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“Manuel and I were there. Avila could have stopped. He didn’t have to follow us against the traffic. Could Nuñez have some reason to dislike your family?”
He stirred his chocolate ice cream to make it smooth and creamy. “Have you taken a good look at him? He doesn’t wear a wedding ring, so maybe my father’s reputation with women annoys him when he can’t get one, let alone dozens of women for himself.”
She licked cookie crumbs off her lips. “Maybe it’s something that petty. What’s happened to Cazares? Did you hear from him?”
“He called just as I was leaving therapy. Photos are e-mailed to the tabloids. The wedding photo and photo of the fire came from a Jose Muñoz, and checks were sent to a private post office box. It’s a common name, and now that Avila’s in the hospital, there’s no reason for Cazares to track Muñoz, who might be Avila’s alias. I don’t care about the photo from the restaurant on Tuesday. Do you?”
She picked up another cookie. “Not really. I wonder if there were any taken of us cruising the harbor.”
“There’s no way to squeeze any news or scandal out of it, so probably not. I don’t want you to think my life is always this public or scary. It’s just a strange summer. Maybe the stars are misaligned.”
“Just here over Barcelona?”
He shrugged. “Rigoberto Avila’s luck is worse than mine. Why don’t you call the hospital, say you’re his sister and ask how he’s doing?”
“What if they trace the call? I don’t want to see Nuñez here again tonight.”
“Let’s go to the hospital in the morning and call from a pay phone downstairs.”
It was an intriguing idea, but she still had doubts. “Santos, if you don’t have any trouble, do you intentionally make some?”
“I want to know how Avila is, that’s all.”
His sly smile told her otherwise. She sipped her tea. “Sometimes it’s a good idea to walk away.”
“The way you did? I would have followed you if I could.”
She imagined wild sex on the beach, and while sand might have been a problem, they could have lain on her full skirt. Her mind had a mischievous way of going to the same delightful place whenever they were together. She hauled it back. “How are the elevator repairs going?”
He stared at her, his gaze filled with confusion. “I’d have followed to apologize for hurting you, and you want to talk about the elevator?”
She reached for his hand. “You were talking about one thing, and I was thinking something else. There’s no reason to beat it to death now. I just wanted to change the subject.”
“I’ll be able to walk up the stairs on my own before the insurance company settles up so work can begin on replacing the elevator. I’m tired of being trapped here, which has nothing to do with you, because you’ve kept me sane. Let’s go to the ranch this weekend. I can miss a couple of days of therapy.”
She wanted a change of scene too. “Fine, but you should go tomorrow. Let’s find out how Avila is, if we can, and leave for the ranch in the afternoon.”
“Would you mind if we didn’t come back?”
“We have to. You need therapy for you knee. You have such a great natural strut, I’d hate to see you lose it.”
He regarded her with a skeptical glance. “I save the strut for the bullring.”
“No, you don’t.” He’d look good crawling along the ground, but she’d paid him enough compliments for the night. “Do you have some more good videos? If we can’t sleep, maybe we could watch something.”
“Other than each other?” he teased. “I’ll find something you like.”
Clearly he’d been raised to pamper women, and she enjoyed it. It was a shame he’d sworn off marriage and had no interest in raising children. Her mother had taught her to listen carefully to what men said; otherwise, the truth could go unnoticed. There wasn’t anything that had gone unnoticed with Santos, and she finished the last cookie and watched him lick the last bite of ice cream off his spoon.
Late Friday morning, Santos and Libby leaned against the pay telephone wall on the first floor of the hospital where Rigoberto Avila had been taken. It was a newer construction than the one where Santos had been treated. Modern, with rounded corners and long hallways, it was alive with clattering motion.
“How could we have overlooked the fact I don’t speak Spanish?” Libby cried. “How am I going to inquire about Rigoberto?”
“I’ll tell you what to ask,” he replied.
“Fine, but how will I understand the nurse’s response?”
“I’ll listen.”
