“Hi,” he leaned in, kissing me on the cheek. “I’m going to make a salad. Care to share?”
“Yeah, sounds healthy.” Gazing at him, I noticed his face was flushed. He didn't make much eye contact as he started chopping vegetables.
“What have you been doing this morning? Have you been writing?”
“No, not yet, I’m a little slow getting started today.”
“Well, don’t let me interfere. After lunch, I need to run back out.”
I couldn't imagine why he would have to leave so soon when he had just returned. And prior thoughts were creeping their way back into my mind.
“Someone stopped by earlier looking for you.”
“Oh, who?”
“Kayla.”
“She’s my neighbor.”
“She said you have something of hers she needed to pick up.”
“I do. Her photos.”
“Photos? Of her?”
“I took some photos of her for her portfolio. She’s a model.”
“Oh, I see.”
“I could take some of you if you'd like.”
“But I'm not a model.”
“But you could be.” He glanced up from the cutting board covered with diced tomatoes and cucumbers.
“Nice try.”
“You're not upset, are you?”
“No, no I’m not upset. It’s just the way she burst in here like she owned the place.”
“That's Kayla,” he let out a laugh, “that’s how she is.”
“So she’s been here before.”
“Well, yeah, you know I’m a photographer, right. I may be an amateur, but still…”
“What else do you do with her?”
“Please tell me you’re not going to go there,” he said, holding the knife by his side, “not here, not now, not ever.”
“I'm sorry, but I had to ask. I need to know what I'm getting myself into.”
“Getting into? C’mon Val, you know I take photos. Just take a gander at the walls around you,” he voiced, waving the knife through the air.
“Yeah, but I didn't know they included women… young women,” I paused, “half-naked women.”
“Look,” he said, still holding the knife. “What I do is my business. It doesn't concern you. If you think there's more going on, you're wrong, dead wrong.”
“I'm sorry, but think of it from my perspective. What if you moved in with me and were home alone one day and some hot guy came knocking at my door asking for me, telling you that I have something of his. Wouldn't you wonder?”
“No.”
“You wouldn’t?” Crossing my arms, I glared at him. “Not even a little bit?”
“No, because it's none of my business.” David's face reddened as his voice grew louder.
I figured I better drop it. I could never convince him to see my side, my point of view.
I retreated to the spare room, sat down at my desk, and stared out the window. I did some deep breathing as I tried to shake off the remnants of our first argument. In hindsight, it shouldn't have upset me as much as it did, but I allowed my emotions to get the best of me.
It brought me right back to our dinner that night at the harbor when I caught him leering at those two young women who had the same look as Kayla. I had the feeling he was attracted to those types of females and wondered what he was doing with me. I’m the complete opposite.
Flipping open my laptop, I clicked on a new document and gazed at the blank page. I tried forcing myself to write, but I couldn't concentrate. Ten minutes later, a knock sounded at the door.
David entered the room, placing a small bowl of salad in front of me.
“Thank you,” I said, picking up the fork and piercing a chunk of avocado.
“Hey, I'm sorry about earlier.”
“It's okay. I shouldn’t have let it upset me.”
“And I shouldn't have raised my voice at you, but I've been down that road so many times in the past. The bottom line is you have nothing to worry about.”
“Okay.”
Leaning against the wall by my desk, he chewed a mouthful of greens.
“I have a little surprise for you,” he said.
“What's that?”
“To be honest, it's a surprise for both of us. I wasn’t expecting it to happen so soon.”
“Okay, now you're confusing me. What's going on?”
“Remember when I told you I’d like to live in Costa Rica someday.”
“Yeah.”
“Well, that someday has arrived.”
“Wait, what? You're moving? When?”
“Next month,” he said between bites.
“You can't be serious. I guess I’ll have to move back to Vegas,” I sighed.
“But that's not what you want to do. You were miserable there.”
“Yeah, but I can't afford to stay here by myself. I just arrived and I don’t even have a job. I only have a tiny bit of savings. I don’t know anyone here.”
“I was hoping you’d come with me?”
“To another country?”
“Why not?”
“But what are we going to do? Where are we going to live?”
“I have it all figured out. There’s no need to worry.”
“It seems a bit daunting to me,” I rubbed the sides of my arms.
“How so?”
“First off, I don't know the language.”
“There’s nothing to be afraid of, I promise. And you can learn the language; it’s easy. Besides, you’ll be much safer there with me.”
16
David
I almost lost her. We were up half the night discussing the pros and cons of moving to Costa Rica. It took some convincing on my part, but I couldn't answer all of her questions. I'm not a psychic; I can’t predict the future. I can only prepare for the things I’m aware of and the knowledge I’ve gained.
When I mentioned to Val that she wouldn't have to work and could focus on writing her books, she became leery. What if they don't sell? What if I run out of money? What if something happens to me? What if something happens to you? So many ‘what if’s' that my head was spinning. I told her life holds no guarantees. She could take a chance or never know.
