by Merry Jones
Until someone landed beside me on the lounge. I jumped, startled.
“Señora,” Luis’s butt touched my thigh.
“Luis?” I moved my legs away.
“I startled you?” His eyes sparkled. “I only want to tell you how glad I am to see you here. I was there, señora. I saw you and your friend boogie boarding. And then I saw you, lying so still, I would have sworn you were lost to us.” He took my hand, placed a gentle kiss on my palm. “It is a miracle that you survived. People are saying that the Virgin of Guadalupe herself saved you. I believe it.”
I pulled my hand away, felt the tingle of his lips.
“When we last spoke, I was harsh.” He leaned over me, speaking softly.
Yes, he had been. But so had I.
“When I saw you lying there on the beach, lifeless, I felt a terrible loss and sorrow. It made me want to clear the air between us.” He smiled shyly, his head bent, eyes timid. Timid didn’t fit Luis, he looked uncomfortable, like his clothes were too small.
“Thank you.” I didn’t know what else to say. My shoulders tensed. I felt trapped.
“Are you feeling all right?” He looked at my leg.
“My lungs are still sore.” Why was I telling him that? What did he want? Was he still stalking Melanie? Was I next?
“And your leg?” His hand landed on my knee, gently massaged it.
In a whoosh, I saw a face blurred by water. Felt something pulling me under, tugging me down. Heard Sergeant Perez declare that my wound hadn’t been accidental, that someone had stabbed me.
And now, Luis was reminding me that he had been there. Oh God. The attack had happened right after I’d confronted him. Had he been afraid I’d get him in trouble? That he’d lose his job? Had he attacked me—tried to kill me? Was he here now not to wish me well, but to see if I’d recognized him in the struggle?
My mind raced. Luis’s hand was still on my knee. I removed it. Tried to tune in to what he was saying.
“No hard feelings between us. We all make mistakes.”
Was he apologizing? Admitting that he’d attacked me? He was too close, invading my space. Trying to intimidate me. If I edged farther away, I’d fall off the lounge chair. I was cornered by his body, couldn’t get up unless he moved. I put a hand on his chest, pushing him away. He wrapped his hand on mine as if embracing it, but squeezing it tight.
“What do you want, Luis?” I wriggled my hand, trying to free it. “Let go.”
He tightened his grip.
I stopped fighting him, wincing. “Did you stab me? Was it you?”
“Me?”
“In the water—was it you?”
“Señora, how can you ask that? I came over here to wish you well.” He looked into my eyes. Dropped my hand. “Look, I don’t want trouble. Not with you or your amiga loca. I am trying to make peace.” His eyes blazed.
By strangling my hand and cornering me? Anger bubbled in my belly. I wanted to slug him. “Go away, Luis.”
He held my eyes another moment, then he reached over, lifted my hat, and planted a kiss on my forehead. “Be careful, señora,” he whispered. “I would hate to see you come to more harm.”
He replaced my hat, stood and, as he walked away, I realized that my hands were gripping the side of the chair. When I relaxed them, my fingers trembled, not in fear but in anger. I felt steam hissing from my ears, fire blazing in my blood. Aching for a fight, I got up and hobbled around, dragging my chair away from the palm tree into the sunlight. Maybe the sun would bake my brain, burning away the hostility that swirled inside me. Maybe it would turn my rage to ashes.
I looked around, unable to settle down. People frolicked in the pool or lay on lounge chairs, tanning and reading. Some sat at the bar, drinking and noshing under the thatched roof. Others wandered out to the ocean. I could see a bit of it beyond the fence. Light sparkled on the water. Swimmers dotted the surface. A blanket of clouds draped the horizon, but along the shore, the sun was hot and relentless. Susan had my sunblock. Damn. Never mind. I closed my eyes, felt anger pulsing through me, untargeted and generalized.
I’d been angry when I’d left the suite. And then Luis had agitated me more: The tightness of his grip on my hand, the intrusion of his lips on my forehead—his breath on my face. I should tell Sergeant Perez about him, have him investigated. But for what? Being at the beach when I’d been pulled out of the water? Bothering a woman who’d vandalized his room? Or maybe for squeezing my hand and kissing my forehead?
