by Alexa Land
He’d used it when he told me he loved me.
I had to think about that one for a while. He had this entire false persona: fake name, fake accent, fake nationality. How much of what he’d told me was part of the lie, just some backstory he’d concocted for Ignacio Mondelvano? I had no way of knowing.
And yet…I believed he loved me. When he’d said it, even with that make-believe accent, it had felt like the truth, as honest and real as what I felt in return. I hadn’t put it into words yet, but I’d known for a while that I was in love with him. Nothing had changed that. Nothing could. But who was I in love with, exactly? Where did Joe end and Ignacio begin?
I had a million questions, and I knew we needed to have a very long talk. But I stayed among the ruins for over an hour, trying to sort out my emotions and make sense of it all. I also tried to get my anger in check, because I didn’t want to yell at him when I got back to the cottage. That wouldn’t accomplish anything.
Eventually, I got to my feet. My legs were stiff, and I was cold to the point of feeling numb. I pulled up the zipper of my dark blue ski jacket and trudged down the hill.
The walk back felt like hours, instead of the actual forty minutes it took to reach my destination. When I circled around to the front of the cottage, I was surprised to find a silver Nissan parked there, instead of the Renault. My father got out of his car and waved his phone as he exclaimed, “I’ve been trying to call you!”
“What are you doing here?”
“I got a call from Ignacio. He said you needed a ride back to Dublin, and he told me where you were. Then he said he was sorry and hung up on me. What the hell was that about?”
I murmured, “I don’t know,” as I patted my pockets for the keys. Then I remembered Ignacio had them. When I tried the front door, it was unlocked. Dread prickled down my spine as I hurried inside.
It was perfectly still.
I stood in the middle of the living room and called, “Ignacio?” That was stupid. The rational part of my brain knew he’d taken off in the rental car, but I called his name anyway.
There was a hotel notepad on the table, beside the keys to the cottage. I swallowed the dryness in my throat as I picked it up and began to read Ignacio’s fluid handwriting, which spanned about a dozen sheets of paper. It said:
I’ll always love you, Cameron. I need you to know that. I lied to you about my name and where I was from, but about nothing else. Every story I told you was true. Truest of all was when I said I loved you.
I never meant to hurt you, and I hated myself every single day for lying to you. I could try to explain it away by saying I lived that lie with everyone, but I know that’s bullshit. There’s no excuse for what I did. You asked me to be honest above all else, and I completely failed you.
You’re probably wondering if I ever planned to tell you the truth. I wanted to, but I didn’t know how. The more time that passed, the tougher it became. And once I told you, then what? My entire career and all my relationships are built on this lie, and it’s all a house of cards. How could I expect you to keep my secret for me? You’re far too honest and genuine to deceive your friends and family on my behalf.
When I told you that first night that I never really got close to people, this is why. It was easiest to just keep moving and not get attached. I hated lying to Ollie. Lying to you was a thousand times worse.
I know you can never forgive me for this deception. I broke your one rule, even though I knew how badly lies had hurt you in the past, and there’s no coming back from that. I’m so sorry, Cameron. God, I’m sorry. I hate myself so much for hurting you. It’s the very last thing I ever wanted to do.
I’m leaving Ireland. I don’t know where I’ll go, but it won’t be San Francisco. I don’t want to risk running into you, because I know seeing me would only hurt you more. I called your dad to come and pick you up, since your cellphone doesn’t get a signal out here. Please tell him I’m sorry for lying to both of you. I really appreciated how accepting he was, and I loved getting to feel like I was part of a family for a while.
Please take care of yourself for me.
Yours always,
I.
I murmured, “Fuck,” as I tossed the pad on the table and fumbled for my phone. He was right, it didn’t have a signal. I turned to my father and said, “I need to borrow your cellphone.”
He came up to me and asked, “Where’s Ignacio? And how the hell are we in my father’s cottage right now? I don’t understand any of this.”
“I’ll explain later. Please, just give me your phone.” He handed it over, and when I dialed Ignacio’s number, a familiar ringtone started to play. I rushed into the kitchen and grabbed the ringing phone from the counter as I muttered, “Shit.”
“What’s going on, Cam?”
I was too upset to answer and paced around the cottage, trying to think through my options. Ignacio had a two-hour head start and was probably already at the airport. We’d never catch up to him before he boarded a plane...to where? I had no idea. It could literally be anyplace in the world.
My father helped the best way he knew how. He found a bottle of whiskey in the kitchen, which he brought to the couch along with two glasses. Then he tossed a couple of logs on the embers in the fireplace before intercepting me mid-pace and saying, “Come on then, Cam. Sit down and have a drink, and tell me what the hell’s going on.”
I let him guide me to the sofa, and after I tossed back an inch of the amber-colored liquid, I told him what had happened at the ruins. My father muttered, “Jaysus, I never suspected a thing.”
“Yeah. Me neither.”
We both slumped on the couch. After a pause, he asked, “What are your feelings about all of this?”
“I’m furious, not only because he lied to me, but because he ran off before we could talk about it. He knew honesty was a huge thing with me, especially after what happened last year, but none of this changes how I feel about him. Doesn’t he know that?”
