“I know I’m spending a lot of time with him—”
“You’re spending all your time with him.” She was quick to correct me.
“I don’t know what else to say, Janice.”
“You don’t need to say anything.” She drew sailboats. “Anyway, Cristina invited me to come home with her for Semana Santa.”
“She did?” When did those two become friends? Janice’s suite was in a completely different building.
“Yes.” She added dolphins to her sea of sailboats. “I turned her down, but maybe, now that my situation has changed, the offer will still be available.”
“Oh.”
“Her family owns a house near Vera Cruz somewhere. Right on the water.”
“Well, then, you won’t miss me. Will you?” I closed my book.
“I guess not.”
We sat there at the table for a moment, saying nothing. The anger hung between us like a living, breathing thing.
I stood up, unable to stand the weight of it. “I’ve gotta go.” I scooped up my books and papers, shoved them in my backpack, and headed out of the library, leaving Janice to her maritime doodles.
Walking away from her, I felt horrible, but I didn’t know how to fix what I already ruined. How could I ever make it up to her? I imagined after tonight, I would pretty much be on my own around campus. No roommate to hang out with, no American friends. I had been so neglectful of Janice she had every right to be angry with me, to be disappointed in me. If only I could explain to her how things were. What plans Joaquin and I were making. Then she would understand.
But I couldn’t do that. She would certainly tell my parents.
The one thing that stuck out in my mind the day we left from Chicago last August was her promise to my parents—my mother especially—that we would watch out for each other.
*
“Girls, you need to be careful down there,” my mother said to us in the airport, giving us the stern parent look.
My dad stood behind her with a bit of a smirk on his face. I wasn’t sure if this meant he understood my mom was driving us crazy or that he agreed with her one hundred percent.
“Yeah, Mom. We get it.” Geez, I hated it when she tried to be everyone’s mom—not just mine. Janice didn’t deserve a lecture from my mother. She had her own over-protective parents for that. Just because we gave her a lift to O’Hare didn’t mean my mother had the right to include her in the usual Eisenhart lectures about safety and responsibility.
“Mrs. Eisenhart,” soothed Janice, “you don’t need to worry so much. The school takes every precaution. The university down there is guarded twenty-four hours a day.”
I sensed my mother’s defenses crumbling under Janice’s brilliant logic. “You never can be too careful.”
“We’ll be okay, Mom. We’re adults, remember?”
My mother focused her attentions on Janice, as if she were the only one paying any attention to her warnings. “You two need to promise me that you’ll stick together. I don’t want either of you going anywhere without the other, got it, girls?”
I sighed heavily and rolled my eyes. Parents could be so dense sometimes. As if I would go anywhere without my best friend.
“We got it, Mrs. Eisenhart.” Janice gave my mother—my stoic, ramrod straight mother—a hug. And my mother hugged her back!
“Oh, girls, I’m going to miss you!”
Okay, where is the alien spaceship that abducted my real mother? My dad was the huggy one in the family. How is it that Janice could waltz in and get a genuine, loving hug from my mom?
“Let’s go,” I said. “The plane’ll be leaving soon, and we need to check in with the group.”
I pointed over at a large gathering of college kids wearing various Vincent College sweatshirts, t-shirts, and baseball caps. Professor Burnham suggested we wear school apparel so that we were a “cohesive unit.” Personally, I think we looked like a herd of cattle branded with a VC for easy identification.
“Ok, honey.” My dad’s eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled at the two of us. “Guess we’ll be seeing you next year. I hope you can remember how to speak English when you get back.”
Then he gave me his biggest bear hug.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
“Suzie, wake up. We’re here,” Joaquin gently touched my bare shoulder and whispered in my ear.
Groggily, I opened my eyes and lifted my head from his shoulder. Twelve hours on a bus to Acapulco was no way to travel—even if it was in the middle of the night. My mouth had run dry, my lids were swollen, and my left leg tingled from lack of blood flow.
