Next to me, Sylvia leans over. “Do you speak Spanish?”
I shake my head.
She interprets,
“In the whisper of the waves, I hear your name
In the caress of the sunlight, I feel your lips
In the hands of the wind, I feel your touch
Everywhere, in everything, there you are
I will not forget you, sweet love.”
I close my eyes because it’s almost too much. His face, his hands on the guitar. But even as I shut the visuals out, his voice weaves through me, and I see him bending over me as we kissed the first time, and his hands gliding over my body, and the way he laughs at my jokes.
His song trails off, and he picks up a bottle of water to take a drink. The room erupts in clapping, cheering. Javier waves a hand, looks at me, gives me a nod.
And it’s like that for all the time he sings. Beautiful love songs, songs about loss, all the music plucking my heart, piercing my soul. I allow myself to fall into the flow of it, allow it to carry me away into a world that’s more bearable than the one where I’ve caused my sister’s life to come tumbling down around her, where I might well have deprived two children of a family that was, until my arrival, perfectly whole.
When he finishes, I lean into his neck and say, “We don’t have much time. Would you rather sit here or go back to my bedroom?”
He chooses my bedroom.
At midnight, I’m lying on my stomach. Javier lies next to me, tracing the dip in my spine with light fingers—up, down, up, down. It’s hypnotically soothing. “Tell me about your broken heart,” he says, “this one broken heart that has kept you away from love for the rest of your life.”
“Oh, it’s not that dramatic. I haven’t had a lot of time to fall in love.”
“Psssht. Love does not need time.”
I turn my head to look at him. My carapace of protection has disappeared, and I don’t even know where it is at the moment. “His name was James. I met him when I was very lonely, after the earthquake.” Easily, I trace the round of his shoulder, trail a finger down his biceps. “He had a girlfriend, but we started working together at Orange Julius.” I pause, remembering. “I had the worst crush ever. I could hardly breathe when he was in the room.”
“I am a little jealous.”
I smile. “He broke up with his girlfriend, and for a whole summer, we were inseparable. We taught each other everything, really. No one was ever home at my house, so we just hung out there and explored each other.” On my back, Javier’s touch has shifted to an open palm, moving up and down. “I was so very much in love. It filled every part of me. And really, it was the first time in a really long time that I was happy.”
“And?”
“And—his ex-girlfriend started threatening me. My sister heard about it, and she got into a fight with the girl. Josie broke her nose.”
“Oh.” There’s amusement in his voice.
“It wasn’t funny. She was one of the prettiest girls I’d ever seen, and—”
He chuckles, bending to kiss my shoulder.
“James was furious with my sister, and they got into an actual fistfight too, and that was that. We broke up. He quit Orange Julius, and when school started, he was back together with his old girlfriend, and he never spoke to me again.”
“He was a pig, that one.”
“No, I think that was you, wasn’t it?” I turn, teasing him.
He laughs, sliding his hand around my ribs. “But I was never so cruel.”
“No,” I say quietly. I suddenly and urgently wish I could stay right in this room forever. I pat his stomach. “I like your tummy.”
He laughs. “In the winter, there is more of it. You wouldn’t like it so much then.”
“I think I would still like it.”
He sighs sadly, pats it. “That fat little boy is always ready to take over. I might be a fat old man someday.”
I place my hand on that belly, soft over the muscle beneath. “Still.”
“You can find out how it looks in the winter if you wish.”
I look away.
He touches my chin and slides down so that our faces are close. I can see the way individual lashes grow and the flecks of gold in his dark eyes. “So your heart was broken, and you cannot bear to let anyone in now.”
“It wasn’t just that. It was everything—the earthquake and my dad and Dylan. All of it.”
“I know.” He leans in to kiss me, gently, and pulls back. “I need you to listen for one minute without saying anything in return.”
Something flutters in my chest.
“You think I am only flirting when I say that you are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen, but I am not. It is not extravagance. It is not a way to get you in my bed . . . though I see that it may have been a good tactic.”
“I need to remind you that this is my bed, señor.”
“Well, either way.” He touches my mouth. “When I saw you, I recognized you, like I’ve been waiting, all this time, for you to show up. And there you were.”
My heart aches. “We live on different continents.”
“Yes.” He bends and kisses me, longer this time, and I find myself kissing him back. “But I think you also have found feelings for me.”
I take a breath, and for once in my life, I am honest. “Yes, I have. I might actually have been falling in love a little bit.”
“Have been?”
“I’m leaving in a few days.”
“Mm. That is true.” He kisses my throat, and flutters move elsewhere. “Unless I convince you that you should stay longer.”
Burying my hands in his hair, I pull him closer. “You can try, I suppose.”
I find myself memorizing the feel of him. His shoulder blades and the tip of his ear, his voice in my ear, murmuring in Spanish, the feel of his thighs between mine, the taste of him on my mouth.
For remembering later.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Mari
I drive to Sapphire House, which draws me like a siren. I’ve never been there at night yet, and the view is astonishing, even more magical than I imagined. Standing on the bluff, looking over the glittering spread of the city, I think of the day Simon brought me here for the first time.
My husband, back when he adored me and bought me a legendary house. A hole tears in my heart as I think of it.
I let myself into the dark, empty rooms. I turn on lights as I go, trying to bring in warmth, but it’s just so very empty. I’m never alone at night. My family is always with me.
Is this how it will be, going forward? The possibility is agonizing. I had no idea how much I needed and wanted a family or how good I would be at it.
In the kitchen, I set the kettle to boil and lean against the counter, waiting. The light in here is green and unpleasant, and one of the things I want to install is better, warmer lighting. Did Helen not mind it? I think of her here with Paris and Toby, alone in the giant house for decades and decades and decades. Why did she stay? Why not sell the house and find some more appealing bungalow somewhere? There’d have been plenty of money. It’s the first time I’ve thought about it, and now I wonder why it hadn’t occurred to me sooner. Was she hiding something? Doing penance?