“I’m sorry, Kat. I’m sorry.”
I drop my hands and wink at him.
“Gotcha.”
For a few seconds, his face is blank. Then, like a storm rolling in over clear skies, I see a furious change in his eyes. Samuel flies out of the truck. He kicks at the dirt and throws a fist into the hood of the truck, cursing and stomping off into the desert. There’s a dent in the hood and I know he must be hurting. I’m confused and regretful as I hop out of the truck and follow.
Samuel is facing away from me. His fingers comb through his hair and lace together behind his neck. I see his stiff shoulders rise and fall.
“Samuel?” I call out. He doesn’t respond, just stares off into the distance. “Samuel, I’m fine. It was just a joke.”
I shade my eyes from the harsh sun and wait. He turns toward me, but doesn’t say a word.
“I just need a minute,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck and looking down into the dirt.
“Okay. I didn’t mean to upset you. I’m sorry.”
“When I thought I hurt you…” He stops and meets my squinting eyes. “I don’t want to be the cause of any more pain for you.”
I don’t respond. I’ve got nothing to say to this beautiful and complicated man.
“Come on, let’s go,” he says walking past me.
The tension in the truck is thick. Once we’re back on the road, it seems to grow and consume us.
“Kat, I’m going to get you to Cabo and set you up in my house. Your house. I’ll give you some money to get on your feet and when I’m sure you’re safe, I’ll be on my way.” I fidget with the hem of my dress. “And, I think we’re better off not being friends.”
19. HIM
After an hour of silence, Kat falls asleep again. The rest of the journey, just like the desert landscape, flies by. Being left alone with my thoughts and the open road is just what I need to get back into the right frame of mind. No matter how right this girl feels, I’m no good for her. I’ll only bring darkness and hurt to her. It’s followed me like a shadow my whole life. How can I believe that she would be any different?
As soon as we enter the city, Kat wakes up. She blinks a few times and I can’t help but grin at her warm, droopy-lidded expression. There are crowds of people everywhere. Colorful banners and paper decorations stream from homes and businesses. Every block seems to carry its own brand of music. Kids and adults wear costumes, ranging from simple masks to elaborate sequined outfits. Even the family dogs are wrapped in flowers and shiny material.
“What’s going on?” she asks.
“What day is it?”
Kat picks up my cell phone and checks it. “Tuesday,” she answers. I glance at her and back at the crowded street. “March 4.”
“Damn, it’s Carnaval.”
“It’s fantastic,” she says in awe.
Kat presses her nose to the window and stares out with childlike amazement. She waves at all the people milling about. A man in costume blows her a kiss and she mimes catching it. Before I can stop her, Kat rolls down the window and hangs herself out, waving and blowing kisses to everyone.
“Samuel! This is great! Look!”
She points down the street where a parade is crossing our path. A marching band walks by and the crowd comes to life dancing in the street. Kat squeals, opens the door and hops out of the truck.
“Kat!”
“Come on,” she yells over her shoulder.
“Get back here!”
I jump out of the truck and take her hand. Soon, we’re moving through a crowd of faces as she pulls me along. Somehow we make our way to the front of the mass of people. She spins in place and dances to the beat of the passing drums. Watching her is like my own personal fantasy come true. Kat’s hips move and shake, and her arms stretch over her head as her feet continuously move. In this moment, she is clear of all her burdens, beautiful in that freedom.
A large decorated float comes through and everyone’s hands go up. I’m afraid I’ll lose her in the bustle, but Kat grabs my hand again and gives me a reassuring squeeze. She looks back at me with a smile, and I am rendered helpless by this wild girl.
As the parade wraps up, I step on toes, bump into kids, and get two beers spilled on my shoes as we make our way out of the crowd. The music pumps from a nearby house and people are still in party mode. Streamers and confetti float through the air. Kat stops and raises her face to the sky, a childlike smile on her lips. She turns to me and time seems to slow as we stand in our bubble surrounded by the lively chaos.
