Although the invitation was unexpected, she jumped at the chance to escape the snow-covered streets of Italy for the tropical beaches of Mexico, a country she had always wanted to visit. At this time of year, the average temperature was close to 70 degrees with daily lows near 60. That was the only excuse she needed to pack a bag and get away.
Located in the Mexican state of Quintana Roo, Cancún is a coastal city on the northeast tip of the Yucatán Peninsula, just north of a major corridor known as the Mayan Riviera. The popular tourist district stretches along the Caribbean coastline from the seaport of Puerto Morelos to the ancient ruins of Tulum, nearly 70 miles to the south.
As her plane descended towards Cancún International Airport, she pressed her forehead against the glass and stared at the beachfront hotels that lined the light-blue waters of the Yucátan Channel, a 135-mile strait that separates the Gulf of Mexico from the Caribbean Sea and Mexico from the island of Cuba. A self-proclaimed nerd, she was surprised to learn the channel marked the beginning of the Gulf Stream, the warm ocean current that follows the eastern coast of America before crossing the Atlantic Ocean towards Europe. From the air, the water looked calm and serene, but she knew the strong current influenced the climate on both sides of the Atlantic and was the source of many powerful storms. Thankfully, though, hurricane season didn’t start until June.
Minutes after landing, she strolled through the air-conditioned terminal, searching for a store where she could buy postcards and a local guidebook. She was a sucker for stuff like that, always wanting to know the best places to go and the best sites to see. When it came to travel, adventure was in her blood. Dressed in a cotton blouse and comfortable jeans, she blended in with most of the tourists she passed along the way. Unlike many of the major airports in Europe, which were often filled with businessmen in expensive suits and women in designer clothes, the vibe in Cancún was completely relaxed. Everything was laid back and casual, like something out of a Jimmy Buffet song. People wore T-shirts, shorts and sandals, as they sipped on tropical drinks in the cantinas and restaurants that lined the long corridor.
Margaritas. Daiquiris. Coronas with lime.
She licked her lips at the possibilities.
Tempted to join the fun, she knew she had better stay sober until she reached her hotel and met her employer. But after that, all bets were off. This was a working vacation — with emphasis on the latter. She had been working non-stop since grad school and knew it was time for a break. Still in her twenties, she felt much older, thanks to a family tragedy that had made headline news in Italy. Hoping to avoid the spotlight, she poured herself into her work, refusing to take time off to grieve, even though her friends and colleagues urged her to do so. In the short term, she powered through her sorrow and earned a doctorate in archaeology from a prestigious English university, but eventually the effects of the tragedy caught up with her. In many ways, she’d been trying to regain her balance ever since.
‘Excuse me,’ said a voice from behind. ‘Are you Dr Pelati?’
Maria stopped in the hallway and turned round. Behind her was a squat, middle-aged man, wearing an orange, short-sleeved guayabera — a decorative linen shirt that’s popular in Cuba and Latin America — and white slacks. In one hand, he held a white driver’s cap. In the other, a small cardboard sign with the name ‘Dr Pelati’ printed in neat, black letters.
‘Yes,’ she replied, ‘I’m Dr Pelati.’
He smiled warmly. ‘Buenos dias, Dr Pelati. Bienvenidos a México. My name is Ernesto. I am your driver. I will be taking you to your hotel.’ He punctuated his statement with a slight bow of his head. ‘May I take your luggage?’
She glanced at her carry-on bag, then back at Ernesto. Standing 5 feet 5 in polished leather shoes, he was 2 inches shorter than Maria, but thanks to his stocky build and protruding waistline, he outweighed her by more than 50 pounds.
‘You’re who?’ she asked, confused.
He pointed to the nametag pinned to his breast pocket. It had one word on it: ‘Ernesto’. ‘My name is Ernesto. I am your driver.’
‘My driver? I have a driver?’
He clicked his heels together and nodded. ‘Si! And my name is Ernesto.’
She smiled at the development. Over the years, she had heard dozens of stories about tourists being ripped off by unscrupulous cab drivers in foreign countries. Now she wouldn’t have to worry about it. ‘Hola, Ernesto. It’s great to meet you. Please call me Maria.’
He nodded again. ‘As you wish, Dr Pelati. May I take your bag?’
Instead of waiting for her response, he politely grabbed the handle of her carry-on bag, pivoted it on its two wheels and started pulling it towards the luggage carousel at the front of the terminal. ‘You have baggage, yes?’
Maria grimaced at his word choice. She had more ‘baggage’ than he could possibly imagine, most of it family-related. Of course, that wasn’t the type of baggage he was referring to. ‘I have two suitcases. One for my clothes and one for all the souvenirs I’m going to buy.’
Ernesto snorted with laughter. ‘You sound like my wife. Sometimes I wish she was addicted to drugs instead of shopping. It would be cheaper for me.’
Maria smiled. ‘Have you been married long?’
‘For thirty years,’ he said with pride, his voice tinged with an accent. ‘Both of us grew up in villages near Playa del Carmen. I have loved her since childhood.’
‘How romantic.’
‘Sí, very romantic. Y tú?’
She shook her head. ‘Nope. Never married. Never been close.’
Ernesto stopped suddenly — so suddenly that Maria nearly tripped over her carry-on bag. ‘How is that possible? A beautiful woman like you! Tell me, are you looking for boyfriend? If so, you would be perfect for Ernesto!’
The comment caught her completely off-guard. Despite her olive complexion, Maria flushed with embarrassment. She was used to being hit on by Italian men, who would whistle and occasionally grab her bum as she walked by, but she wasn’t expecting it from her driver — someone who was married to his childhood sweetheart. ‘Ernesto, I’m flattered by your interest. I truly am. But somehow I don’t think your wife would approve.’
He dismissed her claim with a wave of his hand. ‘Of course she would approve! Who do you think told me to look?’
Maria’s discomfort quickly turned to disgust. Because of her father, a lecherous man who couldn’t be trusted, she had no patience when it came to deceitful men. ‘Your wife told you to find a girlfriend? Somehow I find that hard to believe.’
Hearing the tension in Maria’s voice and seeing the flaring of her nostrils, he instantly realized he had overstepped the mark. ‘I have offended you, no? I swear to you, that was not my intent. I would never insult a guest. Please, do not tell my boss or I will be fired!’
‘Don’t worry, I won’t tell your boss. But I should tell your wife.’
‘My wife? Why would you tell my wife? I assure you, my wife would not be mad. She would be thrilled! She wants me to find someone for Ernesto. He needs all the help he can get.’
Now it was Maria’s turn to be confused. ‘Wait. Who is Ernesto?’
‘Ernesto is my son.’ He reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a photo. He showed it to her with pride. ‘He is very handsome, no? You would like him very much.’