“We’re here?” I croaked, wishing bottled water was easier to find in Mexico. A tepid orange soda from a roadside stand at 2 a.m. didn’t really quench a thirst. I stretched my arms above my head and tried to work the stiff kink out of my neck.
“Sí, mira.” Joaquin pointed out the tinted window next to me.
Though headed for the bus station and not the beach, the main road into town took us right past a most fantastic view of the bay. The sun, barely over the mountains to the east, touched the waves of the ocean, turning them into silver-blue tongues of fire. The sand appeared to be one uninterrupted line of smooth yellow. I imagined spreading out my towel on that sandy expanse, soaking in the sun, and doing nothing.
I had managed to cash in my open-ended return plane ticket a few days earlier. Trying not to think of my mother’s disapproval or Janice’s hurt feelings when they discovered my plan, I stuffed eight-hundred dollars worth of pesos into the change purse I wore around my neck.
Half we put aside for the wedding ceremony next month, and the other half covered this trip to Acapulco.
Two bus tickets from Mexico City to Acapulco cost less than thirty dollars, and cheap hotels were available all over the city. I left most of the planning up to Joaquin. I handed him the cash we would need to make our reservations, and counted down the days until Semana Santa.
Seven uninterrupted days. No classes, no Janice, no nothing. Just him, me, and the double bed in the hotel room.
“Let’s go.” Joaquin took our bags down from the overhead bin. He had an excitement in his voice and an impatience in his demeanor.
He grabbed my hand and pulled me down the aisle, trying to get us ahead of the other passengers who were gathering their luggage.
I was too exhausted to care. My feet stumbled down the steps, and then I was engulfed in tropical air so dense with moisture, it suffocated me. And it was only eight in the morning.
Standing in the bus station lot, exhaust fumes spilling from all sides, Joaquin breathed in slowly and said quietly, “Qué rica.”
*
Our second-floor motel room faced the inner courtyard where a half-full swimming pool reflected the blue sky. A scattering of dilapidated lounge chairs hugged the cement edge.
This once had been a nice motel.
A young mother and her two shabbily-dressed children shared one of the few unbroken chairs. All three of them were somnolent under the heavy heat, staring blankly into the pool.
I wondered what they were waiting for. Why did they choose to sit out in the heat instead of inside where the machine-cooled air was more breathable? Leaning against the iron railing, I waited for Joaquin to return with a new key. The first key we picked up at the front desk wouldn’t open the door to our room.
I watched below as Joaquin crossed the courtyard. He flashed a smile at me and held up a key. I prayed this one opened the door. I needed to cool off before my head exploded. The humidity and heat were so overwhelming I felt surrounded on all sides, enveloped in a cloak of hot, sticky air that wouldn’t move. I rubbed the back of my hand across my sweaty forehead.
Joaquin climbed up the stairs. He was also drenched in sweat. I could sense a certain excitement in him when he stood close to me—a tremble in his hand as he reached out to unlock the door, the quick movement when he grabbed my backpack and carried it into the room, his hot touch when he grasped my elbow t
o lead me inside.
Cool air from the air-conditioning unit inside our room buffeted me, replenished me. I sank onto the double bed in relief and lay back on the faded bedspread.
“Querida.” Joaquin looked down at me with those hazel eyes as hot as the sun outside. Their golden-green depths drawing me in, making me forget the sweat and the heat.
He lay down on his side beside me, drawing his hand down the length of my face in a soft caress. Kissing me with a kiss as a light as a butterfly’s wings, I sighed at the feel of his mouth on mine. I wanted nothing more than this moment with him, far from all my worries.
The light kiss intensified. The pressure of his mouth on mine grew. He spread his body out over mine, and I felt the hardness of his erection against my leg.
He wanted me.
I no longer cared about anything but his the heat of his body against mine. A different heat than the cloying, sweaty heat outside.
