“Uh,” I hesitated, not knowing how to set her straight without making her feel ignorant.
But Joaquin spoke up for me, “Not every American is rich, mensa.” He tugged affectionately on one of her long braids.
Ana blushed at her brother’s teasing.
Claudia, fifteen and more mature, continued the line of questioning with a bit more finesse, “But I am sure you live in a bigger house and have your own car.”
I thought of my parents sitting in the living room in our suburban home outside Chicago, the shelves filled with expensive knick-knacks, the large television off in the corner. My car, although a used one, was much nicer than the old brown sedan that played the role of family car at the Hernandez home.
“Yes, I do have my own car,” I side-stepped the question about my parent’s home, “but I paid for most of it myself by working after school.”
I hadn’t been entirely truthful; I had saved fifteen-hundred dollars from two summer jobs and planned to buy whatever I could afford. My father offered to pay the difference to get me into a newer, safer car.
Claudia nodded her head at that answer and then took another bite of tortillas and beans.
Lupe, her round face pleasant and sweet, asked the bombshell question, “So when you and Joaquin get married, are you going to live in Mexico or in the United States?”
Lupe asked this so innocently, as if she wanted to know if the weather would be rainy tomorrow or if my favorite flavor of ice cream was chocolate or vanilla.
At the time, I was taking a drink of lemon tea, and I choked on it. The burn of the liquid entered my lungs and caused a violent fit of coughing.
Paloma’s eyes bored into mine.
I wiped the tears from my face. “What?”
Joaquin squeezed my hand and took over for me, “Lupe, why do you ask these things? It will only bother Mamá. She doesn’t need this kind of worry.”
For a moment, it seemed to me as if this discussion had already happened in this very room, with these same people.
Quiet Carlos saved the conversation by starting on a completely different topic: soccer. He and Joaquin spent the next ten minutes debating the different college teams and their chances in the next tournament. Paloma took this as her cue to stand up and start clearing the dishes away. The girls followed her lead, grabbing cups and plates, napkins and spoons. With so many women darting about the kitchen, cleaning up the mess from lunch, I felt out of place.
I had no interest in or knowledge of soccer, and Paloma had no need of my help. I sat at the table, watching as everyone in the family fell into their routines. But I had no routine. I had no place to go. I felt as if I were in the way.
Ana smiled at me as she swept my plate away, her braids bobbing. The girls liked me well enough, but not Joaquin’s mother. When Lupe brought up the idea of Joaquin and I living in the United States, her bright, liquid eyes dulled for an instant. The faint lines on her face deepened and turned into dark furrows of worry.
I tried not to think about it. I wanted to spend time with my boyfriend and meet his family. We had no serious commitment between us. We had been dating less than two months, but for some reason, Paloma and her children thought something more going on. Had Joaquin given them that impression?
I stood up to get some air and to stretch my legs. As I passed Joaquin’s mother at the sink, I politely said, “Thank you for a wonderful meal, Señora.”
Paloma nodded at me, her eyes dark.
It had been a relief to escape the kitchen and those hazel eyes watching me.
CHAPTER NINE
“Where have you been?” Janice asked, not without a small amount of alarm. After all, we had parted ways outside the hotel over an hour ago.
I was surprised she and George still sat at the table in the cafe. Did I see one dessert plate with two forks sitting on the table between them?
“Well,” I stammered, “I needed to take a shower.” My damp hair hung heavily on my shoulders. “And James and I talked for quite awhile.”
“James is her fiancé,” she intimated to George who sat only inches from her in a very large booth. My absence had not been too much of a concern for the two lovebirds.
“Oh?” George took a forkful of some sort of ice cream concoction. “When are you two getting married?”
Janice, God love her, dove right into the answer, “They’ve had to cancel a couple of dates, but they’re going to pick a new date soon.”
“Mmm.” George took another scoopful of dessert. “Are you going to be joining us?”
