She flushed again. “Stranger things have happened.”
“Las Hadas—what’s that mean?”
“The fairies. And no wisecracks.”
“Hey, I’m a serious guy! What do you suppose they’re doing right now?”
She looked at her wristwatch. “Probably taking an evening walk on the beach. At Las Hadas, it’s almost seven o’clock.”
Chapter 24
TUESDAY, DECEMBER 31
MANZANILLO, COLIMA, MEXICO
DAVE WAS SLEEPING in the clothes he’d worn on the plane. He had slid the lounge chair under an umbrella on the deck outside their room, but was now directly in the evening sun, which had started dropping toward the horizon to their west.
Kathryn sat on the edge of his chair and said softly, “It’s almost seven o’clock.” She looked cool and relaxed with fresh makeup and her curly hair still wet from the shower. She wore a crisp black sleeveless blouse, white shorts, and leather sandals she’d bought at the hotel’s Tabaqueria y Boutique Souvenir.
“No!” he shouted, his arms and legs thrashing like he was battling the darkest forces of evil.
She nudged him. “Babe?”
“Huh?” His eyes fluttered open.
“Wake up, I think you were having a bad dream.”
“I was.” He sat up, rested his elbows on his knees and held his head in his hands.
“What about?”
He blew air out of his puckered lips, looked up, and shook his head side to side. “Someone tried to kill me.”
“You got overheated in the sun. Next time I go shopping, lie on the bed to take a nap.”
“I didn’t plan to fall asleep. Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize, it’s okay. Why don’t you take a cool shower, then let’s walk on the beach before dinner.”
“Sounds good.” He sat up, stretched and yawned. “Great view, huh?”
Embodying the lifelong dream of Bolivian Tin King Antenov Patiño, Las Hadas Resort’s cobblestone paths twisted and turned past a white-on-white fantasy world of gargoyled turrets, cupolas, minarets, villas, plazas, and archways that clawed their way up the eastern tip of Península Santiago like Moorish apparitions.
Halfway up the hillside, Kathryn and Dave’s terra-cotta tiled deck looked out at Bahia de Manzanillo, over the tops of cascading red bougainvillaea and spindly, top-heavy coconut palms with stooped, twisted trunks.
Across the bay, along Playa San Pedrito, container ships waited to be offloaded, while gray Mexican Navy patrol boats with angry-looking deck guns nosed into their berths at Zona Naval.
Beyond Manzanillo Centro, a column of smoke wafted from the power plant, stratified, then hung over Playa El Viejo waiting for a breeze to blow it up and over the hills into the jungles of Colima State.
Kathryn heard the shower start, then the bathroom door opened and Dave stepped out, dripping wet and naked.
“Did you bring Excedrin?” he asked.
She moved close and ran her hand suggestively down his stomach. “Want to shower together?”
“You already took one.”
“A woman can never be too clean.”
“I’ve got a splitting headache.” He took a step back. “Musta got too much sun while I slept.”
“We haven’t eaten since we left San Francisco this morning, either.”
“Maybe that’s it.”
“The Excedrin’s in my bag by the sink.”
Kathryn sat at the table and surveyed their bright, airy, spacious suite. White drapes, white bedding, white marble floors, and white rattan furniture complemented glossy white masonry walls. Except for the screen, even the television was white. She hummed a few bars of “Auld Lang Syne.”
After Dave finished showering and changed into shorts, T-shirt, and sandals, they strolled along Calleja de Maria Christina, through the palm-shaded Plaza de Doña Albina, and down the fragrant, hibiscus-lined stairway onto the smooth golden sand of Playa Las Hadas. It was still warm from the afternoon sun, and a few die-hard tourists lingered under their white-roofed beach tents.
“I’m hungry.” Dave chewed unconsciously.
“I can see that,” Kathryn told him.
She grabbed his hand and led him to the water’s edge, pulled off her sandals, and let the water lap up around her ankles. He did the same.
