Sol (Love in Translation Book 1)

by Leslie McAdam

  “Dani—”

  “No.”

  “Tomorrow?”

  “No.”

  The muscles corded in his neck. His handsome neck. He let out an annoyed breath. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

  “You can take that as a no. Don’t come back to class.” He had to go. I had no use for soldiers who brought nothing but war and destruction, fighting and power plays. I’d started to tremble. I hated conflict like this. Where was my yoga when I needed it? My nonconfrontation? My acceptance?

  Nowhere near him.

  He took a step toward me. “I’m fairly sure if I get the administration involved, they won’t like it that a teacher is banning a student from class. But what I really want to know, is why you’re banning me from your life when we have so much history together, and I’m the only reminder of home and family you’ve got.”

  “I’ll never forgive you. You came back the hero from Afghanistan while my brother did not.”

  He flinched and gave me a slow, disbelieving head shake. “I’m no hero,” he said fiercely. With a finger, he stroked my cheek, which made my throat thicken so I could say no more. Then, taking his belt, boots, wallet, phone, and keys, he closed the door behind him and was gone.

  I’d thought I hadn’t any more tears left, but apparently I was wrong. Oh, so wrong.

  Through them, I glanced at the scented candles on the table, batik spread on the couch, and earth mama clothes scattered on the floor. Floorganization. I didn’t own much, but what I did own was meaningful and mostly picked up from my travels—a blanket from Peru, sweater from Ecuador, skirt from Bali, notebooks from Japan. I was especially fond of trying different toothpastes from different countries. My current tube came from Italy. Divine.

  I couldn’t stay here.

  My two large bags were shoved in the bottom of the freestanding wardrobe, ready to be filled, zipped up, and hoisted in a cab. It wouldn’t take me long to pack up. I could be gone within the hour. No one would know I was ever in Spain. I could fold up like a pop-up shop and never be seen again. I didn’t have to deal with Trent, after all. It was my life. He brought that suffering to me. I didn’t have to suffer.

  I could just leave.

  But where would I go?

  Nowhere.

  I curled up on my couch and rocked, my arms wrapped around my knees. This room felt too small, too empty. Pointless. Like there was no reason for any of this—this living thing. Not if it was gonna hurt this bad.

  Degan. I miss you.

  I’d better just pack up and get out of here. I got off the couch and headed over to my wardrobe when my phone lit up with a text from Louise.

  You still in Spain?

  I picked it up and called her on speaker phone, sniffling. “Of course I’m still here.” While technically it was the truth, a leaden lump formed in my belly, and I wrung my hands. “Okay, I was getting ready to pack up.”

  Her voice came over the phone, satisfied. “I knew it.” Then her voice softened. “Trent still there?”

  “No. I kicked that fucker out.”

  The line went silent. “Dani. What happened?”

  A sob welled up, and I couldn’t talk.

  “What do you need?” she continued. But still I couldn’t answer. After a pause, she made a decision. “No class today. I’ll be over in a few, and we can get some breakfast.”

  “Do what you want,” I said listlessly.

  “Open the door for me when I get there,” she ordered.

  Twenty minutes later, Louise hustled in my kitchen, making coffee on a percolator designed by Sputnik engineers, and cutting up fruit for a salad. She set out a container of yogurt and honey.

  “You’re gonna eat something, pipsqueak. Otherwise you’ll fade away.”

  I didn’t care if I ever ate again. All morning I’d alternated between a deadening numbness and exploding over every little thing, mixed with the burning desire to just get the fuck out of Spain.

  Taking my current nonresponse with aplomb, she scooped out some yogurt, piled on cut-up strawberries and other fruit, and drizzled honey on top.

  “Take a bite.” I did. It tasted delicious, but I didn’t feel like eating anything. With her eyes, she urged me to eat some more, so, mechanically, I took two more bites for her. She made a bowl for herself and sat across from me at my kitchen table, pouring each of us a cup of coffee. My savage hair and bloodshot eyes must have been a sight for her, all serene in matching royal blue from head to toe. But she never minded my free spirit.