Looking at the two of them perched so cozily together, I wouldn’t dare intrude. Considering my insides were a tight, roiling mass of worry, I wasn’t in the mood to eat. “I’m really not that hungry.” I stood awkwardly in front of their table as they sat facing one another, barely noticing my presence.
“Well,” Janice began, “should I meet you somewhere later then?”
George’s hand shifted closer to her thigh.
Time for me to vamoose.
“Sure. I could use a few hours of down time by the pool.” It would be the perfect moment to sneak away and find out how to get a divorce rolling. How did one go about finding a lawyer in a foreign country? Did they have the Yellow Pages down here? Guess I could always try the Internet.
“Then maybe we could meet at the room later—for dinner,” Janice glanced across the dessert dish at George, and he returned her look with an easy smile.
“Sounds good.” As I said the words, I wondered if I shouldn’t ask about George joining us. Maybe Janice needed a little help in getting over her shyness with men.
I shouldn’t have been worried.
“I think George would like to join us, wouldn’t you George?” Janice reached out and touched him gently on one well-developed shoulder.
“I’d love to.” He looked at me. “That is, if it’s okay with you, Suzie.”
“Of course it’s okay with me!” Who was I to stand in the way of true love?
“Hey, maybe we should make it a foursome and see if Joaquin wants to come along?” Janice suggested, stirring her iced tea with a straw.
“Well, I’m not sure if he can join us. He’s busy, what with managing this place and all,” I gestured limply at the half-full restaurant. Even I didn’t believe what I was saying. Not as if the place would fall apart if he wasn’t on hand every second.
“Why don’t I give him a call?” Janice asked. “I’ll see if he can come. Say, around 7:30?” She looked over at George.
“Sounds good to me,” he said.
“I’ll call him.” Not a good idea to give Janice the opportunity to speak to Joaquin alone. “But I can’t guarantee he’ll be able to come.”
“All right.” Janice narrowed her eyes. “You’re sure you don’t mind calling?”
“Not at all. Joaquin and I go way back, remember? We’re buds.” I sounded like an eighteen-year-old stoner. Where in the hell was this coming from?
“If you’re sure—”
“I’m sure. Not a big deal. I’ve got it all taken care of. You two enjoy the afternoon.”
A few hours by the pool in the fresh air and sunlight sounded heavenly, but I had work to do. With a free afternoon when no one would question where I was or what I was doing, it would the perfect time to steal away, find out more about a quickie divorce, and get cracking on saving my future with James.
*
“And, so, you see, Ms. Eisenhart, there is no way you can do this alone and in only a few days. These things take time.” The lawyer tapped a pencil on his desk to the beat of the salsa music drifting up from the streets through his open office window. “And you must talk to your husband before we can proceed with any legal action.”
These were not the words I wanted to hear. I wanted Señor Pablo Éstaban Esposito de Rincón, Esq. to tell me I needed to sign a few forms. But according to Señor Esposito, even if I had every piece of paper work, every signature, to finalize a divorce in Mexico would take six mo
nths at the very least.
Six months I could wait. But having to talk to Joaquin again and beg him to sign the forms? That wouldn’t be easy. He didn’t seem to be in any big hurry to get rid of his long-lost wife judging from what happened between us earlier in the afternoon.
The pencil tapping grew more intense.
“Are you sure? Can’t I just serve him with some paper or something?”
“Serve him?” Thankfully, the pencil tapping stopped at that question, and Señor Esposito sat up in his chair.
“Have the court send him the forms?”
“Ah. No, Ms. Eisenhart, this is not the United States, you know. There is no snapping of the fingers.” He snapped his fingers in front of my face. “No instant divorce. Not any more. The Mexican government sees marriage as a serious contract between two people.”
“I’d hoped, with the time constraints I have, that possibly—”
“That there would be another option?” He raised his bushy eyebrows.
“Exactly.”
“There is no other option, except to remain married to your husband, of course.” Señor Esposito went back to tapping his pencil in rhythm with the music.
