Anston reached for his cell phone as the cab pulled away.
“You have somebody in the Caymans?”
“No,” Boots said, “not the Caymans. But I got a guy in Havana. An hour flight.”
“Our friend just leaned on me for money and I don’t want to have to keep paying him off for the rest of his natural life.”
“I take it the emphasis is on natural.”
“Exactly. I’ll tell you when.”
Chapter 78
Socorro piled her baggage at the front door, then walked into the den to retrieve a col-lection of DVDs to keep her company at Gage’s family ranch. She smiled to herself when she realized the stack was absurdly tall. She calculated how many she could stuff into the pockets of her carry-on and left the rest piled on top of the audio stand. Her cell phone rang as she zipped up the last compartment. It was Faith pulling up in front.
Socorro slid her bags onto the porch.
“This is some pretty raggedy luggage,” Faith said as she climbed the stairs.
“I know, but it’s hard to get rid of. It’s been too many places.” Socorro pointed at the torn security tapes from a dozen countries crisscrossing the locks of the hard-sided Samsonite. “There’s one from China right on top of the one from Taiwan.” She smiled at Faith. “I think some Chinese customs agent was trying to make a political statement.”
“It’s not much of one unless your bag passes through Taiwan again and the Chinese get a look at it.”
“Not likely. We only went there because Charlie had some people to talk to. It was one of Anston’s super secret missions. They paid for me to go along to make it appear we were just a couple on vacation. I think I was the cloak while he was the dagger. I still don’t have a clue what we were doing over there.” She paused and shook her head. “They say marriage is about communication, but Charlie always practiced radio silence.”
Faith grabbed the suitcase, gave it a tug, and then added a second hand to lift it from the landing.
“Jeez,” Faith said. “How long are you going for?”
“Why don’t you take the carry-on? I’ll get that.”
Faith shook her head as she lurched down the steps. After reaching the bottom, she extended the handle and let the wheels carry the load down the walkway to her SUV. Socorro followed with the rest and helped Faith hoist the suitcase into the back. Faith glanced at the bulging carry-on as Socorro set it inside.
“That thing is about to burst,” Faith said. “I’m not sure you’ll be able to fit it into the overhead compartment.”
Socorro locked her hands on her hips as she examined the lump of luggage.
“I’ll cross that bridge later.”
W hen are the kids arriving in Nogales?” Faith asked as they drove south past the Opera House toward the freeway.
“They have a wedding to attend on Sunday. They’ll fly out afterward and stay through the week.”
“How are they adjusting?”
“Charlie Junior seems to be doing okay. Sandy is… I really don’t know how Sandy is. She’s been… I guess the word is erratic. Sometimes she treats me like I’m really fragile and she seems afraid she’ll say or do something that’ll upset me. Other times, she becomes as demanding as a drill sergeant.”
“How long has this been going on?”
“It didn’t start until a week or two after Charlie died. She called early one morning, maybe five o’clock, asking if I was okay and if the dog was okay and then ordering me to go around the house to make sure the doors were locked. She even tried to order me- order me-to get an alarm system.”
“Did you ask her what prompted the call?”
“She said she had a bad dream.”
F aith headed toward short-term parking lot after following the sweeping flyway onto the San Francisco Airport grounds.
Socorro looked toward Faith. “You don’t need to come in.”
“It’ll take you an hour to check your luggage and get up to the security checkpoint. I’ll keep you company.”
They found a parking spot and took the elevator down to the departure level of the domestic terminal. Check-in moved fast enough for them to have time for a cup of coffee before Socorro needed to join the security line.
“Are you thinking about writing again?” Faith asked, after they sat down at a table.
“I only have one book left in print. I don’t even know what the children’s market is like now. I’m not even sure I know how to speak their language anymore.”
Faith smiled to herself as she remembered proofreading the first of Socorro’s “Oops” series of children’s books about a little girl who wiggled her way out of one jam after another, but learned a moral lesson each time.
“Your carry-on was so heavy I assumed you had a laptop and manuscripts in there.”
“DVDs. I’m going to spend every day before the kids get there watching Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers and Clark Gable and Claudette Colbert and every Thin Man movie ever made. All black and white, except for An Affair to Remember. For that one I’ll be crying my eyes out in living color.” She raised her cup. “To love in its many hues.”
Socorro took a sip, and then asked, “How do you and Graham do it? All these years and you still hold hands. Who does that anymore? At least not at our age.”
Faith didn’t want to respond. She never wanted to give women advice about how to live, or present herself or Graham as examples, or recommend their lives to anyone.
How could she? She knew how many times she’d lain awake when he was working in Pakistan or Russia or Egypt or dozens of other countries, afraid for him, and him afraid for her when she was researching in deserts and jungles where medical care was days away and in China or India where sudden changes in political winds often swept the innocent away.
Faith took a sip of her coffee to avoid answering.
And all of this, though it was invisible to outsiders, had been earned by worry and sacrifice. They’d grown into their life together. It hadn’t been guaranteed by their marriage vows or received like an inheritance.
What made it bearable was that they had each other and respected each other’s need to do some good in the world where it was in their power to do it.
But how could she say all that to Socorro?
In looking at her now, Faith realized Tolstoy was wrong: Happy families aren’t all alike. And the way she and Graham found happiness wouldn’t be how Socorro would, if she ever did.
Faith glanced at her watch. “Maybe we should…”
S ocorro gave Faith a hug just before arriving at the first security checkpoint. As she watched Faith walk away, Socorro’s peripheral vision caught the profile of a familiar face at the rear of the line next to hers. She stared at the dark-haired man for a few moments, but couldn’t resolve whether it was someone she knew or maybe an actor she’d seen on television. She shrugged, then turned and presented her driver’s license and boarding pass to the security agent, and passed on through.
A n hour later, Viz filled the doorway of the China Garden Restaurant in San Francisco, where Gage was eating lunch with Faith after she’d left Socorro at the airport. He spotted them in a far booth and approached, hat in hand. Faith scooted around the semicircular bench so Viz could sit down.
“I figured I better tell you myself, boss.”
“What’s that?”
“I lost Boots.”
“What happened?”
“He found the GPS I planted on his van and stuck it under a FedEx delivery truck. By the time we figured it out, he’d slipped away.”
“What about the hotel?”
“I talked to Rosa, gave her a few bucks and asked her if she knew why he moved out. She told me she started to throw away a newspaper one morning and he told her he wanted to keep the real estate section. Later she overheard him talking about an investment he was making, and the next day she saw he’d circled some listings. He took it with him, was gone for a few hours, and then came back and checked out. She doesn’t think he’s coming back. She looked real disappointed. I think she’d gotten used to the extra money.”