  As I took another bite, I asked, “Have you ever had someone do something that just fucked you over?”

  Lulu’s raised eyebrow said, you have got to be kidding me. Out loud, she said, “Of course.”

  “And no matter what good points they have, you can’t get over that?”

  “Tell me about it,” she muttered so emphatically I wondered what she was thinking about.

  “What happened to you?”

  “Don’t change the subject. What are you talking about?”

  “Trent is the reason Degan went in the army. And since Degan went in the army and didn’t come back…”

  I didn’t need to say anymore, because Lulu’s eyes shone. Talking about my brother made me want to punch something.

  My chest seized up, and tears went to my eyes. Lulu got up and reached over to hug me, but I pushed down her arms. “Don’t.” I crossed my hands over my chest. She sat back down.

  “Lots of people join the military.”

  A flash of indignation shot up my spine. “Not my brother. He wouldn’t have done it except for Trent. He wouldn’t have gone. I just know it.”

  “How do you know it?”

  Louise was my best friend for a lot of reasons, not the least of which was that she didn’t put up with my crap. That didn’t mean I wanted to hear it, though.

  “I know my brother. I know he wouldn’t have gone.”

  She shook her head. “He was a big boy and made his own decision. He wanted to be a soldier.”

  “Influenced by Trent his entire life.”

  “There’s no shame in wanting to be a soldier. It’s honorable. A lot of people enlist and receive training, learn skills—”

  “But it killed him,” I said. Lulu sighed and reached over, holding my hand in hers.

  Her gracious eyes gave me comfort as she spoke quietly. “It’s been less than twenty-four hours since you found out your brother died. Give yourself a break.”

  Hope bloomed in my heart. Yes. I was suffering from shock. I needed to process.

  I looked at my friend, who consoled me like no other. She knew my crazy, didn’t put up with it, and made me better. I reached over and touched her fingertips. “You’re the best friend I’ve ever had.”

  She pressed hers against mine. “I know. And that’s partly because I always tell it like it is. Have you ever heard the phrase, ‘Never underestimate the inclination to bolt’?”

  At those words, I froze.

  Was I bolting? What did that mean?

  I said quickly, without thinking, “No. I’m not bolting.”

  “Denial is more than a river in Egypt, sugar. Your denial is so deep you’d go a mile down deep into it and not ever see the bottom. You run away from everything. Now’s the chance to face what you’ve been running from.”

  My thoughts, my movements halted.

  Was I in denial? About Degan? About my life?

  No.

  Wait, was that denial?

  Shit.

  I whispered, “I’m scared, Louise.”

  “That’s because you’re feeling things you don’t want to feel, and it hurts. You’re blaming Trent, but he’s just the messenger. Be brave. You already are. You got this.” She took a bite of the yogurt parfait and swallowed. “But you still have a lot of grieving to do.”

  I shrugged. “I don’t believe in grief. Degan’s still here. He’s just moved into another form. A universal one.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Girlfriend, you�
��re a nutcase.”

  “Why?”

  “You won’t grieve, you won’t forgive. And yet you are all,” she waved her hands, “spiritual.”

  Shaking my head, I said, “I don’t have to like everyone. The Universe was made with contrast. It’s the law of polarity. For every dark, there is a light. For every negative, there is a positive—”

  Lifting an eyebrow, she shook her head slowly. “I’m not gonna tell you what to do.”

  “Good.”

  “But blaming him for Degan’s death might hurt worse than facing the truth.”

  “I thought you weren’t gonna tell me what to do.”

  “I lied.” Her generous smile belied her words. “Dani, you’ve always been like this. You fly off the handle—or fly to a different country, unafraid to leave but afraid to stay.”

  I stared at her. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  Guess maybe I lied sometimes too. As usual, she called me on it. “You do too.”

