Danita yawned, stretching. “Okay,
chicas
, off to bed. There are a couple of couches in the basement and the guest bedroom downstairs. Caroline’s in the one up the hall—”
“I’m going home. I need to feed the Labs in a couple of hours,” said Jaime.
“Dibs on the bedroom,” Molly called.
“The couch for me, I guess.”
“Mind the grease on the doorknob,” Danita reminded us as we filed out to our respective beds.
I sneaked one last, greedy look at Samuel, then ducked past Dani before she could accuse me of “eye-screwing” her brother.
Just before I drifted to sleep early that morning, close to four, I feared The Dream would make another appearance.
It did not.
Instead, I dreamed of lazy May nights. Catching rare Colorado fireflies in jars as we chased their haunting glow trails across wooded backyards and marshes. Slices of Mexican birthday cake alight with sparklers. And a little boy with warm, ice eyes.
When I woke, gray morning light stretched from casement windows through the creams and beiges of Sofia’s cozy family room, hitting my face.
The warm ice eyes were still there, watching me from the armchair.
The stench of curdled milk in my nose was overwhelming.
Crap.
Chapter 13: Offset Waves
A wild stretch of waves that curl and collide
into each other from all angles.
M
ILES
O
F
G
OLDEN
C
LAY
and rocks slid past Betty the VW Campervan’s windows on the road out of Boulder. Danita and Molly chatted quietly in the front, Molly at the wheel. Santiago followed behind us in his car. Angel and Cassady were passed out in the back, Cassady’s body slumped over Angel’s knees (Danita had already snapped several photos) after a long night of Coronas, cigars and poker.
Samuel and Caroline were settled in the bench across from me, his arm resting along the seat behind her, her creamy coffee face nestled in his shoulder. His iPod lay in his lap as his head lolled back. I was sorely tempted to crank up the volume on that thing and scare him with the force of the apocalypse. His legs stretched out in front of him, his calf occasionally bumping mine.
At least most everyone was getting in a few hours’ rest before the dive.
I leaned against Hector—who was also asleep—and tucked up my knees.
“Oh, Sweet Kaye, shoes off the upholstery,” Molly sang in her best “Cassady” voice, eyeing me in the mirror. “Hippie has issues with dirt in his Campervan.”
“Then he’s not a real hippie.” But I shot her an apologetic smile and slipped off my sneaks.
Since Samuel would leave the day after the wedding, I tried to read the final quarter of
The Last Other
in the narrow windows of time I had to spare. That included now, on our way to the Rocketeers’ Skydiving hangar. Rather than suffer the embarrassment of reading the book in front of Samuel, I’d snagged the dust jacket from my special edition
Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy
trilogy (a present from Angel) to camouflage it.
I chewed my thumbnail, reading on…
She would not die. He would not let her die. Nicodemus seized Neelie’s hands, her wrists, her body, dragging her away from the scores of Others spilling through the tunnels, crawling over slimy, mildewed walls like poisonous spiders. For hours and hours they hid below, in the ground. He buried his face in her hair, waiting for the Others to scatter above them. And when the creatures finally retreated, still they hid, clutching bodies. Neelie…his friend. Neelie…
Nicodemus pulled her to him with hungry hands…
Oh no. No! I was going to murder him. I flushed, pressing the book shut until my blood cooled. Minutes later I returned to the story, rushing through Nicodemus’s musings on Neelie’s scent, the feel of her skin, her mouth, all the while my mind hammered
fiction, fiction, fiction!
I breathed a sigh of relief as the narrator tactfully drew a veil between audience and the newly-aware couple. If there’d been any more references to heart-shaped freckles, I would have strangled him with his iPod cord. I skimmed over the passage again. Second time through, it really wasn’t that bad. Kind of hot, actually. He’d live to see another day.
I should have finished
The Last Other
before now. The final week before Danita and Angel’s vow swappin’ would be frantic, whipping together the last of the decorations and entertaining the extended
familia
, traveling from as far as Ciudad Victoria in Tamaulipas.
This past week hadn’t been much calmer, but for entirely different reasons…
After the ultimate prank night, I woke in Sofia’s basement to find Samuel watching me, his fingers tented over his mouth. I thought I was a goner. And he’d gotten me back, oh yes. Once fuzzy sleep lifted from my brain, the first thing I noticed was that the horrible smell of soured milk was too strong to be coming from Samuel alone.
“Ewwww.” I sniffed my arms, pushing myself up from the powdered milk-coated blanket. My nose crinkled in disgust. “Did you do this?”
Samuel raised an eyebrow. “I told you I wasn’t going to let you mess with me and not fight back. You really shouldn’t fall asleep in someone’s basement after pranking them. Poorly executed, Ms. Trilby.”
“How’d you get all of this…stuff…under me?”
“Are you going to explain the same thing to me?”
“Heck no.”
“Then I’m not telling, either.”
“Well, one good thing about this. No one will want to be within twenty feet of me, so at least I’ll be able to finish your book.”
He grinned. “I hadn’t even thought of that. Maybe if I keep it up, you’ll re-read
all
of my books.”
“Once was enough, thanks.”
Rubbing my eyes, I took him in for the first time. Well-worn pajamas and T-shirt, damp hair, freshly shaven…red marker still very prominent on his forehead. After Dani’s revelation last night, I saw him with new eyes. He didn’t remember what happened in New York…he’d been so messed up on drugs, he only knew what others had told him.
“You’re not very intimidating with ‘I’m a Naughty Nacken’ written on your face.”
His lips curled. He crossed the room and held out a hand mirror. “Likewise.”
I grabbed the mirror from him, examining my forehead:
I'M NAUGHTY, TOO
Ugh. Well, Kaye, what did you expect?