“Let’s walk to the Marina, then back to Los Delfines Restaurant for dinner,” she suggested.
Supported by fat wooden pilings that also held up the palm-frond roof, Los Delfines’ open-air walls stuck out over a shallow lagoon. Only a few tables were taken when they got there.
The maitre d’ held Kathryn’s chair, bowed at the waist, seated Dave, then flipped open a pair of linen napkins and placed them on their laps with a flourish.
“Bienvenido a Los Delfines, señor y señora,” he greeted them. “¿Cómo estás?”
“Muy bien, gracias,” Kathryn answered.
“Excelente. Me llamo Ramon.”
“¿Por qué el restaurante no ocupado, Ramon?”
“Cena con baile fiestas para Año Nuevo en Restaurante El Terral y Legazpi Restaurante-Discoteca, señora.”
“What was that about?” Dave asked when Ramon left them to study their menus.
“He said the restaurant’s not busy because they’re having New Year’s dinner-dance parties at the other restaurants.”
Their corner table looked over a bamboo railing into the lagoon, whose green water was illuminated by submerged piling-mounted lamps. Every few minutes, a school of terrified fish leaped to the surface and frantically skimmed across the water, seeking safety in the man-made rock jetty, pursued by lightning-quick two-foot sharks.
The unlucky fish were caught and consumed in a savage frenzy of roily red foam. Whenever the carnage slowed, diners walked to the rail and dropped table scraps into the water, provoking the sharks, encouraging a repeat of the gruesome ritual.
They tried a bottle of nice Mexican wine, rolls with orange butter, red snapper Vera Cruz, and spicy grilled mahimahi.
Over a dessert of coconut flan, Kathryn asked, “How’s your headache?”
“A little better.”
“You shouldn’t have so many headaches. I’m worried about you.”
“I don’t have that many. It was a long flight without food, then I was dumb enough to fall asleep in the sun. I’ll be fine.”
“That’s what you said in the hospital, after the accident.”
“I was right.”
“I’m not so sure. You promised to have an MRI.”
“I said after the holidays—if I didn’t feel better. But I do. And the holidays aren’t over yet.”
He placed his hand on hers and squeezed.
After dessert they walked back and forth along the short beach between the mouth of the small-craft harbor and the jetty, past Legazpi Discoteca, where they heard the New Year’s revelers gearing up for a midnight climax.
“We could watch the new year come in at a party, if you want,” Dave told her.
“I’d rather watch from our room.”
By the time Kathryn came out of the bathroom, Dave had stripped and was lying on the bed, reading John Grisham’s A Painted House.
“Great book,” he said. “Best he’s written.”
She took off her blouse and shorts and hung them in the closet. He tossed the book to the floor and watched. She turned around wearing only a pair of bikini panties. The cold air conditioning had made her nipples taut.
“Would you put on your new nightgown?” he asked.
“How do you know I bought a new gown?”
“Em told me.”
She dug through her suitcase and pulled out a Nordstrom bag.
“Is the front low-cut?” He asked.
“Yes, see-through, too, but you said you had a headache.”
He glanced down. “What I have isn’t a headache.”
“So I see.” She felt herself grow moist. “Give me five minutes to brush my teeth and wash my face.”
>
The lights were off when Kathryn climbed into bed, but the glow of the crescent moon bounced off the water and shone through the filmy drapes. Dave lay facing the wall. She snuggled up and slipped her hand around his waist. “I have something to tell you,” she whispered.
When he didn’t respond she propped herself up on an elbow. His face was relaxed, his eyes closed, and he breathed deep and rhythmically, like only a person in deep sleep can.
Kathryn sighed, then switched on the bedside lamp and picked up the telephone.
“Hi, Mom,” Emma finally answered.
“It was nice of Ashley’s family to ask you to stay with them for a few days,” Kathryn said. Hearing music in the background, she asked, “What are you doing?”
“Having a New Year’s party. Me ’n’ Ash get to stay up for a couple more hours, until midnight.”
