I centered my concentration on the slick of the paddle against the waves. The burn in my upper arms told me my muscles worked hard to keep up with the quick pace of the rest of the group.
“Did you see it?” George cried out.
“A dolphin!” Janice crowed. “Oh my gosh! Right in between us. Did you see that, Suzie?”
My efforts were solely focused on moving my kayak forward, not on the sights around me. But I had caught up. I floated a mere yard away from Janice. “No, I missed it.” I eased up on my paddling, letting the kayak cut through the salt water on its own momentum.
“Don’t worry. I’m sure there’ll be more.”
George drifted alongside Janice now. We could talk without having to yell anymore.
“How much farther, do you think?” I looked across the bay to the point of land north of us. Janice’s desire to kayak across the bay was coming true.
George squinted and looked up at the cliff’s edge. “I’d say another couple miles at least.”
I groaned.
“You can’t tell me you aren’t enjoying this. Can you believe the view from here?” Janice asked.
She was right. I was enjoying it. I didn’t think I would, but each paddle, each drop of sweat, each mile crossed I felt more and more alive. Sailboats dotted the bay all around us, their colorful sails billowing in the strong sea breezes. Fisherman, motoring in with a pre-dawn catch, sped past us from time to time. There were even a few windsurfers this far out, jumping and sailing across the ragged waves.
Looking back at the shore, the bright green of the palm trees and the colorful hotel buildings made for a picturesque display. I couldn’t believe I had paddled out so far all on my own.
“Hey, guys,” called out one of George’s friend—Jim or Tim or something like that, “I wanna get there before Christmas. Can we get a move on?”
I stuck my paddle in the water, pulling as hard as I could. My kayak cut through the waves, and joy filled my heart. A lightness of being that I’d never felt before. After the emotional turmoil of the last few days, it surprised me to feel renewed, alive, clean and unburdened for the first time in a long, long time.
“I’ll race you,” I yelled out to Janice, knowing I could never beat her. She was much stronger than I. But I didn’t care. I wanted to paddle, to feel the wind in my hair and the sun on my face, and live.
“You’re on,” said my friend. The muscles stood out on her skinny arms, and she bore down on her paddle. “Let’s see what you’re made of, Eisenhart.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Our last morning in Acapulco I rolled my suitcase—more well-packed than when I arrived (the wheels actually rolled this time)—into the lobby. My key card had been handed in, and my flight for San Antonio was leaving in a couple of hours.
“So, you think you’ll be okay going to the airport alone?” Janice asked. “I mean, my plane doesn’t leave until tonight, but I don’t mind hanging out with you for a few hours.”
“Nah, don’t worry about it. I’ll be fine. Still got some of my book left to read.” I held up a paperback book as proof. “And besides, I know you want to spend some time with George before you leave.”
She blushed. “Oh, Suzie, he’s such a great guy.”
“I know.”
“Who would have guessed I’d meet someone here of all places?”
“Why not?” I shrugged. “You’re a great catch, babe.”
She smiled at the compliment. “What do you think of him?”
“I think you know what I think of him already.” We walked over to a bench near the entrance and sat down together. “He’s perfect for you.”
“You think so?”
“You know it’s true. He follows you around like a little lost puppy.”
She giggled at the description. “Do you think I’m nuts for thinking about moving to West Virginia?”
“No. I think it’s about time you moved on. Did something just for you. Your firm has been sucking the life out of you for years.”
“Yeah, but at least they paid well. I’ll kinda miss that.”
“No you won’t.”
She smiled. We both knew she’d be spending all her free time with George, which was a far cry from the way she’d been spending her free time in Chicago.
I gave her a hug. “You’re probably the best friend a girl could have.”
She waved a hand at me. “Oh, come on now.”
“I’ll never forget how important that is—ever.” I looked her hard in the eye to let her know that I meant it.
“Stop it, or you’re going to make me cry.” She brushed her fingertips underneath her eye and sniffed.
“Promise me that we’ll get together more often like this,” I gestured at the tropical beauty right outside the glass doors. “I’ve missed you.”
“I’ve missed you, too.” We waited for my taxi to the airport to arrive.
“So,” Janice said, “are you glad you took the sea kayaking course?”
I thought about our amazing paddle across the bay yesterday. “Definitely. But, personally, I was really disappointed to find the trapeze class had been cancelled indefinitely. I mean, why come to Acapulco if you can’t brush up on your acrobatic skills?” I gave her a grin.
She jabbed me with her elbow. “All right. Maybe that’s not your thing—but George and me, maybe next time we’re here, we could try it out.”
George and Janice were the perfect pair—I had never seen two people eat so much and work out so hard. Sickening. They would probably have dozens of dark-haired, long-limbed children who could out-run, out-bike, out-swim, and out-raft the whole state of West Virginia.
I relished a last chat with Janice before I headed home. After twelve years, my mind finally cleared of worry. I felt freer than I had in a long, long time.
Sitting in the lobby and waiting with Janice, I patted my purse and the copy of the important papers I stowed there. The official copy of our divorce papers would be filed by my attorney. I had left a packet for Señor Esposito at the reception desk, who would be picking it up later today.