“What do you mean? What happened last year?”
I glanced at my father and said, “Oh, right, I never actually told you about that. Long story short, I got deeply involved with a man who lied to me to gain information on an arson case. Turned out, he was the person behind a fire I was investigating, not to mention a cold-blooded sociopath who tried to hurt a lot of people. After that, I was pretty sure I’d lost the ability to trust anyone ever again. But then Ignacio came along, and I fell hard. It wasn’t even a choice. Everything just felt so right.”
My father was quiet for a long moment. Finally, he said, “That sounds like a terrible thing you went through. I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you, Cam.”
“It’s not your fault. I’m the one who stopped coming to see you and making an effort to keep in touch.”
“We both did that,” he said. “Planes travel from Dublin to California just as sure as the other way ‘round, and I could have made more of an effort. Only, I didn’t think you needed me anymore. Hell, maybe you never really did. You were smarter than me by the time you were ten years old. Once you knew how to tie your shoes and ride a bike, there was nothing I could teach you.”
“I’ll always need you, Dad.”
A sad smile crinkled the corners of his eyes. “I’m glad you came to Dublin, son. I just wish it hadn’t all gone to shite for both of us.” He pulled a black velvet jeweler’s box from his pocket and popped the lid. A beautiful ring with a big diamond sparkled in the firelight. “I finally spoke to Caroline last night. I guess she felt too guilty to slam the door in my face on Christmas Eve. She told me point blank that we didn’t have a future together. I guess I already knew that, but I needed to hear her say it.” He exhaled slowly, and then he said, “About the only positive thing I can say is, at least I’ll be able to rebuild the pub in grand style with the money I’ll get back on this rock.”
“I’m sorry it didn’t work out with Caroline, Dad, but it really is her loss.”
“Thanks for sayin’ that.”<
br />
He refilled our glasses as I said, “We’re some pair, spending Christmas drowning our sorrows.”
“But your sorrows are just temporary. I know Ignacio, or whatever his name is, loves you just like you love him. I lost count of the number of times I saw him looking at you with pure adoration when we were working together this past week. The man even went so far as to rent your family’s cottage for Christmas! That’s an act of love right there. Either he’ll be back on his own, or my son the copper will track him down and convince him that running was a mistake.”
“He bought me the cottage, Dad. He said it belonged in our family, and he knew what it meant to me.”
“Jaysus. That’s one hell of a gesture.”
I nodded in agreement, then took a sip from my glass and said, “I’ve already been thinking about ways to track him down. As soon as I get back to California, I’m going to contact a guy named Christopher, who sells Ignacio’s paintings in his gallery. He’ll probably be given a forwarding address to send his checks, once Ignacio decides where he’s going. I’ll also do a database search at work and see what I can find out about Joe Martinez.” I frowned and muttered, “I’m never going to get used to that name.”
My father returned the velvet box to his pocket and sat up. “You probably want to get going. I’ll drive you to the airport, and on the way, you can use my phone to book your flight home.”
“I don’t want to leave yet, Dad. It’s Christmas, and you and I are both on our own and trying to regroup. I think the best course of action is to spend tonight getting completely shitfaced. Then tomorrow, we’ll figure out what comes next.”
As I refilled our glasses again, he said, “It’s surprising to me how well you’re coping with all of this.”
“You, too. That conversation with Caroline couldn’t have been easy.”
“It broke my heart, Cam. If I’m being perfectly honest, I went home and cried like a baby. Of course, if you ever tell anyone that, I’ll deny it. But now that I’ve heard it from her and know it’s really over, the only thing left to do is get on with my life. It won’t be easy, but it’s like they say, one day at a time. And if that’s too much, then I’ll break it down into hours, or even minutes.”
I murmured, “That’s exactly how I’m going to get through this, until I find Ignacio again.”
Chapter Thirteen
The next morning, I felt like I’d been hit by a truck. I’d spent the night staring at the ceiling and thinking about Ignacio, after my dad and I polished off all the alcohol in the cottage, so it was no wonder I felt like shit. I sat up and scrubbed my hands over my face, then looked around the living room. I’d given Dad the bedroom, and I could hear him snoring through the closed door.
After I got up and used the bathroom, I washed down some aspirin with a glass of water, then decided I really needed to get some air. I had the terrible idea of going for a run. Since I’d slept in sweats, I just had to put on my running shoes, and then I headed for the door. On the way out, I stuck my dad’s phone in my pocket.
I began by walking down the pitted dirt road to warm up. I should have started running after a few minutes, but instead I totally ran out of steam and ended up sitting on a stone wall at the side of the road. It was bitterly cold but also perfectly clear, and I stared up at the deceptively sunny blue sky for a while. Then I pulled the phone from my pocket and dialed a number in the states.
My friend and partner in the arson division answered with a cautious, “Hello?”
“Hey Seth, it’s Cameron Doyle. I’m calling on a borrowed phone. Did you have a good Christmas?”
“Hey, Cam! It wasn’t bad. My daughter was happy with her presents, and that’s what it’s all about, right? Making it special for the kids.”
“Pretty much.”
