Chapter 5; Now - Something Happens In The Water

We sit in the Casa Del Sol breakfast room. Adam has already devoured a couple of pancakes drenched in butter and maple syrup, chased by a fried egg and sausage that I had to mush and beat to oblivion—the only way he eats most foods. A team of Spanish-speaking servers brings out a pitcher of guava juice, something I’ve never tried until now. They place another ornate pitcher of pineapple juice, topped with foam, and a serving bowl containing what I now know are black, refried beans covered in queso fresco. Adam skips the beans and whispers—way too loudly—that the beans look like poop. I give him an awkward smile and tell him to mind his manners as the servers bring out a pot of coffee that smells too alluring to just be coffee. Luz notices my intrigue and explains that it’s called café de olla—coffee from the pot.

“Doesn’t all coffee come from a pot?” I ask, half-joking but genuinely curious.

“Clever,” she smiles. “But it’s what goes in that pot that makes this truly the best coffee. The workers here are from the same region of Mexico as my family. There, café de olla is what they drink. They add piloncillo, orange peels, anise, cloves, cinnamon, and even a dash of ground peppers to give something so ordinary so much life.”

One of the workers pours the exotic coffee into our mugs, and I take in everything around me. The wooden cabinets are lined with fine china, plates that gleam and show off their hand-painted gold details. The morning sun streams through the deep mustard velvet curtains, bathing the room in an ethereal glow. The four tables in the quaint breakfast room are made from petrified wood, Luz tells us. Once rotten wood found at the bottom of some river in Mexico, now given another chance at life. The tables are adorned with fancy linen tablecloths and hold the best food I’ve ever tasted. Each table is crowned with vases holding a random array of flowers—bright, voluptuous blooms that demand to be seen and smelled. Gold sconces with linen shades line the walls, casting a soft, warm light. Books are scattered throughout the room. A couple are open on the table next to us, and a stack of four books sits on one of the chairs, with more perched on the windowsills. Behind me, a wooden buffet table catches my eye—Luz tells me it’s made from burlwood, another type of once-rotten wood given a second life, and she laughs as she says this.

The dark floral wallpaper in the room looks faded, giving the space a moody atmosphere that contrasts beautifully with the sunlight pouring in. The thresholds and entryways of the rooms are rounded and wide, and just up ahead, I see what looks like a living room. A caramel-colored leather couch, draped with what must be the softest throw blanket, is anchored by intimidating pillows that seem too nice to sit on. In front of it is a stone coffee table, bigger than the table Adam and I usually eat on. Facing it is an array of mismatched, colored suede chairs—one navy, one dark plum, one hunter green, and one burnt orange. So much nice stuff, I think to myself, and so much stuff that Adam could dirty—or worse, break. I make a mental note to tell him to be extra careful touching anything. One thing both rooms have in common is frames—walls lined with newspaper clippings of all sizes.

“What’s with the framed cutouts?” I ask Luz after taking a sip of my not-so-ordinary coffee.

Just then, the door closest to the living room opens. In rolls the old lady in her wheelchair, followed by the stumbling girl in the floral dress.

“Ah, just in time,” Luz calls out. “Adina, won’t you come and meet our new guests?”

Adina. Adina. Adina. I try to memorize her name.

Though Luz meant for Adina to introduce herself, she takes over before Adina can speak. “Adina here is one of the locals. Isn’t that right, Adina?”

After parking the lady in the wheelchair next to one of the windows in the living room, Adina dusts off her apron and approaches our table.

“That’s right, ma’am,” she replies with a smile, tossing her wispy hair out of her face. In her apron pocket, she carries the harvest of her flower-picking. I notice Luz doesn’t correct her or tell her not to call her ma’am, even though she herself can’t be older than twenty-four.