Kat laughs when paper confetti lands in my hair. She reaches up and runs her fingers through it, pushing the confetti free. The moment is so intimate, so intense, that I see nothing but her. Fingers slide down my scalp and wrap behind my neck. When she pulls me forward, I go willingly.
There is no urgency to this kiss. Her lips press against mine. My tongue slides out to taste her and the hum of satisfaction rocks us both. My hands slide to her waist and I pull Kat against me. This sparks something stronger, more primal. Kat’s fingers scrape against my neck as she pulls me closer. We consume each other, lips and teeth and tongue, with no regard to the world around us.
Someone bumps into me and we almost tumble to the ground. Our kiss is broken up, but her taste and the memory of the feel of her lips has me dizzy.
“Wow,” she says. “I could get used to that.”
Her words kill the last of this moment and anger instantly overwhelms me. I have no claim to Katherine Percle even though she seems to have claim to me. I have no right wanting her. I have no intention of keeping her. All I know is the sight of her flirty smile sent me into a faltering tailspin.
Silently, I drag her back to the truck and we climb inside. I can feel her confusion at my mood change, but can’t bring myself to offer any kind of explanation. Once we arrive at the airport, I park at the main building and grab the suitcase from the truck. Kat hops out and smooths down the front of her dress.
She follows me inside and leans against the counter while we wait for help. I feel her gaze on me, but don’t acknowledge her staring. I know, with one more word or simple gesture, she’d crash right through the wall I’d spent the last two hours building.
“Hola,” says a young girl who appears behind the counter. Heavy eye makeup is smeared beneath her bottom lashes. She smells like cigarettes.
“Hi,” Kat answers, smiling.
“American?” We both nod. “What can I do for you today?” she asks. Her accent makes the simple question sound lively.
“We need to get to Cabo. Is Jorge available?” I ask.
“No, I’m sorry. He’s not flying back in until tonight. It’s Carnaval, you know?”
“Yeah, I know,” I say.
“You want to book him tomorrow or use someone else?”
The girl looks at me, waiting impatiently for an answer. She smacks her gum and huffs. I don’t want to wait, but I know and trust Jorge. I chance a look at Kat, who is also awaiting my answer.
“We’ll wait. Ask him to be ready to fly out at noon.” The girl nods, takes my information, and pops her gum.
I spin around and stomp my way back to the truck. This means more time with Kat, which by the hour seems to become personally more dangerous and hard to navigate. But I know not to underestimate the value of trustworthy people. I’ve known Jorge for years. He’s middle-aged and unattached. He doesn’t ask questions, and doesn’t answer them either.
I pull into the Hotel Playa de Cortes and park the truck. I doubt there will be anything available with Carnaval happening, but I’m hopeful because it’s the last day. Kat follows me inside, where we’re in luck with one room available. I pay cash for the room and register us as Mr. and Mrs. Turner.
Kat raises a questioning eyebrow, but I just shrug it off. Even though we are deep into Mexico, it’s always smart to play it safe.
“Welcome to Guaymas, Mr. and Mrs. Turner. Today is the last day of Carnaval, so you’d better get all your sins out be
fore midnight,” the clerk says to us. “Sadly, you just missed the last parade.”
“We didn’t miss it at all,” Kat sings.
We retrieve our things from the truck and enter the hotel room. Even with the patio doors open and the cool breeze blowing through, the air around us feels dense. We haven’t discussed my breakdown in the desert, and I’m thankful for that. It’s easier to keep my head focused and my plan in place without the distractions Kat offers.
The walls are painted a soft neutral color, the floor is stained concrete. One large bed sits against the wall, a scrolling wooden semicircle as its headboard. There are nightstands and lamps on each side, a television in the corner and two chairs separated by a small table. The furniture is wicker, and all the fabrics are bright pops of color. I set our suitcase on the bed and watch as Kat wraps her arms around herself, stepping to the patio. She parts the curtains and throws them open. The breeze gusts in now, whipping her hair around her face, billowing her dress away from her thighs.
