Chapter Eight
Lindsey followed the robust cook, Carmel, up a wide staircase, her bum rolling in front of Lindsey’s face like two sacks of playful puppies. Carmel certainly classified as a double-wide. They were followed by Roberto who carried Lindsey’s bags.
“You’re not Dominican...” Lindsey asked the roly-poly bottom.
“Oh no... not me,” Carmel laughed. For a large woman she was very spry and reached the top of the stairs still with breath. “Me born in Falmouth Parish, by Mo’ Bay in Jamaica, ma’am.”
“Jamaica? How did you come to be in the mountains of the Dominican Republic?”
“Oh lardy... that be me husband’s fault. Poor man.” She turned and offered Lindsey a hand. “He a fisherman, you understand, and we come to fish the islands to the north. The Caicos. We come here when the boat bre
