Page 42 of Rio

And just like that, I know.There is someone I can go to for answers, even if its unethical.Even if she enjoys slicing my balls and wouldn’t hesitate to serve them to me on a platter.

One person who has no compunction over telling the truth.

Raquel.

She’ll give me the answers, whether I’ll like what she has to say or not.

Chapter 12

RAQUEL

“I feel bad for putting you under so much pressure,” Alma says.It’s been a long day at the HQ.

I look up at her slowly, breaking focus from the document I’m reading through.“It’s my job, Alma.No need to apologize.I like the distraction.When I get into something, that’s all my mind can focus on.”

“I noticed.”She shuts down her PC and nods at my messy desk.“Work is over for today.”

I frown.“I just have to—”

“There’s a cultural food festival tonight.Lots of tasty Belizean food.Time to unwind.”I heard Vilma and Edwin, two of EcoGuardians’ employees who are helping me, talking about it earlier.“I should get back to my—”

Alma’s brow lifts, nudging higher above her reading glasses.“You can do that tomorrow.You’ve been sitting in that chair all day.”

“But the injunction—”

“Tomorrow is another day,” she says, looking like she’s not going to let me wriggle out of this.There’s no point in protesting.

“There’ll be lots of good food,” Vilma says.“Lots of tamales, conch fritters and fried jacks.Rum punch, too,” she adds, her face brightening into a smile.

“Do we have to drag you there, Raquel?”Alma says, in the voice I imagine she uses for her one of her grandchildren if they’ve been naughty.“This will be the perfect opportunity for you to meet and relax with the people of Belize.It will show you a different side of Belize, instead of the walls of your room at the guest house or this office.”

That does it.

“Come on,” Vilma says, smiling.“You’ll love it, Raquel.You were at work before me.”

They’ve convinced me.The reason I was so early is because the AC at the guesthouse is playing up, and the room was humid when I woke up.I switch my computer off and grab my bag.“Where is it?”I ask following them out.

Alma locks up.“Not far at all.You’ll see.”

But as soon as we step outside, the aroma of food wafts in the air, and I hear reggae blasting out.Maybe a night out is exactly what I need.Alma tells me she’ll only come for a little while.I’ll leave when she does, because as nice as this is, the pressure of work weighs heavily on me, and I tell her I only intend to stay for a short while.

The sidewalk is peppered with food stalls.Fairy lights are strung up between the trees.There are portable stages, and there’s a DJ booth.Music blares from the speakers.Tourists and locals mingle.Children run around, happy and excited, their cries filling the air.But it’s the aroma of freshly made food that permeates the air and makes my mouth water.The entire street is lively and vibrant with color.I walk through it, breathing in the sweet, smoky and humid air, listening to the music as the slight breeze blows through my hair.

It seems that my white summer dress and sandals were the perfect outfit for today.We walk past tables piled high with food and Alma points out the various dishes to me.There’s stewed chicken and rice and beans, and conch fritters, which Alma says are so delicious, it would be a sin not to try them.

“Conch fritters?”I ask, because Vilma mentioned these earlier.

“Dunked in sauce, nice and chewy and so flavorsome.My granddaughter loves them.”

I go ahead and buy some when a loud bang makes me jump.

“Fireworks,” says Alma.“They’ll be going off through the evening.”

“What are they celebrating?”

“Nothing.No reason.Just good food, good music.People having fun.”

Simple pleasures.