by Mary Carter
Spain was hot. Sticky hot. Heavy hot. Irritatingly hot. Coming in July was a definite error in judgment. Too late. You made your bed, girls. Jody Sawyer used to say that all the time. Was Grace going around saying it now? Carrie Ann hoped not. She would find out soon enough.
At least Rafael had a decent apartment spitting distance to La Rambla. Now that was cool. Not a bad place to disappear, now was it?
She went to the bedroom and changed into her bikini. She wasn’t trying to get Rafael all riled up, but it was just too hot to wear anything else. Besides. She had paid dearly for tanning, and Pilates, and said bikini. Why do all that just to cover up? But mostly it was because of the heat. Even her sundresses were too hot. How in the world could they call that swampy thing in the corner an air conditioner? It gurgled so much she was tempted to give it Pepto Bismol. It was probably a joke they played on the American tourists. She hadn’t stopped sweating since she had arrived. If she had it to do over she would have picked Rome, or Paris. She’d always imagined herself as a Left Bank kind of girl. Less than a week away from her thirtieth birthday with Grace. What an adventure this was going to be. But had she gone too far?
No. Definitely not. All was fair in love and war, right? Besides, it was going to work. Carrie Ann was going to heal the rift between them if it killed her. Because Grace was family, and surely Grace wanted Carrie Ann back in her life; she was just too stubborn (as usual) to do anything about it. So Carrie Ann was going to step up, and she was going to give Grace a chance to redeem herself. And after that nasty review in Country Weekly, she was sure Grace needed redeeming. Nothing was more important in life than the ones you loved. Than family. It was because of Grace that Carrie Ann understood what it even meant to have a family. Even if Jody and Jim hated her, Grace made up for all of that.
“Don’t let me down,” she said, softly, aloud. Carrie Ann reached for her purse, took out the worn picture, and stared at it. Two Raggedy Anns and one Andy. Grace, Carrie Ann, and Stan. She and Grace looked pretty much the same. But boy, it was mind-blowing to look at Stan. He had been so unlucky as a kid. All that weight, and the acne, and the braces. Those greasy black bangs hanging in his face. Just one big pile of misery. He was lucky he had made it through that time without being on the evening news for going berserk. Carrie Ann liked to think that he had her to thank for that. She had done a good thing bringing him into the fold. Maybe even saved innocent lives.
But Grace. Oh, how she loved Grace. How long had it been since she’d seen her? (Not counting Facebook or from afar.) Too long. Way, way too long. She was flabbergasted that Grace had never reached out to her. Not once in all these years. Then again, Carrie Ann wouldn’t have been easy to find. She never lived anywhere longer than a year. She didn’t tweet, or Facebook, or put herself in the limelight. Maybe Grace had looked for her, but couldn’t find her. Maybe Carrie Ann hadn’t wanted to be found. But it was time. And it was the perfect time.
So it was decided. She would be the bigger person. She would make the first move. And she would do it with her usual flair. How far would she actually take things? Well, that would depend on Grace. But so far, if she did say so herself, she was nailing it.
She slipped the picture back in her purse. What would Carrie Ann do if her plan failed? She had to at least brace herself for the possibility that Grace would turn her back on her. Again. That couldn’t happen. It just couldn’t.
The front door suddenly swung open, and there stood Rafael in full costume. He slammed the door shut and glided across the floor as he slipped off his feathers. My God, how much did those things weigh? They were huge, black beasts, which looked capable of flight. After partially undressing, he turned and grinned at her with a face concealed under hideous white paint. He was also still wearing the eye mask. He continued to grin and balled his hands into fists. A swooshing sound cut through the air, and then the knives popped out. The silver gleamed as if he had just polished them, and he probably had. The freak.
“Are those real?” Carrie Ann asked. She took a step forward.
“I’ll never tell,” Rafael said. He thrust his hands up in the air.
“Weirdo,” Carrie Ann said. More than once she had had second thoughts about involving him. But since it was too late to kick him off the team now, she was certainly glad he was on their side. She imagined he could be pretty scary under the best of circumstances.
