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She has that hopeful look in her eyes sometimes. I’ve seen it so many times in Willowdale, that spark of optimism. It’s natural, I know. Single people want to pair up. Human nature. But still, I can’t afford the complications, and neither could she.
Are you sure about that? I ask myself. She sure does seem capable of making decisions about what she wants.
As we stroll toward the beach, Anita pulls her hair out of the ponytail elastic, letting it blow freely behind her from the wind coming off the ocean. She is beautiful, no question about it. Educated and elegant, dedicated to her community just like I am.
The sun sets and the lights come up under the bohio. Mary smiles and gestures wildly to me from the table she and Arthur share. Already, it is loaded up with baskets of steaming food—grilled fish and plantains, roasted squash, and piles of freshly made flatbread.
“Oh my God, I’m starving,” Anita sighs, angling onto the bench.
Mary raises her eyebrows at me as I slide in next to Anita, helping myself to a generous portion of the delicious food in front of me. I hadn’t even realized how famished I was until now, and my stomach tightens in anticipation.
“Good day at the office, dear?” Mary quips as Arthur shovels plantains onto a paper plate.
Arthur plants a lingering, affectionate kiss on her hairline. She closes her eyes to savor the moment.
“Oh, you know, healing the sick. Like we do,” he chuckles with his cheeks filled with food.
“I’m so lucky to be married to a saint,” Mary rolls her eyes.
“Yeah, you are,” Arthur shrugs. “And I appreciate you appreciating me.”
“Oh, jeez, drink your beer, Saint Arthur. Replenish your strength.”
Mary and Arthur are always like this. Always flirting, joking with each other. They have been married for eight years, and yet they never seem to lose their spark. I watch them sneak delighted looks at each other when they think the other isn’t looking. It’s wonderful to see that kind of love and devotion lasting.
I saw it with my father and mother. They were happy their whole lives, as far as I could tell. He was absolutely declarative about his love for her. He told me once that the secret was never to let a woman worry.
Worry eats at the soul, he told me. Don’t let it get a hold on you.
“Have you enjoyed your stay this time?” Anita murmurs, smiling as we eat.
A few more nurses and doctors join us, filling the table with conversation. Two more buckets full of ice and bottles of beer hit the boards with a thud.
“I always enjoy this,” I answer honestly. “I’m sad that I haven’t been back in a few years.”
“Arthur mentioned that your father entered assisted living,” Anita murmurs confidentially. “I’m sorry to hear that. How is he doing?”
“Very well, thank you,” I answer automatically.
I know what she is doing. She knew my father, and she and I had a brief encounter some years ago. So brief, it’s barely worth mentioning.
Although it looks as though she would like to mention it again, or perhaps more.
She leans her elbow on the table and cups her cheek, smiling up at me. The lights sway in the gentle breeze and send dancing highlights over her tawny skin.
“You’re only here for another week? Then back to Florida?” she asks.
“That’s what I signed up for,” I answer, realizing that I’m being kind of rude.
I’m not sure if she doesn’t notice, or if she’s just that determined, but Anita slides an inch closer, still smiling. She is beautiful, talented, and an enthusiastic bed partner from what I can remember.
And she’s right, I’m only here for a week. It certainly would be a way to fill up my nights, which have been spent sweating under mosquito netting, trying to conserve energy. I have an air-conditioner, but every kilowatt that I use is one that other people in this small city cannot. I don’t want to be a greedy American, coming down here to selfishly take the best for myself like people sometimes do.
Strands of her dark hair cascade over her forearm, gently undulating in the breeze. She pauses, watching me intently, giving me space to decide.
“Is there someone else? Someone you left back home?”
My jaw tightens reflexively.