“It’s lovely,” she whispers.
Before I can stop myself, I answer.
“Yes, it is.” She spins to face me, a thousand questions etched into her face. I know I don’t want to answer any of them, so I change the subject quickly. “I’m tired. I’m going to take a nap.”
“Well, I slept the whole way here, so I’m good. I want to see Carnaval and then the beach. A few days ago, I thought I was going to be in prison for the rest of my life. This feels like one big amazing dream.”
I don’t want to let her go by herself, but I’m just too tired to argue. I nod at her, kick off my shoes, and tuck my gun between the mattresses.
“Don’t drink the water and don’t get arrested,” I warn before crawling onto the bed.
Kat unzips the suitcase and rifles through it before disappearing into the bathroom.
20: her
I step out into the city and for the first time in a while, I truly feel free. I make a note of the name of the hotel so I can ask for directions later, and set off down the street. The cool breeze smells of citrus and salt, it leads me away from the coast and farther into Carnaval.
Almost every home I pass is filled to capacity, sometimes overflowing to the front porches and yards. Men stand at charcoal grills while kids prance around in costumes and dogs give chase. The people here are welcoming and friendly. They wave and offer genuine smiles when I return the gesture. I think I’ll like it in Mexico.
I follow the foot traffic and the sound of music to an open plaza with a band perched on a wide stage. Although the members are dressed like cowboys, with shiny belt buckles and oversized hats, the music doesn’t sound country at all. The heavy beat and blasting trumpets make me want to move my hips.
I step into the crowd and fall in line with other dancers. Men, women, and children all take turns giving me lessons and twirling me around. One song blends into the next and my feet never stop moving. When I need a break, I walk over to a street vendor and buy a margarita on the rocks. The boy behind the counter swaps a drink for five American dollars and gives an enthusiastic thumbs up.
“Gracias,” I say, holding up my cup.
I turn and gulp down most of the drink at once. It cools my insides nicely. I realize halfway through that the ice is just frozen Mexican water, but I rationalize this by assuming the alcohol will kill off whatever harmful bacteria lurk in there. Spotting some shade, I lean against a tree and watch the dancing continue. The pulse of the music fills the crowd, the whole lot of them move in peaks and valleys like the sea. Everyone’s celebratory shouts and laughter float through the air. Their high spirits and happiness are contagious. I finish my margarita and head back into the crowd.
As the music lures me in, so do the men. They’re very welcoming and all want to take a turn dancing. There seems to be no commitment between dance partners, everyone out to simply have a good time. I shake and move my hips, cutting through the people, making my way to the stage.
When the song ends, I gather my hair and twist it off my neck. The light air washes over my sweaty skin giving me goose bumps. I hear a loud whistle from beside me and turn to find a woman perched on the shoulders of a swaying man. Her hair is dark brown, but it’s her fair skin that stands out in this crowd.
“Wahoo! Yeah!” she screams as the song ends. “I love Carnaval!” I laugh at her obvious elation and watch as she wiggles on the man’s shoulders. He tilts his head up, all smiles and she says something to him in Spanish. After he sets her down gracefully, she pulls him in for a tight hug and gives him a kiss on the cheek. “Gracias,” she says before sauntering away.
Without thought, my feet are in motion following her through the crowd.
“Hey!” I shout. “Hey,” I say again, this time closer. She turns and stares at me, waiting. “You’re American, right?” I ask.
“Yeah.”
“I’m Liz,” I say, holding out my hand. “I haven’t come across anyone who speaks English in a while.”
She laughs. She has one of those perfect faces and perfect smiles, the kind of beauty where it’s impossible to tell how old she is. “Well, Liz, I’m Piper. Welcome to Carnaval!” She shakes my hand and twirls me in place as another song starts. “I’m so hot. Let’s get some drinks,” she shouts over the music.
Piper doesn’t wait for an answer. She takes off toward the vendors and I follow. While the crowd seems to part for her, I have to dodge and squeeze between people to keep up.
