Undercover Hearts

Chapter 12: Roots

The Miami sun was already set in the sky, bathing the streets of Little Havana in its golden glow. As a young girl, I always woke up to the vibrant sounds of our neighborhood coming alive. the clatter or pots and pans as people prepared breakfast with their windows opened. The cheerful greetings exchanged between neighbors, and the rhythmic pulse of salsa music that always came from the kitchen. Our home was a small, baby blue house on a quiet street, but it was full of life and love. 

"Come help me mi amor!" My mother, Heidi Grant, called from the kitchen, her voice always had been a comforting blend of warmth and authority. She was the nicest woman but I'd recommend not getting her angry. 

"Coming Mama!" I replied as I hopped out of bed and quickly changed into my clothes for the day. I was always a bundle of energy, always eager to help and learn from her. 

Heidi was a petite woman with a formidable spirit. Her dark, wavy hair was usually tied back in a loose bun, and her green eyes sparkled with both kindness and a steely determination. She was a nurse at the local hospital, a job that demanded long hours and unwavering dedication, but she always made time for me.

As I entered the kitchen, the delicious aroma of freshly brewed Cuban coffee and frying eggs filled the air. My mother was at the stove, expertly flipping Arepas with a spatula. I watched her in awe, admiring her skill and grace.

"Here, Izzy," she said, handing me a plate. "Set the table, por favor."

"Okay, Mamá," I responded, as I took the plate and carefully arranged  it on our small kitchen table. The table was covered with a bright, floral tablecloth, a stark contrast to the worn wood beneath. Our home might have been modest, but it was rich with warmth and color.

As we sat down to eat, my mother looked at me with a mix of pride and concern. "How was school yesterday?" she asked, her voice gentle.

"It was good, the librarian Mr. Ramirez gave me a new book to read, it's about a police officer who solves murders."

My mother smiled as she took a  a sip of her coffee and a bit of a piece of Arepa on her plate and looked over at me with love in her eyes. 

"You always have loved a good mystery darling, just like your grandfather, I'm telling you, your granddaddy would take his books and go out on the porch of our house and read read read, grandma had to always pull him in when dinner was ready cause he was always so involved in the story!"

I nodded enthusiastically, I remembered the stories my grandfather used to tell me about his days as a police officer in Havana. His tales of bravery and justice had always fascinated me, which also planted the seeds of my future aspirations.

"Mamá, do you think I could be a detective one day?" I asked, my eyes widen with hope.

My mother's expression softened, and she reached across the table to take my hand. "Izzy, you can be anything you want to be."

Her expression turned a little worrisome but she didn't allow me to see that side of her.

"Just remember dear, that line of work can be incredibly dangerous." She said, getting me some more orange juice.

Her words filled me with a sense of purpose. From that moment on, I was determined to follow in my grandfather's footsteps and become a force for good in our community.

Years passed, and I remained steadfast in my goal. After high school, I enrolled in the police academy, driven by a desire to make a difference. The training was grueling, pushing me to my physical and mental limits, but I thrived under the pressure. I was fueled by my mother's unwavering belief in me and the memory of my grandfather's stories.