“Interesting, so you don’t cook the chicken in fish sauce first?” Colette asked.
“I don’t. Honey, when you get old, you have to watch things like sodium,” Margo admitted. “But I have it available at the table, along with lemon.”
“We add hard-boiled eggs and green onions to garnish.”
“What a great idea. I’ll do that next time,” Margo said. Finally, she added water to the brim of the stockpot and covered it to boil.
When she turned, Colette’s smile was gone, though her hands were still on her belly.
“Are you okay, Colette?”
“Yes and no.” Hesitation lined the sides of her eyes. “This is so … so wonderful. I love spending time with you, but in doing so, it highlights the precarious situation we’re in. Lola isn’t doing well, and our lives feel so upended with you here. The briefcase—Joshua said you were able to open it, and you found letters—goodness, it’s like everything I thought was … really isn’t.” She shook her head. “I’m sorry, I just totally upchucked my emotions right there, didn’t I?”
“It’s okay; it is,” Margo reassured. “I’m a mess, too. Diana is feeling all kinds of emotions, too, though she is not quite as expressive. And those letters: they give us more of what happened, but not everything.”
There was a big question that had yet to be answered, though Margo kept that to herself. Margo didn’t reiterate that Colette’s grandmother was the reason Antonio steered away from Leora, and she would not blame Colette for that.
“Can I say something else? Something that I hope doesn’t offend you?”
“Colette, I don’t think there’s anything you could say that could offend me. I think we’re past it.”
She smiled briefly. “I’m not sure how I feel about Joshua and Ate Diana. Not only because of the whole ‘he’s my adopted brother’ thing, but because I’ve never seen him so riled up and excited about anyone in such a long time. I’m a bit sad for him that she’ll be leaving soon.” She sipped on her juice. “But, Tita, I’m sad that you have to go, too. I guess I’m realizing this all might not end well.”
“This trip doesn’t have to be my last,” Margo said. She was decades older than Colette and felt like she should say something wise, but at the moment, the tables could have been turned.
Colette’s eyes glistened. “I want you to come back. You remind me so much of … my mom. It’s just the little things; you might find it silly.”
“Tell me more,” Margo said, intrigued now. “What was Marilou like?”
“She was smart, funny, and beautiful of course.” Colette smiled. “I only remember all the good things. Her laugh, the way she hugged—she used to wrap me in her arms so tightly and rub my back. She also loved chocolate.” Her smile faded, and she heaved a breath.
“I’m so sorry, Colette. I know you must miss her.”
“Thank you—God, it was so long ago. The car accident was just that, an accident. But seeing you is a little like having her here.” She sniffed. “Lola feels it, too; it’s in the way she looks at you. Since she’s gotten worse, she hasn’t wanted to speak to anyone. In fact, I don’t know the last time we had a meal together in her wing. We were all quite excited yesterday that she invited us for an after-party. You have given her energy. We don’t like to say the d word, but she is dying. And I think—I think she was waiting for something to give her some peace. Peace that might be you.”
Tears bubbled just below the surface of her eyelids, but Margo kept them at bay.
“If …” Colette’s thumb ran along the lip of her cup. “If you decide you’d like to stay longer, you are absolutely welcome. Even if no one else says it, I would like to invite you to stay, for me.”
That was it, Margo let the tears go. For what came with Colette’s invitation was something she hadn’t planned on when she arrived in Manila. She’d hesitantly signed up to learn her family history, and what she’d received was so much more. She’d found a connection. A tangible connection by DNA and an emotional connection to this woman.
“Sorry, I’m just … overwhelmed,” Margo said.
“I hope in a good way?”
“Yes.” Margo laughed, just as the pot bubbled. She turned the burner to low, and now she had a raging appetite. “A very good way.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
On the boat trip to Corregidor Island, Diana shifted her focus from the quiet man next to her to the whirr of the engines and the rock-and-roll motion of the boat. With the wind blowing and the choppy water sending drops of water overtop, it was a relief from the heat.
She had not been completely honest with her mother: she was thrilled to find out that they would be going their separate ways this morning. In truth, Diana had missed Joshua as soon as she left his arms just shy of 5:00 a.m. Their night of glorious intimacy, as perfect as it had been, was not enough, and she clamored to be with him, one-on-one. To chat, to be.
But at the moment, something didn’t feel right. Sure, Joshua greeted her appropriately, was kind in the car; he joked as they boarded the boat, but he was holding back. Something was wrong. She wasn’t a woman who subscribed to public displays of affection, but he wasn’t showing any signs of any difference in their relationship.
She ran the night over in her head. His hands, his kisses, his caress, his teasing words—it all felt organic. Natural. Comfortable. Had she been too cold? Too clingy? Was he not satisfied?
He sure had acted like he was.
Joshua turned to her then. He’d taken off his sunglasses, now hooked onto his V-neck tee—Diana decided that the V-neck shirt was the sexiest style, ever—with an arm resting behind Diana, his right leg crossed over his left knee. “Look if you’re not going to ask me what’s up, then I suppose I should just tell you.”
“I knew you were upset.” She barked a laugh, then realized how insensitive that sounded. “What I meant was, I’ve been sitting here trying to figure out what I missed.”
He sighed. “I didn’t …” But his words became indecipherable, and Diana didn’t catch the rest of his sentence.
“What’s that?”
He repeated his sentence, and still, she didn’t understand.
She leaned in closer, gesturing for him to repeat it once more.
“I didn’t appreciate you leaving me in bed while I was asleep!” he declared, promptly shushing the rows of tourists packed around them. He slumped lower into the bench.
“You’re mad at me for leaving your room?” she asked. She took in his hurt expression.
“Mad isn’t the right word. I … wished that you woke me. There should be some etiquette about it, about waking the person after a night of s-s-s—” He looked around and lowered his voice. “Sex.”
She stifled a giggle, though her heart squeezed at his sincerity. God, he was so … sweet that she couldn’t help but tease to cover up how she was melting into a puddle. “Doing the deed? The horizontal hokeypokey? The nail in the—”
“Must you?”