We finally came to an agreement when I offered her a backup plan. In the worst-case scenario, if it didn't work out, I would pay for her plane ticket home. She would have her car full of personal belongings waiting for her to start over again if need be.
After three hours of sleep, the first thing Val did was call Cindy for advice. Now, here we are, a week later, and Cindy’s at the condo. She flew out for a few days to support her friend.
I sent them away earlier, treating them to a spa day—massages, facials, manicures, pedicures, the works. It will allow me to pack all of my essential items without them nosing around, asking a thousand questions. By the time they return to the condo, the goods will be locked up in suitcases, tucked safely away in my office, ready to go. I need to stay ahead of the game this time and not fall behind. One wrong move could cost a life.
When the gals returned home, all primped and pampered, I tell them to change clothes because I’m taking them out to dinner. I need to get to know Cindy a little better and see what she’s all about. They say you can learn a great deal about someone by the friends they keep. I am interested in learning more about Val from Cindy’s point of view.
Halfway through dinner, I am having trouble making the connection between the two. They are complete opposites. Cindy is boisterous and reminds me of one of my exes. She drinks like a fish and has downed three double martinis, flirting with everyone in sight, including me.
“David,” Cindy says, reaching out, stroking a finger down my forearm, “you look so familiar.”
I glance over and see Val fidgeting in her seat. She’s clearly uncomfortable.
“I suppose I look like your average guy,” I reply to her while looking at Val.
“Nope,” she replies, her glass swaying, tiny drops
of alcohol dotting the table. “I think I’ve seen you somewhere before.”
“You’ve probably seen me at the hotel. I often stay there when I'm in Vegas. When I find something good, I tend to stick with it.” Grinning, I turn my gaze to Val.
“I see tons of people in my job, many different faces.” Cindy hiccups. “But you,” she points, drawing a circle in the air, “you have one of those faces I wouldn’t forget.”
“Cindy, I think you need to lay off the martinis,” Val pipes in.
“Whaaat? I’m having fun. I’m on vacation. Don’t be such a party pooper.”
“This isn't a party; it happens to be dinner.” Val corrects her as if she’s speaking to a child.
“You need to lighten up, Val. You’re so uptight at times.” Picking up the cocktail stick, she slides the last olive into her mouth.
“Who’s ready for dessert?” I clap, interrupting them before things intensify.
“I am,” Cindy exclaims. “Something, umm, chocolatey,” her eyes grow wide and her head swivels as she searches for the waiter. Spotting him, she starts snapping her fingers.
“What do you have that’s chocolate?” she asks, her voice piercing the air as the waiter approaches the table.
“The molten chocolate lava cake is a favorite,” he replies.
“Great, we’ll all have it,” she says, slurring her words.
“Correction,” I intervene quickly to explain, “one cake and three spoons.”
“Three spoons… ooh, we’re gonna be like three’s company.” Cindy snorts, laughing out loud. “We’re all gonna share with one another.”
I glance over at Val, her face turning red as she mouths me an apology. Cindy is quite the handful. She definitely checks off all of the boxes of a wild and crazy party girl. But for me, three has never been company; it’s always been a crowd.
“Cindy! Cut it out.” Val gives her the evil eye. “You’re shut off,” she announces, pulling the martini away from her. “No more, you need to sober up.”
“You’re no fun. You’re so vanilla,” Cindy mocks while reaching for her drink. “Once again, it’s good old vanilla Val to the rescue.”
“Yeah, well, how many times have I saved your butt from bad situations?”
I gaze at Val and then at Cindy. Clearly, I have chosen the right one. Val is a good girl, the type who rescues her friends in times of need. She has her head on straight. She has morals.
“Too freaking many,” Val hints when Cindy fails to reply.
“Where's your sense of adventure?” Cindy smirks, rolling her eyes.
The waiter returns with our dessert, and the ladies quiet down the second they dig into the cake, eating it like there’s no tomorrow.
We arrive back at the condo, and Val helps a woozy Cindy to bed. It reminds me of my earlier days, of the hard partying nights when I’d stumble home from the local bar three sheets to the wind. My life was different back then; I didn’t have a care in the world. I didn’t know then what I know now. I hadn’t a clue.
It would be easy to close my eyes and pretend all is well and nothing is wrong, but it's too late to turn back now. The seed has been planted, and I must complete the task.
Tonight’s little episode confirms my choice. Val is the one. The light that shines within and surrounds her is precisely what I need. There’s too much darkness in my life.
Val is the light, my shining light. She will be the one to protect me from the shadows.
17
Valerie
That night there was nothing but fog. Thick, heavy fog whirled in front of the dim headlights as we wound up the mountain. We couldn't see two feet ahead of us.
As the old pickup truck chugged along the road, the springs of the worn leather seats squeaked with each turn. I reached out for David's hand, lacing my fingers through his as he squeezed them, comforting me while sensing my fear.
