“Miguel, I swear, you’ve got talent. This is your best batch yet,” Pablo Ramírez praised his son as he eagerly devoured a pulled pork sandwich. “This, this is what’s going to win you the competition this year.”

Father and son were sitting in the cab of the truck used for their tree trimming business. The words “Ramírez Tree Trimming” were stenciled in green on the white exterior of the old pickup. Their tools were nestled neatly in the back of the truck in the well organized manner the Ramírez family prided themselves on.

“You can finally put Dominic in his place for good and show the whole island who the barbecue master of Catalejo really is!” announced Pablo with enthusiasm.

Miguel couldn’t help but smile slightly at his father’s praise as he stared out the window at the ocean. The truck was parked in front of one of the beachfront vacation homes that dotted the island. The residence was currently empty, but the owners paid for the trees and landscaping to be maintained while they were away.

For a lot of people, Catalejo was just a place that they visited once or twice a year. For Miguel, however, it was home. Nestled between Florida, Cuba, and the Bahamas, Catalejo was an independent island nation that acted as the year round home for just over twenty-thousand people. Most of those people were employed in some sort of service industry; restaurants, clubs, or hotels. Even Miguel and his father relied on tourism for the majority of their business. Their client list was almost exclusively made up of vacation homes and hotels.

The island was more than that to Miguel, however. It was more than sweeping ocean views, pristine beaches, and lush forests. This was the place where he had been born and raised. He’d learned to fish on those shores. Learned to swim in those waters. He’d taken his first steps on those sands, as had his father and his grandfather. Catalejo was a place deeply ingrained within him. It was home.

“I don’t think this is the recipe that’s going to win,” said Miguel, shaking his head slowly as he looked down at the half-eaten sandwich in his hands. “It was just something I threw together for lunch today. I haven’t even started preparing for the contest.”

“What are you talking about?” Pablo looked at him incredulously. “The New Year’s Day festival is less than four months away. I heard Frederico bragging in the bar last night about his son’s latest recipe. To think that he’s getting a head start on you simply makes my blood boil.”

“Calm down, dad,” chuckled Miguel. “Frederico likes to brag. Dominic won’t have started his new recipe yet either. He’s still basking in his win from this year.”

Despite the slight smile on his face, the loss to Dominic was still a sore spot for Miguel. The fact that he’d broken his three year winning streak was a blow that he wasn’t sure he’d ever quite recover from.

“Don’t worry,” Miguel reassured his father. “I don’t intend to let Dominic keep the trophy for another year. I’m going to win this year. I swear it.”

“Good,” said Pablo with a laugh. He clapped his son on the shoulder and grinned at him. “That’s the spirit. Now, go ahead and finish up your lunch. I’ll get started on these trees.”

Pablo opened the cab of the truck and hopped out into the cheery afternoon sunshine.

“Dad, hold up,” Miguel called as he quickly wrapped up his sandwich. “You promised Mom this morning that you weren’t going to climb anything today.” He hastily slid out of the truck.

“Your mother just worries. I won’t tell if you won’t.” Pablo laughed as he retrieved the climbing harness from the back of the truck.

“Dad.” Miguel stood on the opposite side and stared across the truck bed at him. “Mom’s just worried you’re going to throw your back out again. Let me do it, that’s what I’m here for.”

Pablo sighed and looked up at the palm trees that lined the driveway to the vacation house. “I first started climbing trees with my dad when I was eight years old. I never thought there’d be a day when I couldn’t do it anymore.”

“Don’t worry about it, Dad.” Miguel circled around the back of the truck and laid a hand on his father’s shoulder reassuringly. “We’re a team. Grandpa taught you and you taught me. We’re partners in this.”

“I know this isn’t what you really want to do with your life, son,” said Pablo, meeting his son’s gaze with a sorrowful smile. “I know you want a little restaurant of your own. Maybe right there in the thick of things on Main street.”

Miguel looked away from his father and out at the waves as they crashed to shore. “That’s just a dream. I’m never going to have the money for something like that. This business is reality. It’s hard work, but it’s not a terrible job. I had the best teacher after all.” He looked back at Pablo and smiled. “Now, hand that over and let’s get to work.”

He took the harness from Pablo’s hands and forced a cheerful smile. This job may have been reality, but it didn’t change the fact that his dream was still alive and well. He wanted to pursue that dream more than anything, but even if he saved up every penny for the rest of his life, he still wasn’t sure he’d ever reach that lofty goal.

So he had decided to be content with the life he had made for himself. He had decided to accept his role as a tree trimmer and sometime barbecue enthusiast. At least, that’s what he tried to tell himself.

Twenty minutes later, Miguel was already hard at work on his second tree. The tall palms that lined the driveway had been long overdue for a trimming. Years of practice, however, made for short work.

Pablo busily raked up the discarded fronds and used a long handled tree trimming tool to tidy up some of the shorter trees closer to the house.

They were a strong team, and if everything went according to plan they’d be finished well before it was time to head home. Miguel smiled to himself as he worked. Maybe he’d even buy his dad a beer after this was all over.

Miguel didn’t notice what it was that caused his harness to fail. He didn’t have time to react as the straps gave way, and he felt himself falling backwards. For a moment he felt weightless as he desperately grabbed at the palm fronds around him. When gravity took over again, it wasn’t kind.

His body slammed against the pavement, and his helmeted head bounced off the driveway. The world around him was chaos. Pain throbbed through his body from every direction. He couldn’t tell exactly where any of it was coming from.