  There was no way that I was ready to deal with any of this. Trent. Degan. Suffering. My body hurt, and my stomach muscles ached from crying. I crossed my arms. “How am I supposed to deal with him in my class all summer? I just got this job. I don’t want to leave already.”

  She sipped her water and waved at me with a fork. “If you need some motivation, I threw down to get you this job. You can’t leave because it would make me look bad.”

  “This is true. I wouldn’t want to hurt you.” I munched on a strawberry. “I’m trapped when I’m around him. He pulls me in, and I can only see him. He distracts me from being a teacher. He distracts me from being myself. I can’t handle it.”

  “That’s because he triggers you.”

  “He does. It’s embarrassing, but he turns me on. That kid who used to hang out with my brother belongs in a calendar now.”

  “I saw. He does. That banging body makes him delish.”

  “No it doesn’t. It makes him a soldier. Someone into the establishment. Into fighting. Not my type.”

  “What is your type?”

  “Not him.”

  Lulu searched my face with skeptical eyes. “You’re the one who always says that the opposite of love is not hate, but conformity, my little nonconformist friend. I think you’re hating him with some pretty strong passion. Maybe you really like him. Maybe you just need to get laid.”

  I spit-laughed. “Are you serious?”

  She nodded. “You know it’s true. I wish he wasn’t a student, but these circumstances are different. Maybe no one has to know.” She bit into the melon and hummed. “This is so good.”

  “I know.”

  Pausing with a cup of coffee in her hand, she looked me up and down. “You need a break. Think about something other than him.”

  “I hate it when you’re right.”

  “I always am. Come on. Let’s finish this up, get you showered, and we’ll go see a movie. Get your mind off of this.”

  Seeing movies was our thing, ever since college. Back then, she and I singlehandedly kept the local theater that played foreign films in business, trying to understand them without reading the subtitles. It was our book club. Now that we were back in the same country, we saw two a week together.

  As we cleaned up the dishes, I asked, “What are we seeing?”

  “A love story.” She handed me a cup to put away.

  I set it in the cupboard. “I hate love stories.”

  She handed me another one. “You love them.”

  “Not after Brian.”

  She raised an eyebrow and gave me two plates. “This is true. If Trent hadn’t delivered the news about Degan, would you like him?”

  I stared at her. The truth was, I didn’t know if I could ever get past the violent reaction he provoked in me. But if that wasn’t there?

  I could fall in love with him.

  Setting the silverware in the drawer, I admitted, “I was a total bitch to Trent today. I let him know what I thought about him, and now I feel guilty.”

  She drained the sink. “What does that have to do with whether or not you like him?”

  “Because in the past he was always kind and honest to me.” Taking the dish towel from her, I hung it on the rack to dry, then wiped off the table and counter.

  “He’s been kind to you?”

  “Yes,” I whispered.

  She shook her head. “I told you.”

  “Told me what?”

  “Told you that you need to face what you’ve been running from.”

  I pursed my lips and threw the sponge in the sink. “You know, Lulu?”

  “What?”

  “You’re kind of annoying.”

  Her dark brown eyes held humor in them. “Why is that?”

  “Because you’re always right.”

  Her soothing chuckle washed over me. “I’m the logical one. You’re the dreamer.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Do you think I can do this?”

  “Stay? Yes.”

  “I’m not so sure.”

  Lulu analyzed me with her gaze. “Uh-huh,” she said, not convinced. “Go get cleaned up and dressed. I’ll wait.”

  That afternoon, in the darkened theater, I watched a cheesy Hollywood love story dubbed into Spanish.

  While I ate stale, salty popcorn and watched the couple who so obviously should have been together from the beginning finally kiss, I remembered the way Trent’s arms felt around me last night as I sobbed.

  Stupid movie.

  I didn’t really want that, did I?

  No. I wasn’t cut out for relationships. I valued my liberty too much. I’d better stay away.

  8

  Trent -- Mentos

  I lay on my back in my bed in the hostel and stared at the cracked plaster ceiling.