“Oh.”
The visit to the lawyer had not been as productive as I had hoped. Naïvely, I believed I could walk in the door as a married woman and walk out single. As much as I wanted to deny it, I would have to meet with Joaquin again and make him understand things were over between us, I had moved on with my life, and I needed a divorce from him. Right now.
If I stood my ground, didn’t let his anger get to me or let my leftover feelings take control, it should work. Shouldn’t it? Had it ever really been anything more than a marriage on paper? Joaquin would see that. The minute I explained it to him, he would see how we were truly never husband and wife.
The scene in the bedroom had been a fluke, a leftover echo of what we used to have together—nothing more.
*
Time had gotten away from me. The orange ball of the sun reflected in the swimming pool outside and reminded me of my dinner date with Janice and George. I’d forgotten to call Joaquin and invite him to join us.
My hand trembled as I held the courtesy telephone in the hotel lobby. It took me several tries before I could get up the courage to ask the receptionist to connect me to the hotel manager. My body flashed hot and cold as I waited for the series of rings on the other end.
One ring. Two. Three.
I anticipated the switch to a voicemail message and wondered if I should leave a message or hang up.
“Bueno?”
His voice again—the deep, rumbling voice that brought me back to those warm and sunny days years ago that I spent in his arms. My words caught in my throat.
“Bueno?” His voice more insistent this time.
“It’s me.”
“Suzie,” he said flatly. “What is it?”
He didn’t sound interested in talking to me at all. Not that I didn’t expect that kind of response after the way we’d left things earlier today. But I had to try. I didn’t come all this way to fail. James deserved my best efforts to fix my mistake.
I lost my nerve. “I, uh, I was wondering if you wanted to join us again for dinner?”
The lined hummed for at least thirty seconds. Had he hung up on me?
“Dinner?”
“Yes, Janice—I mean, I would really like you to come.” Maybe if I played to his ego, he would accept the invitation. Then, somehow, during dinner I could find a moment to pull him aside and propose a serious meeting. We needed to discuss the divorce and how we were going to make that happen. After today’s fiasco, I didn’t want to see him alone. Dinner would be the best solution to keep us both out of trouble.
His voice was guarded. “I might be free this evening. Let me check my schedule.”
I could hear him flipping through papers.
“I can be there at eight o’clock.” His words were stilted.
“Great.”
“Is that all?” he asked. “I’m quite busy here.”
“Uh, no, that’s it. I’ll see you in an hour.”
Joaquin gave no response, affirmative or negative, on the other end of the phone.
Dammit, I really messed things up. He sounded less than enthused about meeting us for dinner. Not a good sign.
I wondered what his life had been like up until now. Did he have other lovers? Other women he may have wanted to marry? I might have ruined whatever chance he had for a normal, happy life.
Being away from him all these years, I managed to box up my feelings and set them aside. The less I thought about Joaquin, the less it hurt. And the less it hurt, the easier it was to forget. That included thinking about what my actions did to him. How I may have affected his life. I had been selfish and immature. Deep down, I had known that for awhile now, but had been too much of a wimp to own up to it.
I couldn’t be wimpy, however. I had to grow a backbone when it came to Joaquin, and I had to grow it now. No weaknesses could show through anymore.
Maybe if I found out more about what his life had been like after I disappeared, maybe there would be some common ground, something to convince him a divorce would be the best option. To end the hurting now, for both of us, rather than punish each other for a stupid mistake for the rest of our lives.
I looked down at my watch: almost seven thirty. I had no time to change for dinner; Janice and George would be expecting me at Chez México, the nicest restaurant in the hotel. Janice would likely be more than happy to find out Joaquin would be joining us for dinner. She and George would canoodle over their meals, giving me the opportunity to speak to Joaquin.
I headed toward the restaurant located at the southern end of the hotel and shook off my feelings of apprehension.
“Suze, over here!”