“I just love the strawberry margaritas here,” she yells over her shoulder. She steps up and orders two drinks, delivering one to me.
“Thanks,” I say, taking a sip. “I already ran out of money.”
“No problem,” she answers, nodding. “I understand how that can happen here. There’s so many temptations.”
“You got that right.” We tap our plastic cups together in a silent toast.
She leads me to a spot of grass and takes a seat. I lean back and look up at the swaying palm tree fronds, feeling so content in this moment.
“So, where you from, Liz?”
“San Antonio. You?”
“Denver,” she answers. “But I spend some time here, especially during Carnaval.”
I sit up and stretch my legs out in front of me wiggling my toes.
“I can see why. It’s great.”
“After this, I’ll meet my boyfriend in Cabo. He’s going to be working there for at least three months, but I only get to stay for two. It’s always so depressing going back home. Ugh,” she grunts and rolls her eyes.
“I’ll be in Cabo too. Maybe we could hang out. I won’t know anyone else there,” I say, finishing my drink.
“That sounds great! I love showing people around. I’m an old pro.” Piper stands and dusts off the seat of her shorts. “Now, let’s dance!”
I let her pull me up and follow her into the sea of people. We dance with each other and anyone else who passes by. Piper is a great dancer and as attractive as she is, garners lots of attention. After an hour, I’m sweaty and so ready for the beach.
“I’m going to go. I want to hit the beach before dark,” I yell over the music.
“Aww, I was going to go buy us another round,” Piper says. “We’re just getting started.”
Two attractive guys pass by and whistle. She blows them a kiss before looking back to me.
“I really shouldn’t. I need to get back.”
She sticks out her bottom lip and says, “Oh, alright. When you get to Cabo, find me. We’re staying at the Villa Del Palmar. The room will be under Piper Dawson.”
“Will do,” I say giving her a hug. “It was great meeting you!”
“The pleasure’s all mine, darling.” Piper waves at me right before the crowd closes in around her, making her disappear from view.
I retrace my path back to the hotel, easily navigating the city. When I get there, Samuel is still sleeping. I slip into a bikini, throw my dress back on, grab a towel, and follow the gulls to the water.
When I hit the beach, I claim my own little spot in the sand. I stretch out on a towel and revel in the last couple of hours of sunlight. There are still people out celebrating, gathered around fires or kicking soccer balls. The sound of laughter and more music surrounds me as I drift off to sleep.
I wake to find Samuel taking a seat next to me in the sand. We don’t say a word to each other, we simply sit and watch the sun disappear. When all that’s left is a sliver of pink across the top of the water, I turn to him. His profile is solemn.
“Did you have a good nap?” I ask. He silently nods and looks down the beach. “The city’s still really crowded. We were lucky to get a room.” Still no response.
“Samuel, I can’t stand this disconnected silent treatment. I’m sorry that you feel guilty. I know that somewhere in there,” I say, poking his chest, “is a guy who just wants to drop this brooding act, relax, and have fun.” He stares blankly at me, not wanting to admit anything. “I bet there are parts of you buried so deep you wouldn’t even recognize them. Your pain, the things you’ve seen, all the things you’ve done … you’ve got to let them go.”
Turning his head back to the sea, he watches the pounding of the waves against the shore. I scoot in front of him and get to my knees, so that we are eye to eye.
“Samuel, you are not the evil person you make yourself out to be. I understand why you did what you did. You have more than made it up to me. I hate the guilt that you are carrying because of me. And frankly, you’re starting to piss me off. I forgive you.”
“Kat, I—” I slide my hands along his jaw and press my thumb to his lips.
“I forgive you,” I say. He closes his eyes and frowns. I lean in closer, inches from his pouting lips and repeat myself. “I forgive you.”
Samuel tries to argue, but my thumb presses harder against his lips.
A cool gust of air blows between us, with it the smell of salt and beach fire smoke. I feel him relax and let his anger and fears slip away on the breeze. I remove my thumb and place my lips softly above his.
Held Against You Page 19