  My mission had changed.

  Or rather, I’d completed my first mission: deliver documents and information to Danika Anderson. Done.

  But now I had this tricky bit of my heart to sort out.

  Knifing up on my bed, I took out my wallet and inventoried its contents. Yes, it was all there. Including the picture.

  I sighed. I just couldn’t let her go so quickly after being the messenger of death. Taking away any of her joy, lightness, was the worst thing I’d ever done in my life. Seeing how she broke down about Degan? Hell, I felt the same way. Explaining all I had to say to her required communication skills way beyond my GS level. I cried for him on the battlefield and honored him at his funeral. But I’d still buttoned up so much grief, it was only a matter of time before more spilled out along with my red hot burning shame for still being alive.

  But that wasn’t all.

  I couldn’t let her go because of her. She was my Dani, the girl I’d wanted my entire life.

  Although she pushed me away, while I’d respect her wishes, I wasn’t going to allow any harm to fall to her. I wanted to convince her to hop on the first flight back to California, but I was pretty damn sure she defended her personal freedom as fiercely as I defended that of our country. So that wouldn’t happen.

  Instead, I’d keep my distance and take it as my solemn duty to care for her from afar. Even if that caused me pain. I’d stay in Spain, attend her class, and keep an eye on her. Like Degan wanted. Like I wanted.

  I rolled over on my side.

  Fuck.

  No.

  That wasn’t what I wanted. What I wanted was a deep connection with her. To spend every moment of my life with her. Knowing what she ate for breakfast and how she went about her days. Watching how she went about dressing herself in the morning and putting herself in bed at night. Learning how that beautiful mind ticked. Letting her teach me the ways of the spiritual Universe she believed in.

  Was this my chance?

  After I left her room this morning, I shoved my boots on in the hall and did a weird walk of shame to my hostel, then passed out for a few hours.

  Now, though, I wanted to get to know this city better, so I went downstairs. />
  “¿Va a dar un paseo?” asked Carmen, the toddler. The ugliest cat in the world opened its eyes—one blue, one brown—and yawned, sticking its tongue out at me.

  Her mother explained, “She wants to know if you’re going for a walk.”

  “Sí,” I said. “Un paseo.”

  “Bien,” cooed Carmen, and clapped her hands.

  Stepping out into the pleasant evening, I walked down the street, then passed by a large plaza with a central fountain. Families, couples, and friends sat outside in restaurants that lined the plaza, drinking wine and enjoying the atmosphere.

  I thought about my next move.

  Problem was, I didn’t have one.

  How could I get Dani to talk to me again? Just show up tomorrow in the classroom?

  That seemed kind of lame.

  Making my way into the old part of town, I turned down a narrow street. The farther and farther I got from my hostel and school, the more uneasy I felt, because I had to speak Spanish.

  I spied a candy shop with fruit punch Mentos in the display by the cash register. My addiction.

  The proprietress had white hair gathered in a severe bun and wore a black cardigan. But her cheery eyes sweetened her mournful appearance.

  Pointing at the pack and handing her some Euro coins, I stuttered, “Yo quiero dos mentos.”

  “Claro que sí, guapo,” she said with a smile, and handed me the candy and my change. I stared at it in my hand.

  Wow. That worked.

  But this exchange might be enough Spain for me for the night. I turned back. On my way to my hostel, I passed a yoga studio I hadn’t noticed before.

  The owner hadn’t closed the building up for the evening yet, and I peered in. Wide glass windows opened to a display of yoga mats, blankets, and blocks. There was a sort of altar off to the side with burned incense and flowers and candles. A large screen prevented you from seeing into the classroom, but you could tell it had light and air and a clean hardwood floor during the day.

  I dug it.

  A dark-haired woman approached the door from the inside, opened it, and closed it behind her with a smile. She was small, wearing loose, wildly patterned pants, and a tank top. As she locked the door, she murmured, “Hola.”