Janice and George sat on a padded bench outside the restaurant. She glowed in a shimmery halter top and short, black skirt. She made me feel frumpy in my touristy togs.
I waved.
She sat knee-to-knee with George, their hands clasped together. They looked like honeymooners. Crazy to think these two had only met this morning. Talk about a match made in heaven.
“Hey, good to see you again,” said George. “Hope you don’t mind me tagging along on your girls’ night out.”
“Well, Janice isn’t the only one bringing a date.”
“So you remembered to invite him?” Janice stood up with George and secured the skinny strap of her evening bag on her bare shoulder.
“I told you I would,” I said.
Janice touched my arm, “I’m teasing, Suze.”
I noticed she wore a lot more make-up than she usually did. Sparkly eye shadow? Glistening lip gloss? What happened to a dash of Chapstick and a few brushes of mascara? And was she wearing my eyeliner?
Wanting to encourage her foray into more girlish behavior than normal, I told her, “You look gorgeous, by the way.”
“Uh-uh! Don’t change the subject on me.” Janice blushed at the compliment. “So, where’s your date?” She glanced around the lobby.
“Joaquin’s going to be late, and he’s not my date.”
“So who’s this Joaquin guy again?” George asked, looking mighty handsome in khaki pants, a pin-striped shirt, and a navy blazer.
“Oh, he’s an old friend of ours,” Janice quickly explained. “That’s why I booked this hotel. I found out he’s the manager. We haven’t seen him in ages. He and Suzie used to go out.”
“Is that so?”
“Oh, it was nothing. That was such a long time ago.” I wanted us to get our table, sit down, and start looking at menus. Anything to get my mind off of Joaquin and what we needed to discuss.
Janice eyed me carefully, “What’s wrong with you, Suze? Still green in the gills from kayaking?” She grinned. “Or maybe you need a stiff drink.”
“I’m fine. Just a little tired is all. Remember? You got me up before the crack of dawn.”
“It was
seven o’clock!” She gave George a look that said, can you believe this girl?
“I’ll have one margarita before dinner. But that’s it.” I remembered all too well the effect of several margaritas on our first day in Acapulco.
“Yeah, and then you’ll have a few shots of tequila, and maybe a Mai Tai,” Janice laughed, leading our little threesome to the podium where a tuxedoed maitre d’ waited for us.
Some of my uneasiness disappeared around goofy, but lovable, Janice. She had a way of making me feel better in any situation. As we waited for our table, the knot of worry in my stomach loosened a little bit. Maybe a margarita or two would take the edge off my nerves.
It sure couldn’t hurt.
*
“When did you say he would get here?” Janice slurred, sipping on her third mixed drink of the night. Empty glasses with teeny umbrellas littered our table. An empty plate that had once held some very tasty appetizers lay bare in the middle of the table.
Where did our waiter go? The clutter bothered me.
“Eight. He said he could be here by eight.” I looked at my watch. Eight-thirty. Where was he?
George held up his margarita glass, “To Joaquin, who will be here by eight.”
Janice raised her glass a little too quickly, and some of her drink sloshed over the rim. She didn’t seem to notice. “To Joaquin!”
“Did I hear someone calling me?” Joaquin smiled, teeth perfectly aligned, hair tousled yet stylish. He could still take my breath away.
“Have a seat, sweetheart,” Janice crowed. She waved her hand at me. “Make room, Suze. He doesn’t bite.”
We were seated at a large booth, so I slid toward Janice making sure there would be plenty of space between me and Joaquin.
“Thank you.” Joaquin unbuttoned his suit jacket. “It seems you haven’t ordered yet?” He raised his eyebrows at the un-cleared table. He snapped his fingers and instantly a waiter appeared at his side.
“Si, señor?”
In Spanish Joaquin made clear his disapproval of the state of our table. Two busboys appeared out of thin air, whisking away the drink glasses and the empty appetizer plate. Then, he gestured to the waiter to come closer. He whispered in his ear.
Acapulco Nights Page 8