“She’s only a teen, but she’s mighty. Her family has been here in Bethesda for ages,” Luz continues. “Started in, what, hunting? Then, as oil took over Texas, they just decided to stay here. Isn’t that wonderful? Her family still lives in town, so when Mathilda checked in, I knew she’d need extra care. Now, Adina tends to her and fills in here and there as best she can.” Luz trails off, then adds, “Oh, I meant to say, great job on the new floral arrangements, Adina! These might be my favorite. Even though I probably say that every time, the way you added so many maroon snapdragons just makes me love these flowers even more. A bit heavy on the Bluebonnets, but overall, great job.”

Adina stands to the side of us, her hands behind her back, soaking in the compliments like a puppy on its best behavior, knowing a treat is just around the corner. She glances at Adam and then turns to me. I give her an awkward smile and raise my hand in a weak wave as if to say, Hi, I guess I’m your new co-worker?

Luz continues, “Oh my, where are my manners? Adina, meet Daniel, our new host and concierge, and of course, our very special guest, Adam. The staff has prepared Daniel’s room—the nicest room in the staff quarters. And Adam? He’ll be staying in the Lago Suite. You know,” she leans into Adam, her elbows on the table as if she’s about to share a secret, “that’s everyone’s favorite room. I’ve been saving it for just the right guest, and well, here you are!” She beams at both of us, her teeth as pristine as the fine china, her lips full, just like Adam I feel right now.

Finally, she says, “Adina, why don’t you show our special guest Adam the grounds and help him settle into his room? I’m confident you’ll also take care of him throughout his stay.”

I notice her last sentence comes out more as a command than a request. Even though she’s young, she carries herself with an authority beyond her years. I mentally note that for later.

In the softest voice, Adina replies, “Yes, ma’am. Nice to meet you, Daniel. Adam, would you like me to show you your room? Mathilda will be out for a while, so I can show you the best hiding spots and where the best places to play are.”

Before I can tell Adam it’s okay to go, he jumps out of his chair, still holding his notebook, stuffs a brown, pig-shaped cookie into his pocket, and walks off with Adina.

“I’d introduce you to Mathilda,” Luz breaks the silence, waving her hand lazily in the air, “but she won’t remember either way. She’s got dementia. The worst kind, so…”

“What’s the good kind?” I interrupt, lightheartedly.

At this, Luz lets out a laugh so loud it makes one of the workers peek out from the kitchen.

“Have you always been this funny, Daniel? Good! Humor. I like it. We’re going to make a great team. Now, where were we… ah yes, the frames.” She looks around the breakfast room and raises both hands as if showing off a masterpiece.

“These are all clippings from newspapers—some that don’t even exist anymore—showing why my family bought this land. Sunny Side Lake. In the late fifties, a local was accidentally shot in the lake. Terrible, really, just right out there by the dock. He should’ve died, but the locals say the waters of the lake saved him. Small-town stories, right?” She rolls her eyes. “Nevertheless, whether you believe a gunshot victim surviving is a miracle or not, it made big news. The townies started talking, the local paper picked it up, and before you knew it, people from all over started flocking to Sunny Side Lake. There are stories of crippled people leaving the lake walking on their own two feet. Children with sicknesses being fully healed. Infertile women coming to Sunny Side Lake, taking a dip, and giving birth nine months later. There are even a few articles, like that one there,” she points at a frame hanging over Mathilda in the next room, “about the blind regaining their sight after coming back up to the surface of the water. So many stories, so many people…” She trails off, finishing her café de olla and signaling to a worker to pick up her mug and saucer.

“A magical lake. Got it,” I say, unsure how to respond to what sounds like tall tales.

She smiles as she stands up, motioning for me to follow. She leads me to a window facing the lake and takes a deep breath, a smile spreading across her face.

“Yes, we’ve got ourselves a magic lake here, Daniel.”

I stand next to her, looking out the window, not entirely sure what I’m supposed to be seeing. As my eyes trace the curves of the water, the sun’s reflection dancing like glitter over the lake, I think of Adina lowering Mathilda into the water, just her feet and legs. The wonderment fractures.