Actually, everything Luis had said had been completely benign. He hadn’t threatened me. Quite the contrary, he’d expressed good wishes and concern. But there had been unspoken threats, hadn’t there? The edge in his voice, the flash in his eyes. I wasn’t sure. Maybe I was in such a hostile mood that I was projecting my own anger onto others. Maybe Luis had simply meant to wish me well. He was a rascal, not a killer. Besides, he’d had no motive for attacking me. If he’d wanted to attack someone, wouldn’t it have been Melanie?
Unless he was obsessed with her and saw me as an interference.
I had to stop. Had to think peaceful thoughts. Serene thoughts. Like going to the festival. I imagined people celebrating, seeing banners of greens, reds, and yellows so bright that they vibrated. The sun baked my chest. I tried to exhale tension, inhale peace. Exhale negative energy, inhale healing. But voices around me grated like squawking crows. Music pounded my skull. My muscles tightened and, finally, I stopped trying to control my mood. I allowed myself to be as ornery and belligerent as I wanted. I closed my eyes, saw a woman with scrawny fists, heard her call for vengeance. Maybe she was me. After a while, maybe I slept.
“Something beautiful for you, señora?”
I opened my eyes, saw a human form haloed by a golden corona. An angel?
“I have rings, bracelets. Have a look.”
Oh, not an angel. A vendor standing in sunlight.
“No, gracias.”
“Oh, go ahead,” a woman stepped out of his halo. Melanie. “Buy something.”
“Melanie. Oh, wait.” I moved my legs, started to stand up. “I don’t know how to thank you. You got me out of the water. You saved my life.” I stumbled on my sore leg, but managed to reach out and hug her. She was my height; our breasts crushed in the embrace. I felt how bony she was. Not an ounce of flab.
The vendor watched, gave up hope, moved on.
“I honestly thought you were gone, Elle.” She ended the hug, studied my face.
Apparently, I had been.
“You were limp in my arms. Deadweight.”
I remembered fighting, trying to swim away. When had I gone limp?
“You had no heartbeat. It was totally scary.” She looked me over, head to toe. “So, you’re feeling better?” She pulled a lounge chair over to join me. Plopped onto it. “Tell me, what do you remember?”
What did I remember? “What do you mean?”
“Like, do you remember getting hit in the head? Or being under water? Were you scared?”
My lungs started aching. I remembered them burning, ripping, exploding. I remembered flailing. I remembered Charlie.
“It must have been awful,” she went on. “I can’t imagine what you went through.”
“Well, it’s over.” I didn’t want to talk about it. “I was lucky you were around.”
“That’s what friends are for, right?” She turned to face me. “You got better really quickly.”
I had? “I don’t know. My lungs are still sore. And my leg—it’ll take some time.”
“I mean emotionally.” She paused. “I saw you just now. With Luis. Right there.” She pointed to the palm tree. “You two looked pretty intense. It was touching.”
Oh Lord. I didn’t want to revisit Melanie’s issues. “He was just wishing me well.”
Her lips curled. “He was practically on top of you.”
With all that had happened in the last day, I hadn’t thought about Melanie and Luis. Or how she’d reacted the last time she’d seen
me talking to him. But now that I remembered, I didn’t have the patience to deal with her issues. Hell, I didn’t have the patience to deal with my own.
“Melanie.” I lay back on my lounge chair. Anger welled up in my chest. “Drop it. There’s nothing going on—”
“You don’t need to cover it up, Elle. You’re welcome to him.
I just don’t get it though. After everything you know about him—how can you be attracted to him?”
“Melanie, just stop.” My voice was steely. “We have nothing to talk about.”
She tilted her head. “Whatever. But be warned: Luis is bad news. As long as he’s in your life, you never know what will happen.”
It occurred to me that, despite my warning, he might have done something else to her. After all, the world hadn’t stopped when I’d gotten hurt. “Is he still bothering you?”
She readjusted her sunglasses. “He’s lying low. Now that he’s got you to distract him.”
“He does not have me.”
“He still watches me, but he’s more careful. I think he got my message.”
