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We walked slowly towards the big house, a few curious folks looking in our direction. She wasn’t paying them any attention. Instead, she kept her eyes on me the whole way, occasionally lifting her free hand and squeezing my bicep.
24
LUCÍA
Francisco was shakingnext to me, his fists still clenched even after sitting on the back porch for thirty minutes. His gaze was lost, looking out into the mountain. The cat kept going back and forth between the house and the backyard, looking at us with concern on her little face. No one was moving a single inch.
The wind was picking up, but there weren’t any storm clouds on the horizon. It was a bright day, the sun high above in the sky. The birds were chirping loudly, like they were yelling secrets at each other.
“What’s going on?” I asked for maybe the tenth time. He grunted and moved closer to me, one of his hands draping over my thigh. He moved his thumb absentmindedly, his eyes still stuck to the back of the yard where the trees met the hills.
“I think I have to go back to the city,” he said, still notlooking at me. He had a pained look on his face, like his brain was moving a million miles an hour in different directions and he couldn’t decide which one to take. “There’s a family crisis.”
The word “crisis” made me perk up. Technically, I knew about his family because I’d been his sister’s doctor, but in this moment, in this situation, I was supposed to be oblivious.
“Okay,” I said warily. “Is there something I can do?”
“No, thank you.” He lifted his lips a fraction, a small, sad smile on his lips. His eyes were now focused on his thumb moving in slow circles on my inner thigh. He turned the top half of his body and faced me, his brown eyes bloodshot and sunken.
“Are you going to tell me about it?”
“No, thank you.” He smiled now, big and reaching his eyes. Maybe the panic was over, maybe not. But he was definitely ready to change the subject. He was still wearing the same clothes as last night, probably still damp from the rain. “Let’s get in the pool,” he said, eyeing the large body of water in front of us. There were a few leaves floating lazily on the surface, the wind playing with them without any care in the world.
“Dale,” I drawled, still eyeing him suspiciously. I stood from the loveseat, reaching for the hem of my shirt and pulling it up and over my shoulders. After Francisco and Charlie had left that morning, I took a long shower and put on my bathing suit, expecting the temperature to get highenough for a dip in the water. There was no rain in the forecast, but I was expecting another blackout. I unbuttoned my shorts and let them drop, stepping out of them and grabbing them from the ground.
I turned to set my clothes on the seat, and Francisco caught sight of my ribcage. His eyes widened at my small tattoo, like he was completely surprised about the fact that I had a single line of permanent ink on my body.
“You have a tattoo?” he asked, the obvious answer in front of him. He grabbed my hip and turned me towards him, his gaze fixed on the outline of that one special flower. “It’s a jasmine,” he whispered, his eyes shining with something. Tears, maybe. My throat caught in response. I couldn’t read his expression, his eyes moving all over my body, searching for more. Going back and forth between my face and my ribcage, like this was just a weird coincidence and it had been there the whole time, ever since we met that first day in her hospital room but hiding under my loose scrubs.
“Yeah,” I said, swallowing hard in response. The knot was still sitting in my throat, making it hard for me to breathe.
“Why?”
“Why do you think?”
“You remember?” he asked. His lids pinched tight, and he rested his forehead on my stomach. He looked so small, so vulnerable there, his body shaking slightly. My heart was beating fast, and the only sound I could hear was itpounding against my chest. I rubbed my forehead and ran my fingers through my hair, buying some time before I had to answer. He looked up, those brown eyes intently set on me.
“Of course I remember,” I answered, looking away from his face for a moment. He reached for me, tugging at my waist and draping me over his lap, my legs sideways on the couch. “Why would I not?”
The world stopped moving. We were both frozen in silence. He sucked in some air, then let it go, a tear falling down his cheek.
“Why?” he croaked.
I shrugged and draped one arm around his shoulder, pulling him closer to me. “She was—is—so special to me, still.”
He nodded, leaning his head on my shoulder, my heartbeat going faster at the movement, but I couldn’t catch my breath. Because he did remember.
Of course he remembered.
Tears were rolling freely down his cheeks, his body shaking slightly under the covered patio.
“You left,” he said.
There it was. The moment I’d been waiting for since the second I had laid eyes on him in my brother’s house. He did remember; of course he did. Probably every single detail of it all.
“You did too,” I blurted out in response. It came out defensively.
“My sister died!” he roared and stood abruptly, depositing me in front of him and taking a step to the side. I flinched at the sound because it was so out of character for him, for the man I knew then and the man I knew now. I couldn’t catch my breath, the air in my lungs not quite doing what it was supposed to do.