But the copy I carried was just for me. Something to remind me of my mistakes and remind me of the important things in my life. Not what my mother or my best friend thought of me, but being honest about who I was.
I wanted to shout in that bustling lobby: Here I am, Suzette Eisenhart, and I am divorced.
“Hey, I think your taxi’s here.” Janice pointed out the glass lobby doors at the yellow-and-black Volkswagen Bug waiting in the circular drive.
Coolest taxi ever.
God, I loved this country.
“Well, guess this is it,” I announced.
“Yep. Have a safe flight.”
“Thanks, sweetie.” I gave her one last hug, and then grabbed the handle of my suitcase. Nothing remained here for me. I’d finished what I’d set out to do. Now, I needed to get back to the San Antonio and see if I could salvage my relationship with James.
I climbed in the back seat of the Bug while the driver stuffed my suitcase into the front storage trunk. Janice stood inside the doors of the hotel, waving and smiling.
I waved back as the cab pulled away from the curb.
I thought about James and our little green-and-white house in the suburbs. It had all been so perfect. Too perfect to last maybe. Several times on the drive to the airport, I wished I could have called him. But even if I could, who knew if he would answer.
I wasn’t sure if he would be waiting for me when I got back home, but I would accept whatever decision he made. All was not lost. I loved him, and I thought he could love me again. It might take him some time, but I hoped he would forgive me.
I thought of his angular face that was more interesting than handsome and the way his lanky body moved on the tennis court, gangling and awkward. Yet he could still serve the best smash I’d ever seen.
He might not be waiting for me at the airport when I got back, but he would be there. Somewhere in San Antonio
. I would find him. I would make things work again.
“Señorita?” The taxi driver pulled into the airport, the engine of his car rumbling and spewing black exhaust into the air.
“Oh, we’re here.”
“Sí. Puede usted que le ayudo?” My driver gestured at the heavy, bolder-like suitcase sitting on the curb.
“No,” I shook my head at him. “I don’t need any help. I can manage all by myself.”
I exited the cab into the bright, hot sunshine of Acapulco, and, for the first time the heat didn’t stifle me.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
April 2005 – Seven Months Later
“Tall, non-fat latte with a shot of hazelnut,” I told the barista behind the counter at my favorite coffeehouse a few miles from home. My life might be dramatically different than before that trip to Acapulco, but my drink preferences had stayed the same.
The woman at the register took the ten dollar bill out of my hand and swapped it for some change.
I picked out a seat by the big plate glass window in front and waited for my order. The weather, which had been hot the day I left for Acapulco, was cool and rainy. That pouring down, lightning-and-thunder kind of rain that sweeps across Texas, pounds out the dust, and then disappears as fast as it arrives.
It was Saturday. The house I’d once shared with James felt too large, too empty, and too dark today. I wanted to be out with people, noise, and activity. My seat by the window did an adequate job of distracting me.
The home improvement store next to the coffeehouse attracted a constant stream of shoppers. People loaded lumber, PVC pipe, and grass seed into trucks, minivans, and even an old, beat-up station wagon.
“Tall, non-fat latte with a shot of hazelnut!” A teenage boy called out from behind the counter.
I hopped off the high stool and went to collect my drink.
As I sipped my latte, I wondered where James would be on a rainy Saturday afternoon. The image of his face, half-smiling, his dimple in full force, popped into my brain. Regret tugged in my gut, but I pushed back any bad feelings about the way things ended.
When I arrived back in San Antonio no one had been there to greet me. No car had waited near Baggage Claim to pick me up.
On the plane, I couldn’t resist picking up the air phone and dialing James’s cell. I wanted to listen to his voicemail message, but that warm honey of a voice made me want to say something. I’m sorry. Forgive me. I love you.
I’d almost said it, too.
But then, I realized I needed to back off. Making rash decisions and rash comments had gotten me into trouble in the first place. A man like James deserved some distance, some time—to bombard him with my feelings and my apologies now would do nothing.
So I arrived in San Antonio with my luggage and a divorce.
When the taxi dropped me off at our little green-and-white house, I knew James would be gone. Even from the outside, although nothing really had changed—the flowerbeds were overrun with crab grass and the backyard fence was missing one of its slats—I knew something was different.
Walking through the front door, I saw the coat rack. His trench coat was gone, and it was sunny and ninety-five degrees outside. Then I knew for sure that he’d left, and he wasn’t going to come back.
At first, I didn’t want to look any further. I dropped my suitcase on the entryway floor, set my handbag on the sofa table, and sat down, staring at the sage green walls of our living room. Maybe if I didn’t look any further, I would be mistaken. Maybe he was still at work. Maybe he would be back soon, folding laundry or watching the basketball game on TV.
So I sat there on the couch for hours, watching the sun make its way across the floor in hot white patches of light.
That had been months ago.
Even though we worked for the same company, we never saw each other. He worked in development, and I worked as a technical writer. We focused on different products. I kept my nose to the grindstone and buried myself in bulleting target ideas, formatting tables and charts, and indexing technical terminology.
And I kept that very important paper in my desk. I waited for the weeks to pass, for the divorce to become final. I wouldn’t feel completely unburdened from my past until that day. Six months of waiting to be single again—for real.
