by Dori Lavelle
“I don’t suppose you have another message for me,” I say as she catches up, breathless.
“I came to apologize.” She wipes the sheen of sweat from her forehead. “I’m sorry I barged into your life yesterday without warning.”
“Let me get this straight.” I scratch my chin. “You’re sorry about that and yet you’re doing it again?” I don’t plan for the smile that stretches across my face. I kill it quick.
She smiles a little in return and something inside me shifts. “What I really mean to say is, I feel terrible for what my sister did to you. I also want you to know that I’m not her. I was thinking that since I’m in Cabo for a few days, maybe we could be friends.”
“I don’t need friends.”
“Everyone needs friends.” She folds her arms in front of her. “You should be honored that I want to be yours. I’m really picky.”
I hold back the chuckle rising in my throat. “Is that so?”
“Yes, and I think if you give me a chance, you’ll find you really like my company.”
“What will we have to talk about? Your sister?”
A shadow crosses her features. “If you like. You might have some questions.”
“Audrey said everything I needed to know in the video.”
“Fine. Then we could have a drink and talk about the weather.”
As I watch her for a while, her confidence melting away, Doc’s words come to mind. She did nothing wrong. He’s right. I have no reason to be a dick. I’ve been punishing her for her sister’s crimes.
As a white Jeep nears the rear of the van, I make a decision I hope I won’t end up regretting.
“Get in,” I say.
Her eyes widen. “Into the car?”
“Where else?” I give her what I hope is a kind enough smile.
“Seriously?” She glances at the honking Jeep behind us. “Are you inviting me?”
“Yes.” I turn my face away from her. “But I’m a few seconds from changing my mind.”
The smile on her face is bright as she slides in next to me, along with her fresh, calming scent that I didn’t realize I missed.
We find Cabana Boy at my door with my lunch.
“Bring Miss Dupuis a plate as well, please,” I say as we enter the room, and he sets the table.
“Wow. You’re inviting me to lunch?” Alice sits in the armchair I never thought she’d occupy again.
I raise an eyebrow. “Don’t you like to eat?”
“I do. I love to eat.” She laughs and crosses her shapely legs. “And thank you”
I open the windows and turn to her. “What brings you back here really?”
“The truth is, I’ve no idea what I was thinking. I may be a little crazy to return to the lion’s den.”
“I think you might be right about that. Especially after the way I treated you yesterday.” I glance down at my legs, plant my hands on my knees, clenching tight, nails digging into flesh. Nothing. No feeling whatsoever. “I had no right to be unkind. I owe you an apology.”
She leans forward, folding her hands in her lap. “Apology accepted. And thanks for allowing me to stay at your family home. It’s a beautiful place. Although, it’s not homey enough. It needs lighter colors and a few plants.” She bites her lip. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”
Before I can respond, Cabana Boy walks in with Alice’s food and sets a place for her at the table. He leaves, and we start to eat.
“Thanks for the compliment about the house.” I’ll ignore the negative comment. “I spend most days of the year there.”
Alice slices her duck. “Don’t you get lonely?” She lifts the fork to her mouth.
“Why should I? In this world of technology, I have every form of entertainment at my fingertips.” I drink my water.
She chews for a while, her blue eyes studying me. “Technology is all very good, but it can’t compete with human contact.”
Human contact. There’s nothing I crave more. A woman’s touch, to be specific. But I can’t admit that to her. I eat quietly as I contemplate my answer, then I drink more water.
“No. I don’t feel lonely,” I lie. Loneliness is my closest friend.
Women aside, I’d love to spend more time with my brothers, but they constantly treat me like a child, someone who doesn’t know what he wants. And I can’t stand the constant pity in their eyes. I long for the days when we used to have fun without anyone worrying about whether I’m having one too many, getting enough exercise, or if I plan to kill myself at the next opportunity. Unfortunately, those days are long gone.
She lowers her fork to her plate. “In that case, I’m honored that you invited me to lunch.”
