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I smile and reply.
T: What do you think?
P: Blue . . . More cheerful
T: Then brown it is.
P: That’s how this is going to go, huh?
T: Pretty much
P: The trains from your son’s room . . . dumpster, or donate?
T: Donate
P: Aw, I knew there was a softy under that rough exterior somewhere.
She’s dead wrong. There are no warm and fluffy parts of me.
T: Shouldn’t you be working?
P: Probably, the guy from the job I’m on is kind of a dick.
I tilt my head back, laughing out loud before responding.
T: Then you should probably stay off your phone and get back to work.
P: Will do. Have fun on your trip.
I chuckle as I exit the plane. A strange feeling swirls in my gut and I shake my head, reminding myself the last thing I need is to let some chick into my life, even one as sexy and captivating as Peyton.
While waiting in line for a rental car, I can’t help but text her back.
T: So, maybe greens . . . I don’t know. Surprise me.
P: A surprise huh? Oh, this is gonna be fun.
T: I thought I told you to stay off your phone and get back to work
P: I would do that if you’d stop texting me
T: Will do
P: Pink, now that would be a surprise
T: Not if you want to get paid
P: Putting my phone away now
Smog and soot cast an orange glow in the distance as the sun sets. The drive up the mountains to the Torrente mansion brings a rush of unwelcomed memories. Maria and I made this drive many times, laughing and enjoying the beautiful surroundings. As I glance out the window, nothing is beautiful. The rusty hue in the clouds matches the tarnished moments left behind by a woman who pretended she loved me. A woman who tricked me into believing she was mine and we were a happy family.
The moments when Maria would curl up on her side in bed and stare straight into my soul as though silently telling me she belonged to me still feel genuine. Her ability to plagiarize such sincere intimacy plagues me. Tori’s words surface, questioning if Maria did play me or if something else happened to explain the distance.
Eduardo is alive, when Torrente was set on executing him. Maybe it was Maria’s own father who perpetrated the hustle. Perhaps Maria was unaware of it. I have to find out how and why.
Marco, Torrente’s guard dog, and a man I considered a friend before this happened waits at the gate in a golf cart. An automatic rifle drapes his chest as he approaches the gate that’s opening. With a deep inhale, I exit the car, knowing I could die in a matter of minutes. As though we’ve never met, Marco spins me around, slamming my chest into the hood of the rental car. He searches me for weapons and finds nothing.
“I knew better than to come armed, Marco.” He doesn’t reply. “How’d you know I was here?”