“Well, I just wanted you to know we love you and miss you, and to say Happy New Year. Have a good time.”
“Thanks, Mom. I’ve gotta go now.”
“Okay, honey. Good night.” Kathryn held the receiver to her ear for several seconds, then tugged the covers up around her chest, fluffed up a couple of pillows, leaned back and opened a book, but couldn’t concentrate on it. Just before midnight she heard the crowd at El Terral count down the final ten seconds of the year.
Chapter 25
“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” Kathryn’s cry came out a gasp, her scream a whimper. Her entire bare body trembled. The naked stranger cupped her tender breast and pressed in tight against her, probing from behind.
A second faceless man slid his hand up her thigh. She felt a finger slip inside, then another.
“You can’t do that, you’re not my husband.”
“So what?” The man behind her thrust, and she wantonly teased him with her buttocks. “You like it.”
“Yes.” She was hot, wet, and ready. And ashamed. “It shouldn’t be like this except with my husband.”
“Quiet on the set!” The director was nude, too, except for sunglasses, a Rolex, and motorcycle boots. The porn-movie studio was antiseptically white and too warm.
Sweat trickled down her right breast, collected on her nipple, and dripped onto the sheet.
He leaped from his canvas chair. “Lights, camera, action!” His penis swung back and forth like a grandfather clock’s pendulum.
The cameraman switched on a huge carbon-arc stage light and aimed it directly into Kathryn’s animal-hungry eyes. She squeezed them shut but it didn’t help. The light was as relentless and penetrating as her pornographic tormentors.
When she awoke, the tropical morning sun was streaming through the gauzy curtains, burning through her eyelids, and searing her retinas.
Her gown had been pulled up above her waist, and Dave was spooned tightly behind her. He had inserted two fingers and was stroking her wetness. His erect penis poked at her from the back.
“Is that you, Babe?” she asked.
“Who else would it be?”
She grasped him, then turned onto her back, pulled him close, spread her legs apart and guided him in. He lifted himself, and while she massaged her sweet spot, he nibbled her swelling, darkening nipples, moving in and out slowly but insistently.
She arched her back. “Now!”
His relief came first, hers moments later.
Afterward, they lay together. He propped himself up and looked into her eyes. “I didn’t know you had wet dreams.”
“I don’t.”
“Couldn’t prove it by me. But whatever, it was fun.”
“Don’t expect this every New Year’s morning.”
She fanned her face and pushed him off. “Why is it so hot in here?”
“I turned off the air conditioner during the night.”
“Why?”
“Didn’t think the morning was gonna heat up so fast.”
“Turn it on, please.”
When he crawled back into bed, she said, “I have something to tell you.”
“If you’re still horny, it’s my duty to try.” He laid his hand on her tummy, but she moved it.
“I’m serious,” she said, and paused. “I’m pregnant.”
“How can you tell so soon?”
“What do you mean ‘so soon’?”
“We just finished making love five minutes ago.”
“Don’t make jokes. It happened in October.”
“You’re sure?”
“Absolutely. I went to Doctor Burton last Thursday.”
He didn’t move or speak for several minutes.
“Are you upset?” she asked.
“Of course I’m not upset.” He rolled onto one elbow, and kissed her on the mouth. “But I don’t learn I’m going to be a father every day. It’ll take a little time to sink in.”
“I understand. This will change our lives forever.”
“It sure will.”
Chapter 26
AT NINE-THIRTY, Kathryn ordered breakfast from room-service. She was tying the belt on her white terrycloth Las Hadas robe when the doorbell rang ten minutes later.
“That was fast.”
Instead of a waiter with breakfast trays, a maid stood at the door wearing a starched white uniform and a name tag that read, ME LLAMA LUCINDA. Kathryn guessed she was about fifteen.
“¡Hola, señorita!” Kathryn greeted her.
“¡Buenos dias, señora! ¿Quantos personas en éste habitación, por favor?”
“Dos.”
