Celia set the glass on the table with a smack and picked up the list. “The shoes she will have to shop for herself. I think we have everything else.”
“If you were, you wouldn’t have gone two years without setting a date.”
Celia flashed him a venomous look. “Is that what he told you?”
“No, but that’s how I wrecked my own marriage.” Joe reached for her hand, but she snatched it back and confined it in her lap, out of sight and reach.
“By not rushing into it? Ha ha.”
“By not marrying the woman I really loved.”
“Loved?” Her voice dripped with sarcasm. “The one you walked out on? You seem to have forgotten—”
“Hey, you broke it off!”
“When you waved your emigration documents in my face!”
“And you slammed the door in mine!”
“Don’t you think it hurt—?”
“Hurt me when you wouldn’t let me explain! And along with the rest of them, called me a gusano! You never gave me a chance, Celia! I planned to come back!”
Simultaneously both became aware that other diners were listening to their exchange, small smiles denoting embarrassment or perhaps sympathy.
Celia lowered her voice. “Well, now you’re back. And I have news for you, Miami Joe. I am not the starry-eyed student I was then.”
“Ooo-kay.” Joe dropped his voice to match hers but refused to retreat from her cold stare. “So tell me, Dr. Cantú, who are you?”
Celia blushed. He could not know what caused the blush, but it crossed his mind that it might be because she was a woman hungry for something more than Cuban pizza.
As hungry, he hoped, as she had been back then. Not that she had been an easy lay, but once he taught her what her body was for, that resistance he found so stimulating had turned into something he thought was the girl’s total addiction to high-voltage sex. How she had managed to go cold turkey when he invited her to come with him to Miami he’d never understand, but one thing he was certain of was that she must be half-starved now to have accepted his plodding brother as a replacement.
When Celia didn’t answer, Joe offered his own scenario, couched in more tactful terms. “Don’t you think we might enjoy finding out who we are right now?” He smiled with confident hope. “I’m game if you are, Doctor.”
Celia sighed. “This is a waste of time, José. Even if things could go back to where they were, we would be right back where we were. You are not going to stay in Cuba, and nothing could induce me to move to the States.”
Joe recognized this as the first time she had bared her feelings to him since his return. He was on the verge of responding with something like never-say-never, but she was already gathering up parcels to leave. Joe dropped a bill on the table that included a tip as big as their check and followed her out.
At the car he asked if she wanted to go anywhere else. She said no, she had to get home. She remained silent for most of the ride back. Once, she started to say something but didn’t. Not until they were nearing her apartment did she come out with what was on her mind—or close enough that Joe picked up on it.
Glancing at the purchases on the back seat, she said, “Alma will feel a lot better about these things if she thinks you picked them out by yourself.”
“And Luis will feel a lot better if he doesn’t know we spent the afternoon together.”
“Sí.” From the corner of his eye he saw her lips compress. “Not that you give a damn about how he feels.”
“Not particularly,” he acknowledged candidly. “But if it matters to you, my lips are sealed.”
Celia looked miserable. Joe knew, and she probably did as well, that even in keeping something as insignificant as an afternoon of shopping secret, they had formed an alliance that shut Luis out.
It was all Joe could do to keep from smiling. Celia, by insisting that there was zero possibility of renewing their relationship, had thrown up a barrier that made it unnecessary to court her and would prevent him from becoming distracted from the business matters that had brought him back to Cuba. At the same time, he did not believe that all the passion they had once set alight in each other had been reduced to cold ash. He could relax, blow on the coals as opportunity presented itself, and deal with the resulting sparks according to his mood.
What Joe didn’t recognize in himself, but felt somewhere below the belt, was that it was not the woman but the chase that fired his jets.
Like a child stacking and restacking bright coloured blocks, Joe spent the drive back to his mother’s apartment playing with images of the varied and subtle ways he would pursue Celia. Not once did he form a mental picture of what the aftermath of a successful seduction would mean for her, his brother, or even himself.
TWELVE
LUIS looked out across the yellow-flowering thorn bushes, beyond which lay glittering blue ocean. The dividing line between land and water was not beach but jagged black rock. The view helped reduce the tension caused by José’s driving. Despite having already been ticketed once since they left Habana for failing to slow to the posted limit in a construction zone, he continued to drive over the speed limit. Luis must remember to mention the ticket to Celia when she got back from Santiago—a subtle reminder of José’s lack of concern for the safety of pedestrians and cyclists.
They were about twenty kilometres from Varadero when he saw the hitchhiker, a trim figure flaunted in tight white shorts and a red-and-white striped top that exposed her midriff. From a distance Luis registered only the head of lush brown curls whipping in the breeze of passing cars. José whistled appreciatively as they flashed by.
In the same instant, Luis saw the girl’s face. “Stop!” he shouted.
At José’s startled look, Luis repeated, “Stop! Pull over!”
José braked and swerved onto the grassy shoulder. Before the car stopped rolling, Luis was out and striding back to the girl. Without a word he grabbed her by the wrist and dragged her to the car, ignoring shrieks that he was hurting her arm. He opened the door and shoved her roughly into the back seat.
“Puta!” he hissed.
“Christ, Luis, take it easy!” José protested. “She’s just a kid!”
“Kid my ass!” Luis muttered, getting back in beside José. “Let’s go.”
The girl’s whimpering edged toward sobs. “I was just going to the beach!”
“Liar!”
“I’m not lying! Please, Tío Luis! Let me explain!”
“Tío?” José’s eyes left the road long enough to give his brother a look of incredulity. “Who is this kid, Luis?”
The whimpering ceased abruptly. “I am not a kid,” Liliana informed him indignantly. “And he’s not my real uncle. Just my aunt’s fiancé.”
José’s head swivelled around to stare at their back-seat passenger. “You’re Liliana? I don’t believe it!”
“Watch out!” Luis yelled, grabbing the armrest.
José swerved around a tourist-filled mini-bus barely in time to avoid a collision. To Luis’s relief, he slowed down to the actual speed limit. Keeping his eyes on the road, José said over his shoulder, “Last time I saw you, you were barely out of diapers!”
Liliana instantly metamorphosed from a child in fear of punishment into a flippant adolescent. “Well, believe it. Because I am Liliana. And out of diapers. Who are you?”
“My brother, José.” Luis was surprised. “Didn’t Celia tell you he was here?”
“Tía Celia’s old fiancé? The one who ran out on her? No! She didn’t say a word! She never talks about you!”
“That’s nice to know,” José responded dryly.