Without thinking, I blurt out, “Why don’t we just dunk Mathilda in, then? I noticed Adina letting her soak her feet this morning, but here she is.” I turn to look at Mathilda, sitting idly by the window, and whisper, “Did the mystical powers take the morning off?”

Luz smiles and, ever so slowly, turns her neck to face me. She whispers, “Now you’re asking the right question. Follow me,” she says.

We pass by Mathilda, who’s staring off into space, and walk down the main hallway that connects to the entrance, lined with more frames and newspaper cutouts. The hardwood floors look old and masculine, and I wonder if they, too, are some overpriced rotten wood. As we make our way down the dim hallway, Luz opens a door to a bright room that has no roof. Above us, trees sway in what looks like a group hug. The cream walls of this room appear to be painted cement, the floor is clay-colored cobblestone, and there’s seating all around the edges of the room made from wrought iron. It’s an eclosed patio of sorts. In the middle of the open space is a water fountain that’s either off or broken. I guess it’s broken when I see the lime buildup and moss clinging to it, telling me it hasn’t worked in a while. In the distance, I hear Adam laugh. Inside the inn, I hear footsteps and what sounds like men talking on the second floor. I look around and take in this little outdoor room with so much potential to be a small paradise.

“Sit,” she signals to one of the iron benches. Even though she’s been generous, I notice a firmness in her voice. Before she takes a seat, a worker comes out and places a cushion on the bench for her. She says something to the worker in Spanish, and after they reply, she responds with a little more force.

As the worker leaves, Luz continues, “Finally, we can speak more freely. It’s like a minefield around here sometimes—being careful with what I say and who might overhear, whether it’s a townie or a guest.”

Townie. I get what she means, but it comes off a bit harsh. She’s making it clear that she’s not from here, not from Bethesda. She wears this distinction like a medal of honor, something she’s proud of, and I’m not sure what to make of it. There’s a juxtaposition in her kindness and the demands she places on others.

“That terrible accident in the fifties is what put this wretched town on the map,” Luz continues with a smile.

“Before then, this was just a sleepy stopover, the kind of place you only pulled into if you needed to fill up on gas. This was never supposed to be anyone’s destination—just a pit stop along the way. Some say the townies needed this, needed a claim to fame. And in their desperation, they had to come up with something out of this world. So, a kid gets shot, and suddenly, Sunny Side Lake heals him,” she laughs, the sound tinged with incredulity.

I listen, noticing the disbelief in her voice. Her hands are soft, the color of a new teddy bear fresh out of the box. Delicate, too, like she’s never had to work hard a day in her life. Her fingernails are glazed like pearls, adorned with modern, abstract gold designs—probably cost a fortune.

“Once the papers started printing the story, it brought out all the crazies. Pura gente loca. And by loca, I mean the Pentecostals, the holiness people, the charismatics—hell, even the Mormons and Southern Baptists showed up in droves, and they’re usually iffy about the healing stuff. Needless to say, their evangelists weren’t far behind—car salesmen in suits, if you ask me. But they weren’t the only ones. The promise of healing brought fortune tellers, mystics, mediums—all hoping to make a buck. And make a buck they did! The locals started opening shops and stores, selling anything you could slap a ‘souvenir’ label on. Restaurants popped up, and motels too…”

“Like this one?” I ask.

“Another good question. You, my friend, catch on quickly,” Luz says, clearly pleased. “No, this wasn’t a motel. This, believe it or not, was a church. Imagine that. I don’t remember exactly who built it—definitely not the Pentecostals. They can never seem to finish a building with all their infighting and divisions. No, I think it might have been the Catholics. They eventually dwindled and sold it to the Baptists, who then sold it to the Mormons, who used it as a retreat. The church kept getting passed around, from one religious group to another. Back in those days, they had daily services that went well into the night. The townies say you could come to the lake and see multitudes camped out, selling handmade crafts, all here for the lake’s supposed powers.”

She stops, noticing the questions brewing on my face, the gears in my head turning.