He gave me light kisses down my face and across my throat. I closed my eyes and shivered under the touch of his lips on my skin. Everything was raw heat, raw power, raw emotion. My body strained against his, forgetting for a moment that we were in a cheap motel room with scratchy sheets and an anemic air-conditioner.
He pulled the clothes off of my body. Cool air hit hot, moist skin causing goosebumps down my back and my legs.
Joaquin’s hand slid to my breast, his mouth pressing down on mine, letting me know what he wanted. The sex was fast and hard, and I didn’t care.
*
Joaquin loved the beach—the waves, the heat, the sun.
I hated every minute we spent outside the respite of the air-conditioning of our dank little motel room—the uncomfortably warm water, the burning sand that stuck to sweaty body parts. I survived on Fresca purchased from beach-walking vendors and any shade I could steal from hotel palapas.
Joaquin wanted me to swim with him. I couldn’t stand the suffocating warmth of the tropical water, which wasn’t much cooler than the ninety-five-degree air with its high humidity. But I swam for him. He wanted me to lie on the beach with him. The sun scorched my skin with its intensity. But I stayed on that towel for as long as he desired.
I wanted him happy on our little trip. I wanted him to see that we were good together. That I would do anything for him.
I couldn’t go back to Janice, having spurned her plans for Semana Santa, and tell her I had a horrible time. I couldn’t call up my mother and tell her I had squandered my ticket home to spend it in some lousy motel for a week of really hot sex and heat rash.
If I removed us from Acapulco, if I put us back in Mexico City or even in Puebla, everything was fine. But this blistering heat made me want to tear my hair out. It made me want to pack my backpack, climb back on that bus, and head back to my dorm room.
This is not what I had imagined. This is not what I had imagined at all.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
“James?” His name on my lips was like water on a parched tongue, soothing and cool. “It’s me,” I whispered, moving forward into the darkness.
A ray of moonlight seeped through a crack in the heavy curtains at the window, illuminating the TV screen on a stand in the corner.
“You lied to me,” he said. His voice came from somewhere near the couch.
“I know.” Shame burned inside me.
“For six years you lied to me.” He sounded disgusted with me. “What kind of person does that? What kind of person lies to her fiancé? I trusted you. I believed in you.” His voice cracked.
Those words hit me like burning embers, each one stinging more than the last.
“I can explain—”
“Get out.”
My blood ran cold at those two words.
“What?”
“Get. Out.”
“James—” I pleaded.
“Get the fuck out of my room.”
I had never heard James speak that way. Not to me. Not to anyone. Hot tears stung my eyes. I wanted to cry. I wanted to show him that I hurt, too. Instead, I stumbled toward the door, my hand searching in the blackness for the knob.
The door opened, and a blinding stab of light from the hallway hit my eyes. I stepped into the hall, not knowing where to go. The door clicked shut behind me, and I made my way to the bank of elevators.
I needed to get away. To be alone. To think things through. His harsh words stung me. The tears fell out of my eyes in a hot rush. I couldn’t stop them.
I pushed the button for the lobby and waited for the elevator to take me down.
*
I wiped the tears from my face, and looked at my watch. I had to pull myself together.
It was past one-thirty in the morning.
I exited out into the desolate lobby. A young man dressed in a suit and tie stood behind the concierge desk, and a sleepy-looking guard leaned up against the wall near the entrance. The guard, with his cap pulled low over his eyes, barely even gave me a glance.
I still wore my evening dress, but it had wrinkled, and I felt a mess. I took off my high heels to soothe my aching feet, but also to make it easier for me to move undetected. The loud tick-tacking of heels on the lobby’s marble floor would undoubtedly draw attention to me when I most wanted to fade into nothing.
Shoes dangling from one hand, I made my way outside to the patio around the pool. A few couples remained from the fiesta, dancing slowly in the darkness. All but one of the tiki torches had burned out. Waiters cleared away empty platters, wine glasses, tumblers, and used napkins, which were scattered around on the small outdoor tables. The bar had closed. A guitarrón player remained on stage, strumming softly, while the rest of the mariachi band packed up their instruments.
