the river, so only its lower part had been inundated and the mangrove jungle between the lagoon and town, with its tangle of tree roots and swamp plants, soaked up most of the flood.

By late afternoon, puffball clouds dotted a quiet blue sky, no hint of the previous drenching downpours. Having retrieved their bench from the debris strewn on the beach, the Bernie brothers had resumed their post. A younger generation was sweeping mud from the sidewalk, but beyond that, Main Street, with its lunar landscape of potholes, was back to normal.

Not so on the far side of the lagoon.

For eons the Rio Serpente had carved its path to the sea. Twisting, angling, eating away at earth and stone, pulled by gravity to rejoin Mother Ocean. Now, the flood surge of  the chocolate river poured into the lagoon and, with no barrier to stop it, swept across the adjoining flat delta land, drowning the Palm Estates.

“Flood!”

Ricky heard the shout and ran to the entry.

Astonished, he and Frank stood on the porch watching muddy water envelop the house. The gray limo in the driveway was already half submerged.

Ricky’s mind flashed.

Maria!

He frantically dialed her phone.

No response.

He thought for a moment, then called the Star office. Lucy answered, Maria was not there. She gave Ricky Espy’s number.

Espy, at Mama G’s with the two girls, assured him that Maria was safe.

Relieved, Ricky considered his situation. Along with Frank and Fernanda, he was stranded in a house that wouldn’t float in a rising tide of murky water.

***

The bow wave splashed on the lagoon’s mirror calm surface as the flatboat crossed to what was left of the Palm Estates. Flotsam passed by, the roof of a farm shed, the carcass of a cow, a section of wood fence. Palm tree islands poked up from what had been the golf course.

Surrounded by brown water instead of green lawns, mansions were now lonely prisons for the people trapped inside. The boat slowed as it approached an isolated house. Someone waved from a balcony.

In the front of the boat, Gabe and Dante waved back. Mitch guided the craft through a maze of submerged vehicles, roofs just above the surface, looking like lurking mechanical monsters.

The boat edged towards the front porch and the door opened.

Ricky’s foot was about to step down when he yelled,

“M-M-M-Mierda!”

He’d nearly walked into the wide open, tooth filled mouth of a crocodile.

The door slammed shut.

Mitch and the boys broke out laughing.

Unbothered, the croc, quite content baking in the warm sun, didn’t move.

The door cracked open.

Mitch thumped the reluctant reptile with an oar. It scuttled into the water and was gone.

The door opened further and Ricky peered out.

“Can’t say I’m impressed with the neighbors, Ricky, “ Mitch quipped, “but we’re here to offer you folks a ride to town.”

The boys helped Fernanda and Frank into the middle of the boat. Ricky climbed onto the rear seat beside Mitch. They were soon skimming over what had once been the ninth fairway, the flag fluttering barely a foot above the water. It would be weeks before the golf course would be seen again. Occasionally, Mitch and the boys waved at other boats ferrying survivors to safety.

It had been an intensely emotional day, bursting over with turmoil. Now, suddenly safe, the boat’s passengers relaxed. Minds melted into the drone of the motor and the soft splash of the bow wave.

Ricky turned to Mitch. Above the noise of the outboard, he asked,

“Why? Why after all I’ve done to your town, are you helping us?”

Mitch looked deep into Ricky’s hollow eyes.

“Because, Ricky, this is what good people do.”

***

can a frustrated single mom and failed big city journalist save her family and salvage her career by returning to a town run by a gang of bungling thugs?


“The Resurrection of Puerto Cielo” is a novella published in serial form, 43 posts.




36


During the night, as rain poured into the overflowing reservoir, cracks appeared at the top of Puerto Cielo’s earthen dam. As pressure built, rivulets of escaping water became jets streaming out and down the dam’s face.

Within hours, more cracks appeared, the escaping water now a muddy curtain running down the hillside, tumbling over the white water spillway into the Rio Serpente.

At 4 a.m., the dam failed. With a final sigh, the earthen top caved in and unleashed a thundering torrent.