“¡Gracias!” Lucinda made a note on her clipboard, and left.
“Who was at the door?”
“A maid, asking how many people are in our room.”
“That’s weird—she could’ve looked it up in the guest register at the front desk.”
“This is Mexico, we shouldn’t expect American logic.”
When the doorbell rang again, the waiter rolled in a stainless steel cart, spread a cloth on the table in front of the window that overlooked La Bahia, and set a plate of sliced water-melon, cantaloupe, guava, banana, and pineapple in the center. He uncovered a basket of rolls and muffins, and finally poured two cups of steaming coffee.
Dave came out of the bathroom with a fresh shave and wet hair, his complimentary robe cinched tight at the waist, looking like a hairy-legged stork in a ghost costume. He checked the table. “Looks terrific.”
The waiter handed him a check, which he signed after adding a generous tip.
“Will there be anything else, señor?”
“Gracias, no.”
They ate silently for a few minutes.
“Is your age a health problem for you or the baby?” he asked.
“Women over thirty-five should have an amniocentesis test to rule out fetal chromosome disorders, but Burton recommends against it in our case because amniocentesis complicates a potentially more serious risk.”
He stopped with a fork full of blood-red guava halfway to his mouth. “What risk?”
“What’s your blood type?”
“A-positive.” He swallowed the fruit with a bite of muffin and picked up his coffee.
“I’m RH-negative. You’ve got to take a blood test immediately, unless—”
“Unless what?”
“The possibility of genetic defect due to my age plus the inability to detect it by amniocentesis, added to the RH factor, creates a very high-risk pregnancy. Diedre suggested we discuss abortion.”
He set his coffee cup down harder than necessary. Coffee slopped over the rim onto the pristine tablecloth. “What did you tell her?”
“That I’d talk to you. She wants us to understand the risks involved, and consider all possibilities.”
“Ultimately, it’s your decision, but unless your life’s in danger, let’s not consider it. I’ll go for a blood draw Monday.”
“I already made an appointment.”
“Shoulda known.” He ate two slices of water-melon and a hunk of pineapple. “What next?”
“If you’re RH-positive, the baby probably is,
too. Once Diedre confirms that, she’ll watch us closely. If the pregnancy progresses normally, she’ll give me a RhoGam injection during my twenty-eighth week to suppress RH antibody production, for the baby’s protection.”
“What if things don’t go smoothly?”
“We take it a step at a time. Diedre will do everything possible to see we have a healthy baby.”
He ate the remainder of his fruit and rolls hesitantly. “There’s something I want to ask you.”
“Sounds serious.”
“Remember a year or so ago, we discussed the possibility of me adopting Emma?”
“Of course.”
“How would you feel about me filing court papers to adopt her now?”
“It’d make me happy.”
“What about Emma? I need her approval.”
“Ask her when we get home.”
“I will. What do you think she’ll say?”
“‘Yes.’ Are you sure that’s what you want?”
“Absolutely. Know what else I want?”
“Tell me.”
“When everything settles down—after the baby’s born healthy, and we nail the SOB that’s killing the priests, let’s take a honeymoon.”
“You’ve got my vote. Where should we go?”
“The most romantic place I can think of—Paris.”
“Sounds great,” she told him. “I’ve never been there.”
“Me neither, but I’ve always wanted to go.”
“When we get home, I’ll buy a couple of travel guides and talk to our travel agent.”
He leaned back in his chair and crossed his right leg over his left knee. Kathryn giggled.
“What’s so funny?” he demanded.
“Your robe fell open, you’re not wearing underwear, and I can see you’re feeling romantic again.”
“Amazing what a good night’s sleep does for a man. Does it have the same effect on a pregnant woman?”
She stood, untied her robe, let it fall to the marble floor, and tugged him toward the bed. “You woke me up this morning, what do you think?”
Chapter 27
IT WAS ALMOST NOON when they smeared themselves with sunscreen beneath the white, Moorish-style beach tent.
Until Judgment Day Page 10