A warm, moist breeze greeted me when I came out onto the patio. I stood for a moment, letting the gentle wind caress my body, the skirt of my dress fluttering around my legs. At that moment, the impact of what I’d lost, what I’d done came rushing at me. I lost the one man I needed most. The one man who always had loved me and cared for me.
I imagined lying in our bed at home, the comforter pulled up over my legs and a mug of coffee in my hand. James sat next to me in his button-up pajamas, the kind my father wore, with little pinstripes and a collar and buttons all up the front. I used to tease him about those pajamas. How old he looked. As if here were someone’s grandpa. We would laugh, and he would kiss me, feeding me bits of muffin in the early morning light.
Oh, what had I done?
I had been so stupid to think this would all go away so easily. How naïve I’d been to believe I could fly down to Acapulco and walk away with a divorce just by snapping my fingers.
I walked past the last few couples who danced on the patio. Pushing through the hotel gate, I made my way onto the beach. The sand was cool to the touch. Even with the warm breeze blowing, I shivered at the feel of the sand on my bare feet.
I had no destination in mind, only a need to keep moving. A need to keep walking down the length of the sliver of sand that hugged the curve of Acapulco Bay. A need to find a quiet and solitary place where I could get free of my thoughts and stare up at the moon.
*
There, on the sand, sat a familiar figure. The dark tumble of hair and a certain proud jut to the chin told me I’d found Mercedes. Even over the loud crash of waves against the sand, I could hear her weeping.
At first, I thought to pass her by. I had been part of her public humiliation after all. She probably wouldn’t want to have anything to do with me. But her tears stopped me. I knew at least a little bit of what she must be feeling. If I couldn’t help her, at least I could be sympathetic. We’d both been played for fools.
“Mercedes?”
She wiped her nose and eyes, keeping her head turned away from me. “Leave me alone. I want to be alone.”
“I thought maybe I could help.”
She snapped her head around and glared at me. “Help me? The wife of Joaquin Hernandez wants to help me? How sweet. How kind. Yes, help the pathetic little
Mercedes. The little idiota who thought she fell in love.”
“I don’t think you’re an idiot.” I sat down beside her on the sand, tucking my long skirt underneath my bare legs. “And for what it’s worth, I came down to Acapulco to get a divorce. He never loved me, either.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“It’s true. You know all those years ago? He used me to get away from you.” I hugged my knees to my chest. “How perfect was that? An American student going back to the U.S. in a few months? If I hadn’t left on my own, I’m sure he would have found some excuse to leave me. I’m guessing he was trying to get away from his responsibilities. The girl in the picture in his office? Ariana? Were you pregnant when you dropped out of school?”
She sighed and pulled her hair away from her face. “Yes. Four months along. I didn’t know what else to do. If my friends found out, or my parents—he promised he’d take care of me. But it had all been lies.”
“Oh, Mercedes, you must have been so scared. I wish things could have been different between you and me. I might have been able to help.”
“Did he ever say anything about me? About our baby?”
“No! If I had known—” I picked up a handful of the cool sand and let it run through my fingers. “Well, that’s all in the past now, and I’m sorry. I should’ve been there for you, and instead—”
“We both were young, no?” She looked at me through a strand of hair blowing in the sea breeze.
“Yes, we were.”
“Do you want to see a picture of Ariana and me?” She brushed the sand off of her hands.
“I’d love to.”
Mercedes opened her handbag, pulled out a red leather wallet, and flipped it open. “This was taken last year at Christmas.” She handed me a picture.
Ariana wore a beautiful red velvet dress, her black hair radiated like a cloud around her heart-shaped face. Mercedes stood behind her, hands on her daughter’s shoulders.
“She’s very pretty.”
“Thank you.”
Now that I knew Ariana was Mercedes’s daughter, the similarities were so obvious. “I think she looks a lot like you.”
Acapulco Nights Page 15