No one heard the roar of the cataclysm raging towards Puerto Cielo.

***

Saturday morning would usually find Main Street crowded with people going to market. Not today. As the Bernie brothers looked out from their bench, things were strangely quiet.

In spite of the night’s burning billboard, the rally disaster had been a gut punch to the town’s hopes for change.

Sipping coffee at their veranda table at Mama G’s, Espy and Carmen looked out at City Park. Trashed signs, trampled plants, fallen tree limbs, garbage everywhere, the park was a desolate battlefield of dashed dreams. The only good news was that the rain had stopped and sunlight now highlighted the carnage.

The two friends looked at each other. They were pondering the same question. The election was tomorrow.

What next?

Sheriff Eddie looked out from the steps of City Hall. The sun’s warmth felt good after day’s of rain. He watched the ladies in black cross Main Street and step up into Mama G’s.

He took a deep breath. Please God, he thought, may nothing like yesterday ever happen again.

Then he chuckled. The mystery of Juan’s lost pigs had been solved. The police radio was mercifully silent now after hours of reports that hungry hogs had been grubbing through garbage in Puerto Cielo’s alleys. By now, Juan had collected most of his stray herd.

Eddie smiled, savoring the memory of bashing the two thugs heads together. Yes, they’d turned the pigs loose on the rally, but he’d deal with that later.

Right now, he just wanted a quiet cup of coffee with Gina.

Snugging his battered hat, Eddie stepped into the street with a wave to the ever watchful Bernies. Three hands waved back.

Having made their own prayers to Mother Mary, a girl pushing another girl in a wheelchair emerged through the church’s huge front doors.

Squinting into the dazzling sunlight, they gaped at the debris in the park.

“Oh my God!” gasped Maria, “Did yesterday really happen?”

Slowly shaking her head, Manny replied, “Yes, it really happened,” and began easing the wheelchair down the church’s entry steps.

Nearby, market shopkeepers were beginning to roll up shutters and open for business. Lazy appeared in a doorway with a large sausage in his mouth. The butcher’s wife had been in a generous mood. His three legged buddy limped alongside and the pair crossed to the park searching for a spot of sunshine where they could enjoy breakfast.

***

When asked later, no one could describe the noise.

All anyone could say was there was a sudden sound they’d never heard before. A deep  rumble. A whoosh. A series of explosive cracks and groans.

But before the sound could be sorted out, a wall of water crashed, smashed, and thundered down Main Street.

Riding their bikes up the hill, Gabe and Dante saw it coming. They froze, then survival instincts kicked in and they dove into a shop doorway, gaping in amazement  as the wild, muddy flood surged past.

“Help! Help me!”

The boys looked out at the raging water. Arms waving in desperation, someone was being swept towards them.

“Help me!”

They recognized Julio.

Dante took Gabe’s hand, commanding, “Hold on,” and the boys waded through knee deep water to the edge of the sidewalk.

“Now,” Dante directed as Julio’s thrashing figure rushed towards them, “wrap your other arm around this post and hang on with everything you’ve got.”

Gabe watched Dante step into the torrent, struggling to keep his balance as the brown deluge bashed into his body.

“Help me…” Julio’s head disappeared.

Suddenly Gabe’s arms were yanked from their sockets. He groaned but hung on as Dante’s hand stretched under the water and came out grasping the wrist of the drowning bully.

Gabe groaned as the full weight of the boys was pulled downriver, threatening to rip him apart. But he held on, and Dante and Julio were knocked against the sidewalk. Coughing and sputtering, they crawled into the shallow water. Wondering if his arms would ever be the same, Gabe collapsed.

Exhausted, the trio huddled together on the sidewalk as muddy water swirled around them.

Across from the church, in the center of Main Street, the girl pushing her friend in a wheelchair suddenly stopped and stared in disbelief. Manny and Maria froze as the wall of mad water charged at them.

In Mama G’s, seeing disaster descending on her daughter, Espy jumped from her table screaming. The frantic mother dashed outside, plunging into the flood.

