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Her brother never lacked confidence. “We’re not sailing a galleon from the Spanish Armada, are we?”
Santos laughed. “No, it would take too many hands. We’ll rent a sailboat Fox and I can handle, and you’ll be able to relax and wave to people on the beach.”
She’d dressed in cropped pants and a knit top over her bikini and brought her hat. “It’s such a beautiful day. Is there enough wind to sail?”
“You worry too much,” Fox complained. “Would you rather rent kayaks and paddle up and down the coast?”
“No, not today. Let me help you with the dishes.”
“You didn’t eat,” Fox said. “We’ll do the dishes. Santos won’t leave the apartment with dishes in the sink. Go look at a book.”
She leaned against the counter. “I found your books about Father. Are we mentioned in any of them?”
Santos filled the sink with soapy water. “I’m in the most recent one because I’d started fighting and Father claimed me as his son. He didn’t talk about you or the year he spent in Arizona with journalists. He must have wanted to protect your privacy.”
“Not admitting she exists is a little too private, isn’t it?” Fox asked.
“No, it’s all right,” she insisted. “I wasn’t here to be a part of the family.”
She went into the living room and shuffled through the Sunday paper. Bullfighting was covered in the arts section rather than sports, but she’d rather not read about the matadors who’d be joining Rafael in the arena.
The folder with Augustín’s papers still lay on the coffee table. She went back to the kitchen. “Did you finish reading through our grandfather’s folder?”
Santos rinsed off a mixing bowl. “I did. I couldn’t believe he’d spend
so much time longing for a woman he’d only known a few weeks. Father wouldn’t have remembered her name, let alone written love poems for her years later.”
Fox dried the bowl. “He remembered my mother’s name.”
“Of course he did,” Santos agreed, and, warned he was on dangerous ground, he shifted to a new subject. “I wish we had time to sail to Mallorca. It’s a beautiful island, like a little country in itself. I should stop complaining about the fact our father sold his sailboats and buy one for myself. Not a grand yacht that takes a dozen to crew, just a nice boat I could take out by myself.”
“Women like boats, don’t they?” Fox asked.
“Yes, I believe they do,” Maggie answered, and Santos turned to wink at her.
“Maybe we should look at boats that are for sale before we go sailing,” she suggested, needing to stretch out the day. “Then if you see one you like, we could take it out for a trial.”
“Brilliant,” Fox exclaimed, “then we’d not have to pay to rent one.”
“While I’m here,” she remembered, “I want to return the key to the beach house.” She fished it from her purse and laid it on the counter. “I won’t need it again.”
“I’m keeping mine,” Fox said. “The twins want me to meet them there.”
“Ah, the twins,” she sighed. “I didn’t have an opportunity to warn them against propositioning men.”
“You won’t be around to do it, so I will at my first chance,” Santos promised.
“Take off your watch. It’ll make the day go faster.”
With her bag handy, she slipped her watch into an inner pocket. “Thanks for the tip. I’m doing better today than I did last week.”
“Well, nobody’s died yet,” Fox said.
Santos cuffed him. “You’re as sensitive as a boot.”
The last thing she needed was a reminder of death. “Please, let’s concentrate on sailing.”
“That’s fine with me,” Santos agreed. “If we find a boat I like, let me ask all the questions, and there’s no reason I have to buy a boat today. Just look as disinterested as you usually do, Fox.”
