Page 88 of Old Flames

“Give them a happy ending,” he said. “It’s what we all want.”

“Fine!” she cried, exasperated. “They’ll live happily ever after! Happy now?”

He pinned her down and kissed her deeply. “People do find happiness, you know.”

“Do you know any?” she asked him. “Because I don’t.”

“Ayesha and her husband,” he replied without hesitation. “Andre is a great guy. Also, I think Matty and Vicky have a chance.”

“In a perfect world, they have a shot,” Jules said. “But in this world with all its conflicting rules, it’s more difficult than you might think.”

He kissed her again, slowly. “What conflicting rules?”

“She’s rich,” Jules answered. “Rich people have rules for everything, mainly money.”

Leo made a face. “Isn’t she rich enough to keep the Key West power grid going? What does she have to worry about money?”

“You think people with money don’t worry about money? It’s their favorite thing to do.”

“You’ve got a point there.”

“How about you?” Jules asked.

“What about me?”

“You deserve to find happiness with some nice girl.”

He kissed her throat. “If you think I’m into nice girls, you’re not going to like what I do next.”

It was Leo’s turn to share his work. Once the breakfast tray was cleared, they went up to the tower. While he rummaged around the desk for his notes, Jules drifted to the rear window. The tender morning had given way to a bold sunny day, but you wouldn’t know it by simply looking out at the garden. It sat, glum, shrouded in darkness, as if yesterday’s rain clouds still hovered above it and refused to move on. Jules heard the call and silenced it. She would not allow that paralyzing dread to sink into the narrow spaces between her bones.

“Shit,” Leo mumbled under his breath. He couldn’t find his notebook, the one he carried with him everywhere.

“Need help?” she asked calmly, though transfixed by the view below. Every little detail stood out to her. She noticed a brown lizard racing along the stone path, the rough bark on the grand sycamore that spread its branches, the morning dew still glistening on the leaves of the hibiscus. Nothing out of the ordinary, yet it disturbed her. Why today? Why now?

“No, thanks,” he said. “Your body is distracting enough.”

Jules had slipped on one of his T-shirts. The soft cotton embraced her bare skin. He was never getting it back.

Leo continued his search, opening drawers, shutting them, moving stacks of books around, until, finally he exclaimed, “Found it! Strange. I know for sure I didn’t put it there.”

Jules turned her back to the window and sought out Leo’s light instead. Waking up beside him had been a dream. She’d never seen a man so happy. He was practically incandescent. She was happy, too, but more cautious about it. She kept her happiness wrapped tight in butcher paper and twine, like a precious gift to herself. She’d unwrap it only when she was sure destiny wouldn’t swoop in like a hawk and snatch it away.

“Love, come take a look at this.”

Jules hadn’t noticed when his expression turned somber. She went to him. “What is it?”

He held open his notebook. She scanned the pages. At first glance, nothing unusual. Names, dates, a hastily drawn street map of Old Town. “Isn’t it just your research?” she asked.

“Not this,” he said, tapping two lines of script at the bottom right of the page. “I didn’t write this.”

Dile que él la espera al otro lado.

Dile que la ha esperado tres vidas.

The sentences were scribbled in the palest blue ink, so faint you had to squint to see it.

“Spanish . . .” she said. “Something about waiting . . . I don’t get it. What does it mean?”