Rafael arched his eyebrows and then took off the contraptions. He ambled over to his kitchen counter where he kept his stash and began to roll a joint. He lit it and rested it in the corner of his mouth. The place soon filled with the cloying scent of marijuana. He carried his stilts to a corner of the room, where he deposited them. Then, he threw himself on the sofa. Carrie Ann had just enough time to move her legs before he crushed them. The joint remained sealed between his lips. He reached Carrie Ann’s legs and tried to put them over his lap. She pulled away and scooted to her corner of the sofa. He exhaled a gray cloud, and his eyes ran over her body.
“Are we going to the beach?” he said.
“No,” Carrie Ann said.
“Come on. It is right at the end of the street. You are wearing the bikini. I am allowed to take you anywhere. This is Barcelona, baby.”
Allowed to take her. What a misogynist. He offered her the joint. She shook her head no as she’d done each and every time he tried to get her to take it. Pot made her horny. Horny made her stupid. She was not hooking up with Rafael. “What are you going to do? Lie around all day like a dead fish?” Rafael said.
“Maybe.” And maybe she’d slip out and do some exploring on her own. It had to cool down after dark. She’d always been more of a night owl anyway.
“You did not ask me about my morning work,” Rafael said. “My Zero Zero Seven.”
Double-O-Seven, you moron. “You’re right. I didn’t.” Rafael was just too easy to bait, so she couldn’t resist doing it.
“She’s here.”
So soon? Was he telling the truth? Carrie Ann sat up. It was everything she could do not to leap off the sofa and run down to their room. Grace was here. Just one floor below. Carrie Ann had to breathe. She had to take it slow. An ambush would only backfire. Despite herself, she could feel excitement thrumming in her, just at the thought of seeing Grace again. She needed her. She missed her. “Oh my God. Are you sure?”
“I don’t like her,” Rafael said.
Who cares if you like her, you egomaniac? Although it was an interesting statement. Everybody always liked Grace. Except maybe that guy who had slammed her in Country Weekly. Carrie Ann couldn’t figure out what had possessed Grace to post that review on her own Facebook page. Why would you want people reading your bad reviews? Like those people who send annual anti-Christmas-cheer newsletters. I have cancer. Steven is in rehab and we pray this will be the year he kicks cocaine. Happy Holidays, sorry I haven’t been in touch since the tornado. “You weren’t supposed to talk to her. Did you talk to her?”
“I did not talk to her. But I was very near her. And she did not come up to take picture or tip me.”
Why would she? You look deranged. Charles Manson would’ve steered clear of you. “You’re sure it was her?”
Rafael set the joint on the edge of the coffee table and reached into his jeans. How could he wear jeans in this heat? Why didn’t he have ashtrays? He pulled his iPhone out of his pocket, scrolled through it, and held the screen out to Carrie Ann. She took the phone and brought the screen in close. And there she was.
Her Grace. She looked just like she did on her Facebook fan page. Her sister. SBC. Sisters By Choice. She could still see the ten-year-old girl in the picture. And the eleven-, twelve-, and thirteen-year-old girl. She could see the two of them, sitting in Grace’s tree house, pouring out their secrets in low, hot whispers. I missed you, Gracie. I missed you so much. She ran her finger over Grace’s face. My sister. I forgive you. Will you be happy to see me? Have you missed me at all? Will you be sorry when I suddenly disappear? Will you come looking
for me?
Rafael held his hand out for his phone.
Carrie Ann kept holding it. “Did she see you taking this?”
“Not even a tiny, tiny chance.”
“She’s here,” Carrie Ann repeated. The first hurdle had been cleared. She thought she’d made a mistake recruiting that Dan guy. He had been so paranoid about the whole thing. And she had to be nice or he would’ve pulled out of it altogether. God, how he had gone on and on. Why don’t you just tell them you won a trip? He’ll never believe the vet group is raffling off a trip. What are the odds of winning a trip? What if we’re scheduled for surgery on those days? I don’t know if I can get a replacement with this short a notice. I don’t even know how many vacation days Jake has left. On and on until Carrie Ann wanted to strangle him. At least she had finally gotten him to do it. It’s a free trip, and I’m practically family, she had said.
