“Nothing happened, Constance.”
“It was serious tonguing. I’m not naïve.”
“I — yes, I–I kissed him. I kissed him. I felt sorry for him. But that was the end of it.”
“You expect me to believe that.”
She turned to go back inside. “You can believe whatever the fuck you want to believe. Or whatever your ideas about me tell you to believe. This conversation is over.”
In her room, she muffled her own sobs in the pillows of the bed, trying to stop. When she looked at the window, expecting to see Constance’s shadow, the shadow was gone.
She took time to collect herself and then tried the front desk. No answer. She went out and along the hall to the elevators. The middle-aged couple she had seen the night before, who did not seem together, were waiting there. They had been murmuring animatedly in Spanish but stopped when she came up to them. The elevator opened, with a young Jamaican man and two little dark girls already on it. They all rode the four floors down in silence.
The lobby was nearly empty. At the front desk it was Ratzi now, looking beset and worried. “My brother,” he said to her as she approached. “No one can find him.”
“Sorry to hear that,” she said. And couldn’t ask him to put a call through to her grandmother. She walked to the entrance of the bar and asked a woman who stood there, a member of the restaurant staff. The woman went to the desk and spoke to Ratzi, who looked past her at Natasha.
“I’m sorry,” Natasha mouthed.
Back in her room, she sat on the bed and waited. There were voices outside, shouts, children playing. The call came through. Once more, the ring startled her. “Hello?”
“Oh, my dear girl.”
“I’m okay. I am.” But her voice was all tears.
“You’re not okay, I’m not deaf.”
“No. I am. I’m all right.” She would not. Not anyone. She waited.
“Father Mi—,” Iris began but then stopped herself. “I mean, Michael is on his way home. He took the train, if you can believe it. He’ll get here tomorrow morning.”
“The first day the truck can get there is the day after tomorrow.” Her voice began to leave her. She cleared her throat and made an unsuccessful attempt not to cough.
“You sound awful,” her grandmother said.
“It’s just a little — a little cough.”
Iris sighed. “How long will the planes be grounded, I wonder. They’re not charging you for the extra days, are they?”
“No.”
The line crackled. Iris said something about the truck with Natasha’s belongings.
“It’s mostly books,” Natasha said. “My bed. A table and some chairs and pictures.”
Silence.
“Iris?”
Again, the old woman’s voice, faint in the static distance: “Don’t worry about me. But I did have another little fall getting out of bed. I’m fine. I called a cab and got myself to Dr. Rayford’s office for X-rays, and it’s fine. The original injury is healing fine. They gave me a cane.”
How simple: you were injured and you went to see some people and they made sure you were all right and then they gave you something to help you keep going.
“God’s sakes,” Iris said. “Here I am talking about my little trouble. I’m sorry. When do you think you’ll be able to come home?”
“I’ll call you when I know more,” Natasha got out.
“Okay, hon—”
And the connection was lost. She went into the bathroom and tried to put on a little more makeup. Her hands were shaking too much, and anyway makeup was something you did to look sexy.
Sexy.
She washed the makeup off, pat-dried her face, gathered herself, and went downstairs. Several people she didn’t recognize were in the dining area. One couple had their bags around them. Jutting out of one bag was a small pennant advertising a cruise ship. The woman was writing furiously on a card, her face unnaturally pale.
The sun was pouring through the windows along the right side of the room and through the silk curtains over the French doors there. The patio outside was bathed in brightness and looked empty. The chairs were still upside down on the tables. All but one. At that table Constance sat reading a newspaper. Natasha crossed to another table, one that looked out onto the grassy hill leading to the mountain behind the resort.
Grace, the tall waitress with the dreads, approached. “Hello, young miss.”
“Hello, just coffee, please. Strong.”
“I remember how you like it.” There was the faintest trace of a smile on her face and then heavy concentration as she moved away.
Ratzi came in from the lobby and looked around. When he saw Natasha, he walked over and took the chair opposite her. Feeling his proximity as obscurely invasive, she made an attempt not to show her aversion, holding herself erect, hands clasped in her lap. For a moment he sat there, pushing the hair back from his forehead, adjusting his shirtfront. “My brother was with an old girlfriend,” he said. “All day and all night.”
“I’m glad you found him.” It was autonomic speech. She did not even hear herself.
“He didn’t know about the disaster. The whole time. Ficken.”
She said nothing.
“Sex crazy. Sorry for the vulgarity.”
“I don’t care about it.”
“My mother is lying down in a terrible state from worrying.”
“Sorry to hear it.”
“That man, Mr. Skinner, he almost died. His wife is with him.”
“Sorry to hear that, too.” She felt the impulse to ask him what he wanted from her.
“Mr. Duego checked out of his room this morning and went into Kingston.”
She felt something give way in her chest.
“He left a letter for you.”
“Why would he write a letter to me,” she managed.
Ratzi sat back and reached into the front pocket of his shorts and brought it out. It was in an envelope that was folded tightly in thirds. “I don’t ask questions. I have to say that he did seem upset, though. Worried about something. I don’t know — do you want it or not?”
She took it and put it in her purse. “Did you read it?” she asked.
“Of course not. And in case you don’t believe me, you’ll see that it’s sealed.” He stood. “Good day.”
“I didn’t mean anything by that,” she told him. “I might’ve asked you to tell me what’s in it. I don’t want to look at it.”
“It has nothing to do with me. If you don’t want to read it, simply throw it away.” He bowed, smiled emptily, and moved off.
Dear Lady,
You will have to believe me that I am a gentleman. I have decided to remove myself from your vicinity as it is clear that something is between us now that you are very conflicted and still enraging about. I must not allow us further contact for this reason. As you know, I have just ended my relationship with my wife. I am not ready for the society of others and I have a great anger in me that you saw last night, and for which I am deeply apologizing now. I am sorry if in any way I made you uncomfortable and I do admit that I had more to drink after our first pleasant moments on the beach smoking and I did some other things and I was so mixed up I must say that there is much that I do not remember. It was very good for me to spend our time together, and I am sorry if I blacked out, as I must have done. I do wish you well. Podría haber amado.
Nicholas Duego
Podría haber amado. She wrote it down on a corner of the envelope and then with shaking hands tore the rest of the envelope and the note into many pieces and dropped them into her purse. Grace brought her coffee.
“Do you speak Spanish?” she asked Grace.