I made a new weekend routine to replace the Saturday morning breakfast-in-bed I’d shared with James for almost four years. Saturdays were my new ‘special’ day. I got up early, washed a couple loads of laundry, and then made my way to one of several coffee places within a short drive of the house.
This morning I’d chosen The Coffee Beanery. Horrible name (I mean, what’s a ‘beanery’?) but fantastic coffee and a great people-watching window. Those were the key elements for me. I read the paper, sipped my coffee, and watched the Saturday morning crowds ebb and flow in the parking lot.
I sat for several hours watching the daily lives of San Antonians play out before me. Once I got jacked up on caffeine or my butt got too sore from sitting on the padded stool, I’d go home.
This morning, five sips away from my caffeine max for the day, I saw the car.
His car.
James’s car.
If my heart wasn’t already beating a million miles a minute from the two lattes I’d consumed, I’m sure it would have beaten as fast because of that car. A 1998 maroon Volkswagen Jetta with a small dent in the front fender from the time I tried to parallel park by the Riverwalk. Not my finest moment.
His car has been parked twenty-five yards out, in the sea of other cars. The rain had slowed to a drizzling grayness, making it easier to distinguish it from all the rest.
My ex-fiancé climbed out of it, his long, thin limbs unfolding like a Swiss Army Knife.
I fiddled nervously with the handle on my coffee cup. I wanted to walk up to him, ask him to forgive me, and have everything go back to the way it was. But life is never that simple.
James wove between parked cars, making his way toward the sporting goods store. His familiar, awkward gait vanished from view, and that’s when I made my move.
I got up from the stool and self-bussed my mug in the white bin by the garbage can. For a moment I wished I wore something a little less slob-on-a-Saturday morning: gray yoga pants, a faded yellow hoodie with a hole on the elbow, and the I-haven’t-washed-my-hair-since-yesterday-morning ponytail.
I reminded myself he had seen me under much worse circumstances. Strengthening my resolve, I left the coffee house and pulled the yellow hood up over my head to keep off the drizzle.
*
I waited by his car, watching for him. I was soaked through. Thank goodness the rain had stopped after only a few minutes of standing in it. The weak sun peeked out from behind patches of clouds. A nice Saturday was on its way after all.
James emerged from the sporting goods store, a large bag in one hand. He looked up, and his gaze locked onto me. He paused in his steps for a moment, but he kept heading straight for me.
A shiver ran through me.
When he came within a few feet of me, I said, “Looks like you could use some help.”
Wordlessly, he looked from me to his right front tire, which was as flat as a pancake.
“Suzie, what are you doing here?”
“I’m here to help you. Can you pop the trunk and get out the spare?”
He set the bag down next to me, and pressed a button on his keychain. “When did you learn how to change a tire?”
I could hear the beginning of a smile in his voice, but I didn’t look up. We had a tenuous connection I didn’t want to break.
He handed me the jack, and I got down on my knees to set it under the frame of the car.
“Oh, somebody I once knew taught me how—“ My mind flashed back to the night I met James—his hands on mine, showing me how to use the jack and how to loosen the lug nuts. Everything about him that night had been determined, masculine, and precise.
“Oh, really?”
I looked up and caught
his green-eyed gaze. I missed their warmth and their softness. No other man had eyes like those.
The words tumbled out of my mouth, “I’m sorry, James. So, so sorry.” Before he could react, I bent my head down, ratcheting the handle to lift the car up higher. “I was nineteen, and I was an idiot. I didn’t know what to do. I never wanted to hurt you. Never.”
His hand touched my hair—a cool, soft touch. “Oh, Suze,” he said with a voice full of misery and hurt. “You could have told me.”
“I know,” I whispered.
He was right. I could have. If I knew this man so well, I should have known he would understand, but I never even gave him the chance.
My cold, wet fingers slipped on the lug nuts. I tried to use the damp sleeve of my raggedy hoodie to get a better grasp.
He stood there for a moment, his hand on my head. The weight of it comforted me. Then, he walked to the trunk to wrestle out the spare.
I took a deep breath, my heart pounding furiously, and asked, “Why don’t I buy you a cup of coffee?”
James set the spare down next to me. I kept cranking the jack. “What about pie? There has to be pie.”
My heart beat faster. “Coconut cream?”
“Hell yes.”
I laughed. Lightness and air filling me from head to toe. He became my James again, my sweet, silly James.
When we finished changing the tire, we headed back to The Coffee Beanery. We walked side-by-side. I wanted to grasp his hand in mine, but knew that something like this needed lots of time, lots of care.
As we strolled closer to the coffeehouse, I slipped the cap to the tire’s air valve into my pocket. I hoped James wouldn’t notice it was missing, but if he did, I think he would forgive me.
He held the door open for me, and I walked inside, but not before I caught his gaze and saw that green softness. Something I thought I wouldn’t ever see again.
In one hand he carried the large bag from the sporting goods store. I wondered why he didn’t put it in his trunk, but when we sat down to drink our coffee in a quiet corner, he showed me why.
Acapulco Nights Page 18