Then why not go through Grace? Or her parents—
Because then Grace might figure it out. Carrie Ann didn’t tell him the real reason—that Jody Sawyer had lost her mind. Actually, it was kind of nice to see her. Especially since Jody didn’t remember how much she hated her. Carrie Ann didn’t stay long enough to talk to Jim. When she realized how sick Jody was, she realized she couldn’t drag them into this—not even unknowingly. So Dan was her only other option. But he just wouldn’t quit.
A surprise wedding, huh? Does the groom even know?
They were here. Grace and Jake. Carrie Ann felt that familiar tug of jealousy that she felt when she saw all the pictures of the two of them. So in love. Laughing in almost every single picture. Nobody laughed like that all the time—did they? And there was some fat, drooling dog in almost every picture too. Grace was a cat person. Always had been. She’d loved that fat orange cat named Brady like it was her own child. “Our thirtieth in Spain. Just like we always said,” Carrie Ann whispered to the picture. “It’s going to be a doozy.”
Rafael’s phone rang. Carrie Ann jumped. He snatched it out of her hands, then picked up the joint and took a drag before answering. He spoke in rapid Spanish. When he hung up, he was grinning.
“What?” Carrie Ann said.
“Want to go to the beach?” he said.
“I said no,” Carrie Ann said.
“That was Stefano. He said Grace and her amigo are off to the beach.”
“Who is Stefano?”
“Mi amigo, he who sits in the lobby.”
“Right.” He who sits in the lobby. Who would she be? She who lies on the sofa? Rafael: He who plays with knives. “He’s like the doorman or something?”
“It is the time of summer. When all the young foreign girls to come and stay.” Rafael wiggled his eyebrows. Carrie Ann stood. She raced to the window and glanced out. As usual, La Rambla was a mass of writhing bodies. She couldn’t spot Grace or Jake.
“How does he know it’s her?” Carrie Ann asked.
“I showed him the picture.”
“How does he know they’re going to the beach? Did he talk to them?”
“Why are you so worried about everyone talking to them? He says they come down, and they are carrying towels, and wearing swimming suits, and he says, ‘Hola,’ and they say, ‘Hola.’ And he says, ‘Donde está,’ because all tourists understand ‘Donde está,’ and they say, ‘We are going to the beach,’ in English, because they only know how to say ‘where is library’ in Spanish.”
Sarcastic Spaniard.
Rafael took a last pull on the joint. He had smoked it down to the nub. When he looked up at her and smiled, even Carrie Ann had to concede there was something about his oddball personality that was a tiny bit sexy. Or she was getting a contact high? She’d have to watch herself. Another entanglement was the last thing she needed. “Would you like to go to the beach?” he said. “I wash my face and away we go?”
“Sí,” Carrie Ann said. “Me gustaría ir a la playa.”
Rafael clapped his hands like she was a seal who had just delighted him with a trick. She wanted to throw her head back, open her mouth, and bark for a fish. “Your Spanish is good. You are so surprising me.”
“Yes,” Carrie Ann said. “So is your English.”
“You think?”
“Oh yes. You are so surprising me.”
CHAPTER 7
Grace and Jake placed their matching towels so that Grace could catch a bit of shade from a neighboring umbrella while Jake took the full brunt of the sun. Despite working long hours at his veterinary clinic, Jake was always tan. Grace had a light toasting as well, but too much of it and she would burn. She wanted to warn Jake about skin cancer, but she never wanted to be one of those women who harped, or mothered. It was a slippery slope, and with Jake it was particularly tough to follow—he was impulsive; she was careful. Live and let live. She did, however, offer several times to help him put on sunscreen. He took one look at the giant bottle with SPF 50 in huge red letters and shook his head.
“You know they say there’s no definitive proof that anything over SPF 30 offers much more protection,” he said.
“Are you saying if I had SPF 30 you would wear it?” Grace asked.
“Nah. I’m fine, sweetie.”
You’re fine right now. Later you might turn into a lobster. I’ll pay the price if you don’t want to go dancing or make love because your back is on fire.