Right. Her message. Destroyed clothes and a soiled room. I recalled Luis’s grip on my hand, the threat in his eyes.
“You really think Luis is dangerous?” I asked her.
“Hello? Elle? What have I been telling you? The guy’s a psycho. He comes off all charming, but he broke into my room. He threatened me. I’ve told you all—”
“Melanie. He was there. On the beach.”
She tilted her head. “What?”
“When you pulled me out.”
“Well, you drew a crowd. Lots of people were there.”
I sat up and faced her. “Melanie, listen. What happened to me wasn’t an accident.”
She rolled her eyes. “That’s ridiculous.”
“No. It’s true.”
“You’re saying some guy on a boogie board crashed into you on purpose?”
“I’m saying somebody tried to drown me. That didn’t work though. I fought too hard, so the guy tried to stab me—maybe he wanted to cut my throat. The only reason he got my leg was that I managed to kick him away.”
Her jaw hung open. “You’re making this stuff up. It wasn’t like that. It’s crazy.”
“Listen. It’s not crazy. The attack happened right after I cornered Luis and told him to leave you alone. Remember? You saw me with him. I was telling him that I knew what he’d been up to, and that if he didn’t leave you alone, I’d go to his boss.”
Her mouth remained open, a gaping hole.
“And then, an hour later, when you pulled me out of the water, he was there. On the beach. What a coincidence, right? When is Luis ever on the beach? He’s always up here by the pool.”
Melanie’s hand covered her mouth. She watched me with wide eyes.
“I have no proof. But, seriously, Melanie, you said he’s bad news, but how bad? Do you think it could have been him?”
“Oh my God,” she said again. And then again. Her hand came away from her face. “You’re accusing Luis?”
“I’m just asking what you think.”
“What the hell’s wrong with you, Elle? One minute, you’re practically screwing the guy in public, and the next, you’re accusing him of trying to kill you.”
I hadn’t done either. “I wasn’t practically screwing Luis.”
“Really?” She scoffed. Her back straightened. “Because I saw you myself.”
“No, you didn’t.”
“Are you seriously going to deny it? I know what I saw.”
I didn’t answer, wasn’t going to engage further with her; it was pointless.
“I can’t deal with this.” She stood, grabbed her bag. “You brought it on yourself. I warned you about Luis, didn’t I? I told you about him. How obsessed he gets. What he’s done to me. But you got involved with him anyway. And now you’re asking if I think he’s dangerous? Now? As if I haven’t said a word all week?” She leaned over my chair, backlit by the sun. Her face was a blob of darkness. “One more time. Here’s what I think, Elle, I think that if you’re smart, you’ll get far from Luis as fast as you can, before it’s too late.”
She strutted off toward the deep end of the pool, disappearing into a crowd of swimmers lining up for water basketball. I covered my face with my hat and lay back, trying to make sense of what had just happened. Deciding that, even if she’d saved my life, Melanie was exasperating and that I should avoid her. Luis, though, troubled me. After I’d cornered him about Melanie, he’d been afraid that I’d report him to management and he’d be fired. But had that made him mad enough to kill me?
I peeked under the brim of my hat and saw him with Chichi, dividing the swimmers into teams. Handing out red-and-yellow jerseys. Joking with a matronly orange-haired woman, touching her shoulder. He seemed untroubled, normal—even happy. But psychos had no consciences. They could seem happy no matter what they’d done.
Melanie sat across the pool from the teams, dangling her spindly legs in the water, lifting her tanned face to the sun.
I lay back again and closed my eyes. My thoughts buzzed hornetlike. Insistent. Threatening to sting. I tried to sort them out. To find connections between a veiled intruder and an underwater attacker. Between those two and Claudia. Between Claudia and Greta. But I linked up nothing. My mind was tangled, my lungs raw and tender, and my stitches itched and ached in the heat. I listened to basketball players shouting in the water. Vendors offering wares. Waiters taking orders for sandwiches and drinks. People surrounded me, but I was alone behind my eyelids where a shadow kept reaching for me in dark water. And Charlie kept showing up with open arms, bursting with light.