“Nice, Mr. Famous Author. Couldn’t come up with anything better?”
“Well, I considered writing ‘Neelie Nixie is completely and entirely fictional—kind of,’ but I thought it would tick you off.”
I smiled in spite of myself. Between the horrible smell and the marker, I’d probably start work late this morning. I fumbled for my phone…nine thirty. I groaned.
“I thought you could use the sleep.”
“How long have you been down here?”
He shrugged, glancing at the wall clock. “Not long.”
I remembered I didn’t even have my car. I fired off a quick message to the office, letting them know I’d work from Lyons today.
“Caroline and I are flying out of Denver tomorrow. We can take you to Boulder for your car, if you like.”
“That’s okay. Wouldn’t want to give your paparazzi photogs any ideas about a threesome.” Horror flooded his face, and I laughed. “Kidding, Samuel. We’re going to Boulder to pick up our dresses, so I can collect my car then.”
He gently tugged at my elbow. “Come on, let’s get you fed. Mamá cooked up a storm this morning—chorizo, huevos rancheros,
pan de yema con chocolate
—then ordered me to eat outside. Apparently she doesn’t like the way I smell.” His eyes flicked over a strip of pale stomach as I stretched, then darted away. Self-conscious, I tugged down my cami and grabbed my fleece from the floor. He busied himself cleaning up the powdered milk mess on the blankets.
“I bet she was incensed this morning.” I gave him a hand.
“Let’s just say we’ll all be paying to have her furniture cleaned. Danita barely made it out of the house alive.”
I winced. Together, we rolled up the offending blankets, dragged them into the laundry room, and stuffed them in the washing machine. “I’ll chip in to pay for that.” There was no way I was ending up on Sofia’s bad side. Over the years she had perfected the art form of inflicting sweet and subtle guilt on the deserved.
“If you want.”
I tromped up the stairs, scanning the house for any signs of Caroline. A radio quietly buzzed in the kitchen, pulsing with Sofia’s up-and-at-em classical playlist, which usually just lulled me to sleep again. Right now, it was something familiar. Samuel would know.
“Composer?”
“Vaughan Williams. Too early for him?”
“No, no, it’s fine. Relaxing.” Alonso and Sofia both believed classical music stimulated the brain, which was why they’d insisted Samuel study Spanish guitar along with acoustic. My dad, however, believed rolled joints and The Grateful Dead did the trick.
The dishwasher rattled, but other than that, it was peaceful. Too peaceful. I looked at Samuel.
“Mom’s at the florists. Molly is still asleep. Caro went for a run to cool her head—she was a little agitated this morning, heads up. She hasn’t even seen my luggage yet.” He gestured for me to sit down at one of the bar stools while he dished up a plate of leftovers warming in the oven. The fragrance of spicy sausage and chocolate flooded the room, momentarily driving away the sour milk smell and making my stomach rumble. Then he placed a mug of luscious, black coffee under my nose. I sighed. God bless Sofia Cabral and her gourmet beans.
“Thanks. And I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to cause a rift between you and Caroline.”
Samuel gave me a dubious look as he set the plate before me, along with the fruit bowl. I immediately went to work on my huevos rancheros.
“You didn’t, really. Caro will get over it. The pranks are good for her, although, she’s going to skin me alive for not correcting her about your…sexual orientation. She’ll be livid, actually.” He grimaced.
“Maybe Jaime and I can stage a break-up scene, then we’ll both be off the hook. Not that it’s any of Caro’s business who I tango with.”
He offered me a little smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “When it comes to business, she takes herself very seriously. Unfortunately, I am Caroline’s business. She works very hard, has since she first read my writing. Every social event, every dinner date, she makes connections, promotes…well, me. If it weren’t for her, I would have lost my focus a long time ago. And if it were any other author, I don’t know if she’d work so hard. She genuinely cares about me, and I’d be a fool not to appreciate that.” Grave lines settled around his eyes and mouth, as if he wore that expression enough to make those lines permanent. I didn’t like that expression. My fingers itched to reach up, smooth the worry lines away. I held them back.
“I know Caroline has helped you to become wildly successful. But does she care about your happiness, too?” I asked softly. “That’s pretty key when you’re dating somebody.” My cheeks burned, and my plate of food became extremely interesting as I stabbed at a sausage.
Samuel wasn’t going to let me play ostrich. He leaned across the counter, his intense eyes seeking mine, drawing them up from my plate. He held them captive, not letting me go until he spoke.
“I did a lot of thinking on the drive back from Boulder last night, Kaye.” Blood pounded through my veins.
Uh oh, never good.
I braced myself. “You told me some things that startled me, quite frankly. The biggest is that you refuse to be alone because of me. That you need concrete answers.”
“Why does this surprise you?”
“Because I’ve never thought of you as being alone. You’re very successful, strong…beautiful.” His soft lips quirked. “You have TrilbyJones. Close friends and family. You’ve taken up daring hobbies, like whitewater rafting, skydiving. I just assumed you had moved on, that you were happy.” I started to shake my head, and he rushed on. “I was a weak man who let everyone coddle him when I needed to be stronger for you, and you should have been glad to be rid of me. I believed I’d given you more than enough reason to put me behind you…especially after New York.” Confusion and doubt crept into his features, something I wasn’t used to seeing in Samuel Cabral’s normally self-assured face.
“What’s your point?”
“My point is that I have an answer for you—a concrete one.”
“I’m listening.”
“I never was a true friend to you.”
I scoffed. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“No, Kaye, listen—this is important. Real friends don’t hide vital things from each other. Real friends are truthful, even if it means making themselves susceptible to hurt, or causing the other person pain. And I wasn’t truthful. I’ve hidden so much from you…since the day I first met you, I think. Do you remember?”