“Since you’re calling from an overseas number,” he said, “I assume you’re still in Ireland.”
“I am, and I need your help with something.”
“Is it about the arson case at your dad’s pub? Because that’s not exactly in our jurisdiction.”
I said, “It’s not that. I need a database search on someone. I was going to do it myself when I got home, but I think I might go crazy if I wait that long.”
“Is it work-related?”
“Nope. Not even a little. I know it’s against department policy to access the database for anything other than a case. I also know I’m putting you in an awkward position here, but I wouldn’t be asking if it wasn’t important.”
Seth sounded concerned. “This really isn’t like you, Cam. What’s going on?”
“I found out on Christmas that the man I’ve been seeing for the past three months has been using a false identity. I need to know who I’m in love with, Seth.”
He absorbed that for a moment, and then he said, “It’ll take me fifteen minutes to get to the station. I’m leaving now. Text me everything you know about this guy, and I’ll see what I can find.”
“Thanks. I owe you one.”
“Yeah, you really do.”
Once we disconnected, I sent him the name Joe Martinez, along with Ignacio’s birthdate and the possible birthplace of Inglewood, California. I had no idea if any of that was the truth, but it was all I had to go on.
It was too cold to keep sitting there, so I started walking again, and after a while, I began to run, mostly to keep myself warm. About half an hour after our call ended, Seth sent me a text. It said: I found what you’re looking for. When you get back to SF, drinks are on me. You’re gonna need them.
I stopped in the middle of the road and opened the first of three attachments, which turned out to be Joe Martinez’s juvie records from his late teens. The next attachment detailed a handful of convictions from his early-to-mid-twenties, including drunk and disorderly charges, a fine for marijuana possession, and arrests stemming from bar fights. There were gaps of a year or two between clusters of incidents. I wondered if those gaps were when he’d been out of the country, assuming he’d told the truth about that. Then about five years ago, they stopped for good. That was when he became Ignacio.
I opened the final attachment and stared at a mug shot of Joe Martinez, taken about ten years ago. He was thin and tired-looking, with a buzz cut and baggy clothes. Even though his jaw was set defiantly, there was sadness in his dark eyes. You’d only notice it if you really knew him. I doubted many people did.
It was hard to believe the bold, confident, gorgeous man I knew could have ever been so…ordinary. Most people would walk right past that guy on the sidewalk without even noticing him. On the other hand, Ignacio Mondelvano commanded attention.
That was when I realized something: he was his greatest work of art. It wasn’t just the makeover he gave himself, it was his self-assuredness. That’s what made Ignacio so striking, more than anything else. I wondered if it was an act, or if becoming Ignacio gave him that confidence.
I turned and started heading back to the cottage. Along the way, I forwarded Seth’s message to my number, then deleted the text and attachments from my father’s phone. It wasn’t that I was ashamed of Ignacio’s past or felt I had to hide it. I just wanted Dad to remember the man he knew, the one who’d spent the last week busting his ass to help us clean out the pub, not a stranger in a ten-year-old mug shot.
I wasn’t sure what that information did for me, either. I’d been so eager to go digging into Ignacio’s past, but there weren’t any answers waiting for me. All I was left with were more questions.
When I reached the cottage, I found my father in the kitchen, making a huge breakfast. He said, “There you are. I was wondering where you’d wandered off to.”
“I thought I’d go for a run.”
He raised a thick eyebrow and said, “After the way you tied one on last night?”
“Yeah, it was a terrible idea. So’s that mountain of grease you’re cooking up.”
My dad flipped the eggs he was frying in about a cup of melted butter and said, “This’ll cure whate
ver ails you. Just you wait and see.” I shook my head and went to take a quick shower.
*****
I’d been skeptical, but I actually did feel a bit better after we polished off that big breakfast. We washed the dishes and cleaned the kitchen, and then we got ready to leave the cottage. While Dad packed up the contents of the refrigerator, I went to work on the Christmas tree. First, I removed the two dozen cranes Ignacio and I had made. Had that really only been the day before? I lined them up on the mantel before untangling the lights from amid the lush, green branches. Then I carried the tree to the wood pile behind the house. It was depressing to leave it out there while it was still in its prime.
I went back inside and made sure the fire was out. On impulse, I picked up one of the cranes and turned it over in my hand before putting it in my suit pocket. After taking a last look around, I carried my luggage to the car while my dad locked up.
We began the long, slow drive down the bumpy dirt road, and I felt deflated as I watched the cottage in the rearview mirror. As soon as we rounded a bend, it disappeared from sight. I wasn’t sure when I’d be back there, and that was depressing. Between my father, who’d said he’d check on it regularly, and the housekeeper, who I’d called and hired to come out and clean it once a month, I knew it’d be in good hands. But I still didn’t like the thought of leaving it behind.
Dad and I didn’t say much on the drive back to Dublin, between our twin hangovers and the fact that we were both lost in thought. He took me to his apartment, which was about three blocks from his pub. It was a good-size unit on the top floor of a building that had probably been constructed in the 1980s. The apartment wasn’t fancy, but it was clean and well-maintained, and it showed pride of ownership.