When we arrived in Costa Rica, David had arranged for his friend to pick us up at the airport. Slim, a tall, lanky man was waiting for us under an exit sign. Dressed in a checkered shirt and dirty wranglers, he tipped his cowboy hat from his ponytailed white hair and greeted me. David introduced us, telling me Slim was a local farmer-turned-friend who owned a pineapple farm two hours from town. He also ran a nearby ecolodge and had offered David one of the casitas for us to stay at.
When I shook Slim’s hand, he had an odd look on his face. He seemed taken aback to see David with someone. I sensed he might have expected David to be alone. I wondered if David forgot to tell him I would be accompanying him or moving with him to Costa Rica.
It took less than a month for David and me to pack up the condo and ship his belongings. Our relationship moved at a lightning-fast speed with no time for second thoughts. It was challenging to keep up with him at times. I had no idea where he got all of his energy from. He was always on the go—always out and about, keeping busy with work and friends.
Even though I was alone most of the time at the condo, I didn't get much writing done. Whatever items we didn't sell or giveaway, he put me in charge of packing and coordinating shipment. I ended up packing most of my things in my Jeep, and Cindy drove it back to Vegas. She thought my belongings would be safer with her, at the house, in the event I ever needed to return to the states.
David kept saying I wouldn't want to return once we arrived in Central America and established our life together. He said there were important things he needed to share but could only tell me once we arrived in Costa Rica. He looked deep into my eyes and asked me to trust him completely. He promised me he had my best interest at heart. Because of the strong bond, that is, the special connection I felt with him, I decided to trust him. I had fallen in love.
“How much farther do we have to go?” I asked. Taking deep breaths, I tried soothing the uneasiness in my stomach.
“We’re almost there,” David replied, staring out the window.
David and Slim made small talk during the ride, discussing local farms and different kinds of fruits and plants Slim wanted to grow. David seemed genuinely interested and talked about starting his own mini-farm.
Two hours later, we had finally reached our destination. As the truck climbed a long dirt driveway, it came to a stop in front of a row of casitas with colorful lights shining from them.
When I exited the truck, the first thing I noticed was the remoteness of the area. Tall, dense trees with huge, oversized leaves covered the property, concealing it from any houses nearby. From what I could see, it didn’t appear like the manicured gardens of the bed-and-breakfast we had occupied months before—a stark contrast. We were deep in the overgrown jungle in the middle of nowhere. The only familiar sound was the continuous buzzing of the night insects.
Slim unlocked the door to one of the casitas and stepped inside, placing the key on a small tree stump table. I followed David, noticing the tiny living area with two rattan chairs.
“I filled the fridge with the basics to cover you for a few days,” Slim said. “Ring me if you need anything.”
“Thank you, my friend. I appreciate the hospitality.” David smiled, patting him on the shoulder.
Slim leaned in close to David, whispering something under his breath. The only words I could make out were ‘ex-wife,’ ‘no,’ and ‘angel.’ Slim then glanced over in my direction and shot me a half smile. He waved goodbye and swiftly turned on his heel, closing the door behind him.
Gazing out the window, I watched the headlights of his truck slowly fade into the darkness. At that moment, a sense of foreboding washed over me as an eerie presence surrounded me.
What was I thinking of—moving to a strange country with a near stranger?
David sneaked up from behind, wrapping his arms around my waist. My body stiffened.
“You seem lost in thought. Is everything okay?”
“Yeah,” I replied hesitantly. “I just felt a weird sensation.”
“It's been a long day; maybe you're just tired.”
“Maybe.”
“You’re all tensed up,” he said, his hands sliding up my back as he began massaging my shoulders.
I wasn't in the mood to be touched. I wanted to be left alone. I needed some time to sort out my sudden feeling of déjà-vu.
“What did Slim say to you?”
“Why do you ask?” His hands stopped moving and remained still. They felt heavy at the base of my neck.
“I thought I heard him say something about a wife.”
“If you must know, he said you look like my ex-wife.” He took a step back, releasing his grip.
“Which one?” I asked, immediately thinking I shouldn’t have.
“It doesn’t matter,” he snapped. Walking away, he went into the kitchen area.
“So, he’s met your wife before?” There was a momentary pause.
“He saw a photo of her a long time ago.”
I stood at the window, collecting my thoughts. I heard a cabinet open and the clanging of a spoon against a cup.
“You’re right; it’s been a long day. I need to change out of these clothes and get some sleep.” I turned and reached for my luggage.
“The bedroom is around the corner behind that half wall. I'm going to make some tea. I’ll be in shortly,” he replied.
I entered the tiny bedroom, quickly changed into my pajamas and walked back into the kitchen. I wanted to apologize to David for asking too many questions and upsetting him. I didn’t want us to go to bed angry.
He was leaning against the small counter, sipping his tea, staring off in the distance. I went over to him.
“Want some?” he offered, holding the cup out to me.
Reaching for it, I took a sip and then tried to give it back to him.
“Drink some more; it’ll help you sleep,” he pushed the cup toward me.
I took a few more sips. It didn't taste like much and was kind of weak.
“Okay,” he said, taking the cup from me. “I’m going to clean up. I’ll be in shortly.”
The Glass House Page 7
