Page 51 of The Wilder Widows

The waiter arrived and perused us all with a questioning gaze before breaking into a smile. “I see you ladies took advantage of the opening ceremonies?”

“Hell yeah, we did.” I grinned.

“Looks like you had a wonderful time! Can I get you something to drink? More sangria?”

“Ugh. Sangria.” Alice faked a gag. “I’ve had enough of that to last a lifetime. I’ll take a water.”

All three of our heads swiveled toward her.

“Did you just order water instead of alcohol?” I asked, shock raising my naturally baritone voice.

“Holy shit.” Sylvie mirrored my surprise.

Doris made the sign of the cross. “Praise, Jesus.”

“Shut it,” Alice warned, and I snapped my gaping mouth shut.

“Anyone else want a water?” the waiter asked while stifling his smile.

Sylvie made a circle around the table with her finger. “Four, please.” He nodded and backed away.

The warm buzz from the multiple rounds of sangria and champagne still tingled through me. Even though we’d been doused in water from the balconies during the ceremony, I hadn’t drunk any in hours. It felt like I’d swallowed razor blades after screaming ‘Viva San Fermin’ more times than I could count.

When the waiter returned with a pitcher of water, we took turns filling our glasses and guzzling it down. Each one of us moaned our relief as we downed the water. The waiter noticed the empty pitcher and picked it up to refill it while dropping off our menus.

Sylvie looked over the menu. “I love tapas.”

“I’ve never had it.” Doris squinted at the menu.

“Tapas just means small plates,” Alice said. “We order lots of small plates and share with the table.”

“Sounds wonderful!”

“Doubt they’ll have hot dish, though,” Alice teased.

Doris sneered from behind her menu then went back to mouthing the Spanish words I knew she didn’t understand. In fact, none of us spoke Spanish, and I had no idea what we would be ordering.

When the waiter returned, we gave up on trying to translate the menu and asked him to bring out courses of his favorites. Excited to be in charge of our dining experience, he hurried away to get started.

“So, you still haven’t told us why this festival was your wish.” Sylvie wiped at her smeared eyes again.

A heavy sigh lifted my shoulders. They were right. I’d left out the real reason I was so intent on coming to this festival. It was something I didn’t talk about often. Couldn’t talk about. But the sangria and champagne took hold of my tongue.

“I made a promise back in ‘Nam to Percy and our two best friends, Manz and Stilts.”

Just saying their names sent me down a rabbit hole I’d spent a lot of years trying to step around. Sliding back in time, I once again sat around a campfire with my closest friends. I could still hear their laughter as if they sat beside me here in Pamplona.

The widows watched me quietly, and I knew how much pain must be apparent on my face.

“What happened, Marge?” Doris asked, reaching out to touch my hand.

“We met in-country.”

I saw the confusion furrow their brows, and I realized they didn’t know the lingo that had been part of my vocabulary since signing up for the Army. “In-country means we met in Vietnam.”

“Oh, that makes sense.” Sylvie nodded.

“When I signed up for the Army, I didn’t know anyone. I was barely twenty, but I knew my skills and temperament would be helpful during the war. So, I did my duty and signed up for my first tour. I ended up in Saigon, and that’s where I met them.”