Then she saw him. The dripping bulk of Sheriff Eddie rose from the raging river. He had a limp girl under each arm. Fighting to stay upright, the big man inched his way across the flood, his face a twisted mask of concentration as water roiled and slammed against him.

Finally, Espy and Carmen pulled the sheriff to the sidewalk. They hugged the two shaking, sputtering girls close.

Just before battered Barbara floated by, Gina hauled Eddie from the water.

He reached up and patted the top of his head.

He frowned, “I lost my hat.”

Gina gently kissed his wet curls, “Time for a new one.”

Swept up in the flood, Lazy and Arnold found themselves swimming. Foundering with his cast, Arnold climbed on Lazy’s back. The pair thumped into the gazebo and scrambled up the stairs. After a good shake, they settled in the sun and, starting at opposite ends, bit into the breakfast sausage, mindless of the chaos cascading past them.

Looking out from the Star office alongside Sam, Lucy described what was happening.

Main Street was a parade of floating debris. Carts, potted plants, furniture bobbing past. Then the Bernie brothers’ bench drifted by. The old boys, much more nimble than they looked, had seen danger rushing at them and light footed into the 3 B’s doorway, barely getting their boots wet as the flood spilled over the sidewalk.

Lucy laughed.

“What is it!” Sam asked.

Then he heard it, the squeal of an unhappy hog. One of Juan’s finest was not pleased to find itself pig paddling down Main Street.

***

can a frustrated single mom and failed big city journalist save her family and salvage her career by returning to a town run by a gang of bungling thugs?


“The Resurrection of Puerto Cielo” is a novella published in serial form, 43 posts.




35


The streets of Puerto Cielo were empty. The night was dark and rain pounded the town. The dismal weather and rally disaster had cracked the door for the shadowy specter of gloom to creep into every home.

In the Palm Estates, Ricky Ruiz was still an outcast.

Nothing had changed. The women in his house were still in revolt. He watched as Maria and her grandmother ate silently across the table from him. Next to them, Frank was his usual impassive self.

Ricky’s actions may have saved his business, but they’d pushed him even farther from his family.

***

In the office of the Puerto Cielo Star, two bright lights shone down on a mother and daughter contemplating a field of sunflowers. Sitting together with a palette of paint between them, each held a brush.

“This was my mom’s blessings wall,” Espy shared, staring at the vacant blue sky space in front of her. “Whenever she felt the need to connect with God, she would come here and paint a sunflower. She would meditate on each stroke of the brush, focusing on love, trusting that this process would heal her troubled mind.”

Manny looked down the wall at the array of colors and sizes of blossoms. For the first time, she noticed that some of the blossoms had faces in them. She saw Sam, Espy, Lucy, even Sophia. then she saw her own face and her brother Gabe.

Espy watched her daughter’s eyes, “Mom also used this wall to express her gratitude for the blessings in her life, particularly her family. When I was young, she would sit here with me and we’d paint a sunflower together, praying for guidance and expressing our thanks. Mom shared that she hoped one day, the three of us could paint a sunflower together. She said this empty part of the blue sky wall was for the next generation to carry on.”

Manny looked at her mom, “What’s going to happen now? The rally was a catastrophe, people are so disillusioned.”

Espy’s brush continued to carefully extend a bright yellow petal on a blossom, “We have to trust that every problem is a blessing, to believe that good will come from this.”

Espy finished the petal and faced her daughter, “We pay attention. We live our truth fearlessly. We expect the best. And, when called to act, we go for it!”

The bell tinkled as the front door opened and Gabe rushed in, “Mom, everyone, come outside!”

He ran into the courtyard to get Lucy and Sam.

Moments later, the entire Diaz family stood in front of the Star office.

In spite of the rain, the street was alive with voices. Others had come out into the bleak darkness.

With Arnold in one arm, Gabe pointed up Main Street, “Look!”

Faces turned, and Manny described the scene for Sam.

On a hill above town, the sky was on fire. The mayor’s campaign billboard was ablaze.

Cheers rang out.

“Viva Puerto Cielo!”

Hope was still alive.

***