“If I let you put it on me will it make you stop staring at me as if I’m about to burst into flames?” Jake asked playfully.
“Yes, it will,” Grace said, grabbing the bottle before he could change his mind. “It really will.” Jake sat up, giving Grace access to his shoulders and back. His skin and muscles felt so nice and taut beneath her fingertips. Maybe she’d surprise him with Spanish guitar lessons one of these days. On his chest she outlined a little heart with her fingertips. She hoped it would work. Make theirs a love that lasted. She often indulged in little superstitions like that, just like the pancake pan she had bought, etched with little smiley faces. It was the simple things in life that got Grace through. She finished her artwork and handed him the sunscreen.
“Do me,” she said.
“Again?” Jake said. “This is a vacation.” She laughed, and he pulled her in and kissed her. In Spain, on the beach, kissing. See, Marsh Everett? Life didn’t have to be baring your soul; sometimes it was baring your body. Then slathering it with SPF 50. “Is this waterproof?” Jake asked.
“You have to ask?” Grace said.
“Then let’s go.” Jake stood, reached for her hand, and pulled her to her feet.
“What about my purse?” Grace said. Jake glanced down at her little black satchel.
“Do you have a lot in there?”
“Fifty euros, a credit card, the key to the room, and my passport,” Grace said. Jake looked around. The beach was crowded, and they were situated in the middle, about ten feet from the ocean.
“Tuck it under your towel. Then we’ll pile our sandals and clothes on top. I’ll keep an eye on it and run like hell if anyone goes near it.”
“My hero,” Grace said.
“You shouldn’t carry your passport around. And maybe we’ll get a little waterproof pouch so you can carry your money in here.” He took his finger and slowly outlined her bikini top.
“You’re going to drive me crazy if you keep doing that,” Grace said.
“Good,” Jake said. “You know how I like to drive.” Grace swatted him away, then hid her purse under the towel and piled all of their things on top of it. Jake was right; she needed a better system. Don’t leave it, her little voice told her. Take turns swimming . But she wanted to hold on to Jake in the ocean, feel the waves crash over their bodies, kiss in the Mediterranean. It would be fine, she told herself. Next time she’d have a better plan.
The water was warm and soft, like a relaxing bath. Grace spread her arms wide and paddled her legs in a lazy circular motion. After just a few minutes she felt lighter than she had in years. Jake wrapped his arms around her and scooped his hands
under her legs, joyfully lifting her up in the water. She wrapped her arms around his neck, and they kissed. How long since they’d done this? The two of them working nonstop. Jake worked mostly days; Grace evenings and weekends. Remember this. Take a snapshot in your mind; hold on to it when things get crazy again.
“What are you thinking?” Jake said. His voice was a bedtime whisper.
“I don’t care who gave us this trip. I’m just glad that they did.”
“Me too.” They kissed again. “Unless they want something in return,” Jake added.
“Way to ruin it, Romeo.” Grace wanted to get back to heaven. She dove into the waves and swam.
Grace ran for the towels, but Jake beat her to them. “It’s still here,” he whispered, holding up her purse with a dripping wet hand.
“Perfecto,” Grace said, taking the purse.
“Will you remember to pick up some kind of fanny pack?” Jake said.
Grace swatted him in the butt. “For this fanny?” she said.
He reached around and grabbed her rear end. “I prefer this one.”
“In Europe ‘fanny’ means something entirely different,” Grace said.
“What?” Jake said with a smile that suggested he already knew.
“Let’s go back to the room, and I’ll show you,” Grace said. They picked up their towels, wrapped them around their waists, and slid on their sandals. When they reached the street, a couple was coming toward them, their arms full with beach things. Grace and Jake parted so they could go through. The young woman lost her footing and bumped into Grace.
“Sorry,” she said. Her voice was barely above a whisper. Her hair was tucked into a large, floppy hat, and she wore huge sunglasses. But her body was beach ready and tan. Grace felt a tiny bit jealous. Was Jake checking her out? That would be normal. The man she was with was tall, with dark skin. And a lot of hair. Grace wanted to buy him a razor. Just another slight cultural difference.