Pablo’s shouts reached Miguel’s ears, but it sounded as if he were underwater. His senses were a jumbled mess. He couldn’t catch his breath and the pain...the pain was unbearable.

* * *

“I told you, Pablo, I told you a thousand times. I told you, I told you, I told you.”María Ramírez’s voice sounded distant to Miguel.

“Please, María, mi amor, please not now.” Pablo was trying to sound strong but there was an edge to his voice that threatened tears.

Miguel was only vaguely aware of other sounds around him. A heart monitor beeping steadily, the sound of a PA system paging doctors and nurses, and the steady bustle of people in the hallway. He slowly dragged his eyes open. The world around him took a moment to come into focus. They were in a hospital room. He was lying in a bed with his parents sitting beside him.

He had fallen. He remembered that. Remembered the pain. Blackness had then taken over his senses. Where had they taken him after that?

His body felt numb and his head was foggy. This place was unfamiliar to him. Was this the island clinic? No, it couldn’t be. Then where? His eyes darted around the room trying to latch on to something that would tell him where he was.

“Miguel!” María exclaimed, leaning forward. There were tears of joy in her puffy, red-rimmed, eyes. She’d been crying recently. “Miguel! Hijo, how are you? Pablo get the doctor!”

“Doctor!?” Pablo shouted as he turned and scurried out into the hall. “He’s awake, doctor!?”

“M-mom? I...” Miguel clenched his eyes shut and dragged them open again, trying to bring the world more fully into focus as he arranged his thoughts. “I fell.”

“Yes, yes you did. You fell, but you’re going to be okay. Don’t worry. It’s okay.” María sounded more as if she were trying to convince herself than anyone else.

“My arms feel heavy...” Miguel frowned groggily as he tried to lift his arms and found them to be more weighed down than he’d expected. He looked down at them, blinking slowly as he tried to comprehend what he was looking at.

Both of his arms, from just below the elbow down, were in casts. He wiggled his fingers experimentally and found they could still move, but the plaster cast made it impossible for him to move either of his arms. Both of them were locked in place, bent at the elbow, with his hands resting on his stomach.

“Nice to see you’re awake,” said a man in a white lab coat as he entered the room just ahead of Pablo. “You took quite a nasty fall. Good thing you were wearing a helmet or things could’ve been a lot worse.” The doctor leaned in and shined a light into Miguel’s eyes without warning. “It looks like you escaped with only a minor concussion. The worst seems over, but you’ll likely have a pretty good headache when the drugs wear off.”

“When can we take him home?” asked María, laying a protective hand on her son’s chest.

“Now that he’s awake, I’d say it’s safe to take him home. I know you guys have got a long trip, so I’ll make sure they give you some extra painkillers for the ride home. I’m sure the clinic on Catalejo can provide you with more once you get back.” The doctor smiled and excused himself from the room.

“Where are we?” asked Miguel as Pablo approached the bed. “I don’t remember leaving the island.”

“You passed out on the way to the clinic,” explained Pablo. “The doctor on the island didn’t have the facilities to look after someone with head trauma. He saw you had a concussion and were unconscious, he called someone he knew in Florida, and arranged a medical helicopter to come get you.”

The first thought that entered Miguel’s mind was just how expensive something like that was. The tree trimming business was good, but not that good. The cost of a medical flight, not to mention the hospital stay, was likely going to put his parents in debt for years. All because he fell out of a tree.

“Why did I fall? I keep going over it, those last few seconds, I don’t understand. The harness was good, the line was secure, it was all fine.” Miguel looked between his parents.

“It was the buckle,” said Pablo, shaking his head slowly. “It’s been a bit fiddly for a while. You remember, right?”

“Yeah, but it seemed fine.” Miguel frowned, “I just used it yesterday. It was fine.”

“It was also over twenty years old,” retorted María. “Twenty years. I’ve been asking your father to replace those harnesses for the last three years, but he kept saying, ‘not to worry, María. They’re still solid, María.’ Well, now look what’s happened.” She gestured to Miguel. “Our son’s arms are in casts. It’s going to be two months before he can use his arms again!”

“Two months?” Miguel looked to Pablo for confirmation, but his father wouldn’t meet his gaze.

“The doctor said at least eight weeks before the fractures will be healed completely,” explained María. “The doctor back home can handle the x-rays and removal of the cast so we don’t have to come all the way back here. We can go home and focus on getting you all healed up.”

“I can’t move my arms for two months?” Miguel felt as if he’d been punched in the gut. His throat had tightened as the severity of the situation settled over him. “How am I supposed to do...anything?”

Getting dressed, taking a shower, even using the bathroom was going to be difficult if not impossible. He could still raise and lower his arms and kind of grip things in his hands so he could at least feed himself, sort of.

But cooking would be out of the question.

“The contest.” Miguel barely managed the words.

María’s expression fell, and she looked as if she was about to cry again. Instead she rose from her chair. “I’m going to see if I can find a wheelchair for you. No need for you to go walking around after a fall like that.”

“Dad?” Miguel looked up at Pablo after María left the room.

Pablo reluctantly met his son’s gaze. The look on his face was heartbreaking. It was clear that he fully blamed himself. Miguel could think of nothing to say to ease his father’s guilt.

When Pablo spoke at last, the words were a half choked sob. “I’m sorry, son.”