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Santos straightened up to his full height. He had a charming smile, but there was a stubborn edge to his voice. “I’m glad you enjoyed the party, but Maggie’s last name is Aragon, and I’m her family too, so there’s nothing to discuss. Miguel would have said the same thing. Please come back anytime you’re able, and you’ll always be welcome here.”
Peter frowned but reluctantly nodded. “Thank you again. You must come to visit us so we can entertain you.”
“Wouldn’t a matador be out of place in Minneapolis?”
“Only if you’re looking for work. You’re sure to enjoy the United States as a tourist.”
Their luggage was already in the foyer, and Libby came down the stairs with Patricia and her mother. “You two look so serious, I hope you’re not worried about me staying here, Dad.”
“I won’t be as long as you e-mail us often with something more than the weather report,” Peter responded. He looked at his watch. “Does everyone have everything?”
“I’ll bring home anything you’ve forgotten,” Libby offered.
Manuel entered to carry out their luggage, and Libby went out first rather than lag behind. Her mother hesitated to make certain she had her passport in her purse. “Thank you for everything, Santos. You’ve made staying here a pleasure rather than the awkward few days I’d expected. Please come and see us when you can.”
Santos forced a smile. His father had chased blue-eyed blondes who resembled her his whole life. Or rather, allowed them to catch him. Just looking at her felt like a knife in the gut. This wasn’t the time to defend his mother as Miguel’s one true love, but he remained certain of it. “Thank you. I would like to see the States. I’ll take good care of Libby.”
Linda smiled warmly. “I’m sure you will. Good-bye.”
Santos smelled Patricia’s strawberry bubblegum as she leaned close to kiss his cheek. “I gave Fox my e-mail address, I hope that’s all right.”
“It is, but please don’t make promises you can’t keep.”
Patricia popped her gum. “You ought to worry about your crazy fans rather than me.”
Santos didn’t appreciate her advice but followed her out to the porch and waved as the Gundersons drove away. The house was empty now, and he took the elevator upstairs to check in Libby’s room and make certain her belongings were still there. He stretched out on her bed to rest his knee and replayed the weekend in his mind.
The Gundersons were a fine example of a happy family, something he’d rarely observed. They made him feel hollow, empty, as though he were lacking some basic component of humankind. He remembered the awful drawing and thought the artist must have come from a family even more screwed up than the Aragons.
Libby found him in her room when she got back and lay down beside him. “Are you moving in with me?”
Expecting an exasperating conversation, he propped his hands behind his head to get more comfortable. “No, but I didn’t want to waste time when you got back. I hid the drawing from you because I didn’t want to deal with it, and I still don’t.”
She’d never forget the gruesome sketch, but she didn’t want to see it again. “Fine, but promise me you won’t hide something that significant again.”
“I can’t, not when I don’t know what hideous thing might turn up tomorrow.”
She’d driven back from the airport thinking how nice it would be to have the house to themselves, and she was in no mood to argue. She cuddled against him instead. “Let’s drop the subject for now, and by the way, I don’t think anything’s a waste of time with you.” She sat up to remove her sandals and tossed them toward the closet. He was wearing his running shoes, and she leaned over to untie them. “You must give Mrs. Lopez fits, parading girls through
here.”
That he’d gotten off so easily amazed him, and he propped himself up on his elbows to watch her. “I didn’t live here until my father became ill, so it wasn’t an issue.”
“It’s an issue now.” She took hold of the bottom of his sweatshirt and pulled it off over his head. “You’ve got a great set of abs. What have you been doing to stay in shape?”
“What is this, a fitness interview?”
She ran her hand over his chest. His skin was a handsome golden tan. “You could look at it that way. You wax your chest?”
She circled his nipples with a tickling touch, and he grabbed her hand. “Yeah, but I absolutely refuse to wax my balls.”
She laughed. “I don’t blame you.” She pulled off her short dress, and sent it sailing toward his sweatshirt. Her bra and bikini panties were a glossy ice blue. “I don’t want to get too rough and hurt you. Tell me if I do.”
“I’m not fragile, but what do you have in mind?”
“Nothing kinky, unless you want me to handcuff you to the bed.”
He sat up. “Did you pack handcuffs?”
