Chapter 30
Breakfast on the Balcony
Author’s Note:
To be completely clear, this next chapter is entirely fictional. I have no physical proof of what happened behind closed doors or what was said over morning coffee. This is a creative fabrication born from thirty years of hindsight.
At that point in my life, I did not yet know where my relationships in Panama would eventually lead, nor did I understand how many invisible connections surrounded my classroom and the people I met there.
Whatever truly went on inside that home, I always imagined it as family-centered. So that is how I chose to write it.
The people, conversations, setting, and private moments that follow are imagined.
The morning sun hit the balcony in Colón, casting a warm glow over the cozy four-seater nook table. Mr. Rivera sat back, adjusting his posture as he was handed a fresh fax. He looked across the table at his wife, his expression a mix of amusement and slight frustration.
“It’s just a hub for fiber-optics,” he sighed, glancing at the paper. “Why can’t those kids just leave it alone?”
“I’ve seen that setup,” his wife replied smoothly, reaching for the butter and slicing into her croissant. “It’s right at the end of the hall. Until they get some actual doors on it, kids are going to pull wires. That’s just what kids do.”
She took a bite, chewed thoughtfully, and then looked directly at him. “When is it going to happen? When will we finally have the type of life you promised me all the way back in ’77?”
Mr. Rivera smiled gently, his voice calm and steady. “Patience. What appears to be still water moves mountains. It will happen.”
“Raul is going off to college this year,” she countered, her maternal worry showing. “After him, I only have one child, Alec, left at home.”
Mr. Rivera’s smile widened. “You won’t lose Alec, or your grandchildren. Fort Clayton will be Panama’s before that ever happens.”
“What of Alec?”
“He has three years yet,” Mr. Rivera noted. “That may be time enough.”
“Time enough for what?”
Before he could answer, the balcony door opened. Alec walked into the room, trailing his young nephew, James, right behind him. Spotting the movement, Mr. Rivera quickly grabbed a handful of spicy hot peanuts from a bowl on the table before Alec could run off with the entire bowl.
Mr. Rivera chuckled, looking at his grandson. “You know your mother, James. She always has her head in the clouds.”
James pointed a tiny finger at the table. “Can I have your drink?”
“The maid will get you your own,” his grandmother whispered, kissing his cheek. “Alec, will you please take James to Francesca?”
As the boys headed back inside, the balcony quieted down again. Mr. Rivera looked deeply into his wife’s eyes, a quiet warmth between them.
“I’ve always loved the scenery here,” he murmured.
Looking at him, it was difficult for her to tell exactly which view he was admiring.