I throw my arms around him, hugging him tightly. Hugging him with all the fear he has seen and all the fear he is taking away. “How can I ever thank you, Javier? I’ve never deserved you or your family but I love you all with all my heart.”
He ruffles my hair. “Well, if you really want to thank me, just be happy. And don’t let Hale drive a wedge between us. Yes, you need us, but we need you too. You’re the only one that believes in my art, in my genius, as you call it. Everyone else I know sees it as a means to food. But you, you’re vicious. You think I’ll make it. Over the years, your nagging has kept me going. And, despite myself, you’ve made me believe. Or at least dream. You can’t take that away.”
“I won’t,” I promise, my eyes drifting back to the Spartan in the painting. “Do you think he will come home?” I whisper after a while.
Javier smiles, looking at the painting too. “Artist opinion or Javier opinion?”
“Both.”
“Well, lucky for you, they’re the same.” He waits for me to look at him. “Yes, I think he will come home.”
I smile, swallowing the stupid tears. “Are you sure?”
“Positive. Look at the sunlight streaming through the window. His face is bathed in it. And also, he looks like a total badass.”
I laugh and sniffle at the same time. “He is.”
“Come on, let’s go to your party. You’ll freak out when you see it.”
* * * * *
At the gallery’s double doors, Javier grips the knobs with a smile.
“I have to give him this. He does surprises well. Happy everything, Isa!” He opens the white doors.
I brace myself because I know by now that when Aiden is involved, I will lose my breath and even my balance. But the preparation is futile. The moment I take in the intimate white marble gallery, I still gasp and wobble. Beyond the checkered dance floor, the buffet of Mexican food and the happy faces in the center, are the gallery’s illuminated walls. On each of them, in vivid, colored photographs, hang my last four years in chronological order. Some enormous, some the size of the double frame I just gave to Aiden. Not only from my camera but also from Reagan, the Solises, and even Denton over the years. I search every frame hungrily, looking for a picture of Aiden. At first I panic that he has excluded himself but then I find him. On the fourth wall, in a small frame toward the end of my time here, are his otherworldly eyes watching me with a smile. Under his gaze, one by one, every part of me stands at attention: my skin, my blood, my bones and that little spot between my lungs that responds only to him.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Fire and ICE
Three hours later, barefoot and full of carnitas, I watch the Solises tuck away their presents. What is it about giving gifts that is even better than receiving them? Antonio folds the water heater gift card in the pocket of his plaid shirt, next to his heart. The girls are sprawled on the checkered dance floor with their iPads. Javier is examining his new painting supplies with eyebrows that switch from arches to bushy paintbrushes every few minutes. Even Denton is reading Fleming’s book out loud to his wife, Katherine, who looks positively bored.
“Well, you’ve done it!” Reagan says, lounging next to me with her brand-new peacock-blue fascinator, waving her round-trip ticket to London like a fan in front of her face. “You’ve made me fancy Dragon Charming.”
I laugh and throw my arm around her shoulders. “Your present is for me too, you know. Just in case.”
“Any news?”
“Bob called yesterday. They’re working hard but they’re still not sure if…” I can’t finish my sentence but I don’t have to.
She hugs me back in a hold even tighter than Javier’s. “Don’t think about that tonight. But if it happens, I’ll be there and we can have two corgis and stalk Prince Harry.”
I smile, even though I know not even Prince Harry will revive me then. My eyes drift—as they have every few seconds in the last three hours—to the photo of Aiden’s eyes. I have felt them on me while I ate, smiled, danced—thinking they would make me miss him less. But they had the opposite effect. All night, I felt vacant, like an English cottage with brick walls and rose-covered shingles but, inside, empty.
I am so lost in his gaze that I almost miss the wink between the Solises and Reagan. She leaps to her feet so quickly that her fascinator topples to the floor.
“Time for your present,” she sings, drawing out the vowels in an off-key aria and clapping her hands.
“My present? Reagan, no! You were not supposed to buy me anything!” I almost start wailing. How many extra shifts is this going to cost Maria and Javier?
“Oh, put a stopper on it, Isa! We saved loads of money because of Aiden. Now, come on!” She grips both of my wrists and hoists me up. Bloody hell, those barbells she lifts at the Reed gym are working.
“Where are we going?” I ask, trying to keep my balance as she starts dragging me across the dance floor.
“You’ll see! Aiden is not the only one who can do surprises.”
“Reagan, wait! I need my shoes!” My feet skate on the waxed wood floor as the Solises skip, pad and wheel to us, Denton bouncing behind them.
Maria throws her cream scarf over my shoulders, Bel shoves my purse on my hand, Dora and Daniela are sliding my heels on the wrong feet, Anamelia just fluffs my dress and throws it over her head. The whole time, Maria fires off orders in Spanglish, from drinking more water to putting ice on my blistered feet. Then she kisses my cheeks and cups my face with her overworked, sun-spotted hands.
“Señor Hale is a good man,” she says with a firm nod.
“Yes, he is.” I smile at hearing her acknowledge this out loud. She pats my cheek and turns on Javier.
“You be careful.” She switches to full English. The giggles stop. “No drink, no trouble, no police.” She stabs her index finger into his chest on each command, even though Javier is the last person in the world who would ever attract police attention to himself.
Still, he knows better than to argue with Maria so he gives her a tight hug. “I promise.”
She marks a cross in the air over his forehead, whispering bendito, and with that, they shove us out of the gallery and into the cool May evening. Apparently, wherever we are going, it will be only Reagan, Javier and I. The two of them grip my arms so tightly that the whole affair looks like a citizen’s arrest. Despite my protests, they don’t release me until we reach Reagan’s MINI. Once there, they shove me in the backseat and in minutes, we are flying down Fifth Avenue.
“Reagan, can you tell me where we’re going now that we’re in the car? I want to ring Aiden. He’ll be really worried if he comes to pick me up and I’m gone.”
“You can call him, Isa. Just tell him it’s a surprise, he should understand.” She winks in the back mirror and turns on the music to Lana’s “Off to the Races”. Javier smiles, making a gesture like he is locking his lips.
I sigh and dig in my purse for my iPhone—yes, I now have an iPhone, courtesy of Aiden. His unearthly face comes on screen. It’s a picture of him resting his head on the sofa, his eyes closed. He looks like he is sleeping next to me.
I scroll through the texts he sent me during the party: be safe, don’t stand under the heavy picture frames and my favorite, here is a floor plan of the safety exits.
I read his military orders, part laughing, part choking. His fear for my safety is palpable—so intense and unrelenting, as though his own life depends on it. Yet not a single text says I wish I was there or I wish you were here. Javier’s questions from the gallery echo, so I tap the call button. He answers on the first ring.