By the time Alain came to get me for dinner, I’d been desperate to get away from the hotel. I’d spent the afternoon spinning my thoughts into fist-size knots. When I’d come back to the suite, I’d wanted to talk about my encounters at the pool. Instead, I’d been ambushed by a dizzying flurry of Susan. Restored by her day of freedom and the beach, she’d gone to the market and bought ingredients for chicken quesadillas, guacamole, salsa verde, and flan. She’d danced around the kitchenette, humming, pouring fresh sangria, toasting our trip and our friendships, clattering dishes, chopping peppers. Susan had been on a high. By contrast, Becky had paced like a caged animal after her few hours with Jen. After chugging a glass of sangria, she’d dashed off to meet Chichi.
Jen’s dour mood permeated the suite, thickening the air, snuffing out light. I’d felt equal parts guilt for abandoning Susan and relief to get away.
“Go,” she’d insisted. “It’s fine. I’m fine. I even got some tan today. See? She pulled down her tank top, displayed the color of her chest.
“Sure, go. Have a great fucking time.” Jen had sulked, gulping sangria. “You and my damned quack of a doctor. Just forget about me and how miserable I am and how I can’t feel anything around my nipples and haven’t been outside of this damned hotel in days.”
“Remember, Elle, tomorrow we’re going to the festival.” Susan danced to some melody in her head.
“Really? A festival? I don’t believe you ungrateful leeches. While you’re off doing the samba, I’ll probably die of complications.”
“You don’t have complications.” Susan mashed avocado.
“The fuck I don’t—I have fever and scars and bulbous purple lumps—”
“I’ve said it before: you chose to do this to yourself.” Susan shrugged, poured herself another drink. “It’s your party, you can cry if you want to.” She hummed the song, refusing to let Jen interfere with her mood.
“Why don’t you go outside, Jen,” I’d suggested. “Sit by the pool. Lots of patients are out there with those things on their noses.”
“On their noses. But what about the rest of me? Don’t you get it, Elle? I can’t wear clothes. I’m too sore. Am I supposed to go out bare assed?”
Susan and I’d exchanged glances. Jen had wardrobe choices: a robe. A beach cover-up. A loose sundress. The fact was that she d
idn’t want any of those because she refused to appear in public. Jen wouldn’t let anyone, even strangers, see her at anything less than her best.
Susan sang and cooked. Jen sulked and complained. And, as I showered with my leg wrapped in plastic and got dressed for dinner, I tried to forget about death and threats and knife attacks by focusing on Alain. His resonant voice. His posture—it made him seem taller than he was. His twinkling eyes. But focusing on him made my hands jittery. My chest fluttered, lips tingled. Damn. What was I doing, getting attracted to him? What was the point? I was going to be there for only three more days. Why was I even bothering to spend time with him? Clearly, we had no future.
Forget the future, I told myself. Wasn’t it enough to enjoy the present? After all, I’d already died once. Who knew when I’d die again? Meantime, shouldn’t I live every minute to the fullest?
Stop rationalizing, I argued. This situation has nothing to do with life or death or time. It has to do with: You think he’s hot. When you’re around him, you want to touch him. Something about the aristocratic way he crosses his legs. The ease of his gait. The slope of his back. The surprising softness of his kiss.
I had to stop. Or no. I had to prepare. What would I do if he wanted me to stay the night? Would I? My insides did somersaults as I considered possibilities, pictured his home. The carved wooden door. The bright décor. For better or worse, for tonight, I would push aside Jen’s gloom, Melanie’s warnings, Sergeant Perez’s concerns. I would reject all thoughts of intruders, attackers and murderers, and give my attention to Alain. On being with Alain. And who knew? With Alain’s help, I might even fend off spirits of the dead and quell the dread simmering in my belly. At least for the evening.
He met me in the lobby, greeted me by closing his arms around me and kissing my lips. And then we were in his car, the top down again. The wind too noisy for conversation.
The restaurant was stucco, and we sat in a courtyard under the open sky. The host greeted Alain, exchanging embraces, speaking in Spanish. Alain was known there. He introduced me; the host was polite but not attentive. To him, I was merely Alain’s dinner date du jour.