“So how did your family end up with the church… I mean, the inn?” I ask, eager to see where this is going.

“And that,” she says, laughing as she brushes a long, wavy strand of hair away from her face, “is today’s lesson. Great job knocking out day one.”

“You see, it was la gente loca—the crazies—that kept the mystery of this place alive. My family, the Solis’s, we don’t ascribe to that…” She looks up at the open sky, past the trees, and toward the sun now overhead. “…to that train of thought. My father and his parents visited here many, many years ago. Not out of need or necessity, but out of pure curiosity. What they found left them disheartened.”

I notice the look in her deep brown eyes—Luz is enjoying this, savoring every moment of her storytelling like a masterful orator revealing a hidden masterpiece.

“You see, Daniel,” she says, my name rolling off her tongue with a Spanish accent that makes it sound foreign and unfamiliar, “what I haven’t told you about Sunny Side Lake is that, like most too-good-to-be-true tales, there was a catch. Of all the multitudes that came here, not all were healed.”

Her lips tighten into a firm grin. As I shift slightly, questioning her statement, she nods slowly, satisfied.

“The townies and all the other desperate souls believed that something happened in the waters—something that caused them to stir, to become agitated. Only when the waters were troubled did the lake’s powers come to life. And when they did, they only healed the first one in. The first. No one else.”

I lean back on the bench, disbelief and curiosity swirling together, forming more questions.

She gives me time, letting the story marinate.

Luz continues, “So, when my family came to the lake, knowing the story and reading the papers, they didn’t find the hope everyone else sought. Instead, they found something… cruel. People dragging themselves to the lake on their last breath, only to miss being first. It wasn’t something they wanted to celebrate. Decades later, my father bought the church and most of the land on this side of the lake. After all, everyone, even men of the cloth and mystics, has a price. The Solis family renovated the temple into a family estate and put up ‘No Trespassing’ signs at the edges of our property. Soon enough, the hopefuls stopped coming. If you ask the townies, they say my family is responsible for turning Bethesda back into a sleepy town. With fewer and fewer visitors, shops closed, vendors packed up, and the next apparition in a small town was the new destination. Now, all that’s left are the townies and their stories.”

At this, she breathes in deeply, letting out a dramatic exhale.

Absorbing it all, I finally ask, “So that’s why we can’t dunk Mathilda in the lake? Because she has to be first when the waters are troubled for it to work?”

She pats my bouncing leg gently, like a proud teacher.

“Okay,” I say, half-joking but serious underneath, “how do we get the lake to do its thing? Does it have to be windy? Do we wait for a thunderstorm?”

Luz stands up, and within seconds, a worker steps out into the patio.

“No one knows. There hasn’t been a reported healing in seven years. Seven years ago, my family decided to turn the estate into an inn. I was only eight years old then. Every few years, another Solis gets the assignment of taking over the inn. Right now, I’m the lucky one entrusted with the family business.”

We’re interrupted by the worker, who tells Luz something in Spanish. She replies assertively, her voice raised. I look away, letting their conversation play out as I wander over to the weathered fountain in the middle of the patio. It’s made of dark, gray stone that would almost look black if wet. Like the inn, the patio is lined with flowers. Wooden stakes with signs label each group. There are bright red-orange Indian Paintbrushes, beautiful shrubs that sprout purple Texas Sage, and pink and white Evening Primroses. Together, they bask in the sunlight, reaching out to catch her rays.

The door leading back inside closes, and when I turn around, Luz is smiling at me.

She walks over until she’s standing in front of me, holding both my arms in her hands. “Welcome to Casa del Sol, Daniel. I think that’s enough training for today.”

Luz steps beside me to pluck one of the Bluebonnets. The air catches her scent, and I’m once again entranced by the sweet and tangy perfume she wears.

“I’ll have the workers show you to your room so you can relax and get situated with the grounds for the rest of the day. Daniel,” she says, turning to look at me with a smile, “thank you for saying yes. After meeting you, I have no doubt you’re perfect for the job.”

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