“Are you enjoying Cabo?” I ask, changing the subject.
“It was one of the places on my bucket list. I never thought I’d actually come here, but I guess you made that possible.”
“My brother, you mean?” A bittersweet smile crosses my lips.
In a few minutes, I’d smiled more than I’d smiled the whole of last year. It doesn’t have to do with this woman. Maybe this is one of the good days. “Either way, I’m glad you’ll be able to cross one item from your list. Back in Paris, what do you do for a living?”
“I’m a wedding planner. I have a small business with my friend Emile.”
I nod. “So, for a living you make people’s dreams come true while yours die by the wayside?”
She dabs her lips with a napkin. “What makes you think I’m letting my dreams die by the wayside?”
“You came to Mexico alone for two weeks. I’m guessing there’s no one special waiting for you back home.” I find myself holding my breath as I wait for her answer.
“By no one, you mean a man?”
“If that’s your preference.” I start eating again.
She throws her head back and laughs. “No, you’re right. There’s no one special waiting. There hasn’t been in a while.” Her voice holds a sadness within its folds.
“Well, sometimes there’s nothing wrong with being alone.”
She doesn’t laugh this time. Instead, she drops her gaze to her plate, and we finish our food in silence. Then she excuses herself to go to the bathroom. When she returns, she’s holding the activity form in her hands. I’d been in there with it this morning debating on whether to give it to Cabana Boy, and decided against it at the last second.
“You left this.” She hands it to me. “You swim?”
“You read my stuff?” My tone is harsher than I’d intended. “Sorry. Yeah, no. I used to swim before the wheelchair. I used to compete at school.”
“That’s exciting.” Her eyes brighten. “You swim here as well?” She lowers herself back into her chair, smoothing her skirt on her legs.
“No.” I avert my gaze and fold the paper, toss it into the bin.
She pouts her lips. “Why not?”
“You ask a lot of questions.” I wheel myself away from the table.
“I’m sorry. You’re right.” She pours herself another glass of water. “I don’t normally talk this much.”
“Neither do I,” I admit.
“That’s a good sign, don’t you think?”
“For what?”
She lowers and raises her eyelashes. “That we enjoy each other’s company. That we could be friends.”
“Maybe, maybe not.”
“You’re really good at pushing people away, aren’t you?”
“At least I’m good at something.” I turn to look out the window.
Alice doesn’t respond. A few minutes later, Cabana Boy returns to clear the table.
As soon as he leaves, Alice stands. “Thanks for lunch, Lance. It was nice having someone to talk to.”
I turn back to face her. “What do you plan on doing by yourself around the streets of Cabo?”
“I’m planning on joining a sight-seeing tour sometime. And I’ll spend a lot of time on the beach.”
“Sounds exciting. I hope you enjoy your stay.” I do
n’t know if I’m indirectly telling her she shouldn’t come back to visit me. Maybe I really am an expert at pushing people away.
“Can I come and see you again sometime?”
“I don’t know, Alice.” I did enjoy her company—more than I thought I would. I feel good being around her. And she treated me like a normal, whole human being. That’s the problem. I can’t allow myself to feel uncomfortable around any woman. “You know what? I think it’s best we end it here. I hope you understand.”
A touch of sadness taints her smile. “Sure. Of course, I understand.” She picks up her bag and says goodbye.
I don’t stop her.
After Alice leaves, I drive a fist into the palm of my hand. I’d been unkind yet again, without really meaning to. What the fuck is wrong with me? It’s almost as if I can’t help being a jerk.
All she wanted was to be my friend. What she doesn’t get is, I’m incapable of being friends with her or any woman.
The entire time during lunch, I was watching her, her gorgeous wild hair, her freckled porcelain skin. I was hypnotized by the way her breasts moved each time she breathed. In her presence, I had also felt complete, even having more fun than I’ve had in a long while. The easy way we communicated, one would think we’d had hundreds of conversations before, known each other for longer than two days.
