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Chapter 14
GABE
In the end, Tillie can’t stop at one bite and eats my entire lobster taco, which is fine by me. I’m good with egg and toast, and I’m amused she feels so strongly about what to spend money on.
José returns to clear our plates and remarks that it’s a good day to see the stingrays.
“I heard about those!” Tillie says.
“My son runs a boat out to Stingray Bay,” José says. “The stingrays know the sound of the engine means they will get food. You haven’t truly experienced La Jarra until you have pet the silky belly of one of those beasts!”
“I’ll try to get there,” Tillie says. “I saw the turtles this morning.”
“Another good expedition.” He nudges me. “Of course, Gabe here has a best friend, Mendo. He runs a boat out to Stingray Bay, too.”
“Mendo does tours?” Tillie’s eyes light up. “I think he owes me after getting the whole town to call me a hottie drinkslinger.”
“I would agree with you,” José says. “Give him a call.”
“You want to go?” I ask Tillie.
“Of course I do!”
I nod. Mendo will think it’s great. I send him a text that Tillie wants a tour in exchange for his hottie drinkslinger nickname that seems to be sticking.
He says sure, he has space for two on Monday.
“I have to open the bar in an hour,” I tell Tillie. “But Mendo says we can go tomorrow afternoon. The tour leaves at one. We’ll want to meet at the hut at twelve thirty to ride to the dock.”
She squeals. “Yes!”
“Is it okay if you leave your sister behind? It’s not a trip for a little one.”
“Oh no. They nap in the afternoon. It’s perfect.”
We wander back through the restaurant, and when our wrists bump, we end up holding hands. A zip of adrenaline darts through me, and I don’t fight it. At this point, I suspect my mother is burning candles day and night to bring about a romance in her son. She worries, I know, that I don’t connect with anyone beyond the easy friendship I have with Mendo and the gang. She’s told me.
“Aren’t you exhausted after the late nights and early excursions with your sister?” I ask her.
She shrugs. “I keep weird hours. Always have.”
We load onto the motorcycle. She stands on the pegs, resting her chin on my shoulder before I start the engine. “I love riding across the island with you. I feel like I see so much. I can smell everything. The wind has a taste!”
“What does it taste like?”
“Like the dregs of a margarita, when it’s watered down with the salt from the rim and tidbits of lime.”
“Huh.” I’d never thought of the air having a flavor.
As we fly down the highway back to the condo complex, I try to taste the wind.
Watery lime and salt. She’s right.
I drop her off and ride on to park in my usual spot in the lot down the beach. The crowd is picking up, rented chairs and umbrellas dotting the sand.
Quite a few people have spread their blankets near my hut. They perk up when I walk by and unlock the low door.
“The barman is here!” one shouts. “Whoop, whoop!”