In her eyes, I’d gotten a glimpse of the man I used to be once. And that was a mistake. Any woman who makes me feel something—anything—has to go. Because I’m incapable of doing anything about it.
It’s been a long time since I’ve been attracted to someone.
And, in my wildest dreams, I’d never expected to be drawn to the sister of the woman who hurt me so badly.
As usual, I sit by the window for a long time, looking out but not seeing, clutching my knees with my hands as I tend to do when I’m stressed, forcing myself to feel something, failing each time. A spurt of frustration pushes through me. My teeth are gritted in anger and my hands curl into fists which lift off my knees and drop again, punching my legs over and over.
After an hour spent fighting with my demons, I turn the wheelchair around so fast it almost tips over. My gaze moves to the door. In my mind, I see myself opening it, exiting, and joining the world outside. I resist the urge. Where would I go? What would I do? For the first time since coming to Crystal Lake, a claustrophobic feeling washes over me at being holed up in my room for hours, even though it’s by choice. It’s almost as though when Alice left, she sucked the air out of the room and took it with her. Unable to breathe, I wheel myself to the door and yank it open. I almost collide with Cabana Boy.
“Is there anything else I can bring you, Mr. LaClaire?”
“There’s something you can do for me.”
“Of course, anything.”
“Take me to the swimming pool.” I don’t know why I’m doing this to myself. I know very well that at the moment, there’s a swimming lesson for paraplegics.
Cabana Boy frowns and doesn’t move.
“Did you hear what I said?” I ask, and he nods.
“You want me to take you to the pool.” He repeats slowly.
“That’s what I said. Let’s go.”
“But—” he starts and I cut him off.
“But what?”
“I think there’s a lesson going on.”
“Good.”
He says nothing more as he wheels me through the bright, endless hallways, into the elevator, and then toward the wing where the gym, the pool, and other sports facilities are. Once we move through a glass door, from carpeted to tiled floors, the scent of chlorine hits my nostrils. Pain hits me like a bullet in the gut.
“Stop here,” I say before he moves me through the door to the actual pool.
From behind the glass, I watch people like me—five of them—with different levels of paralysis, throwing themselves into the water, floating, laughing. One of them is a British billionaire’s son who came to Crystal Lake with a drug addiction. Another is an actor, who found fame when he was only eight years old and got paralyzed during a ski accident in his teens.
As I watch the instructor, a bald man with a muscular chest notices my presence behind the glass and smiles. I appreciate that he doesn’t approach me, but instead turns back to his students, easing them into the water or pulling them out of the safety of their wheelchairs, showing them the best techniques to stay afloat. He uses all kinds of tools, including blue yoga mats placed next to the small staircase.
For a moment, I wish I were them, diving into the water, allowing it to carry me. I have pools at all my homes, but I’d never had the courage to swim again.
Some of the swimmers turn to watch me as though I’m some kind of animal inside a cage.
I glance up at Cabana Boy, ready to tell him to return me to my room, and the instructor waves and runs through the door to come and talk to me.
“Are you interested in joining us?” he asks in Spanish.
“No, I’m here to watch.”
“No need to be nervous.” He switches to English. “I know it can be quite scary to start swimming again after a spinal cord injury when you rely on a wheelchair for movement, but trust me, once you get the hang of it, it’s liberating.”
“How would you know that?” I ask.
“I’ve worked with hundreds of swimmers in wheelchairs. All of them tell me the same thing.”
I look back out through the window at the others. The actor dives from his wheelchair next to the pool into the water. Hearing the splash, the instructor glances back, observing him for a while. The actor resurfaces with a smile and uses his arms to stay afloat. Then, just like that, he starts to swim.
“See what I mean? It’s possible. You have to believe in yourself.”
“Thank you for taking the time to come and talk to me. I have to leave now.” I scratch the tip of my nose. “I think it’s great what you’re doing for those people.”
“You could be one of them. You’re welcome here anytime—to watch or participate.”
“I don’t think that’s going to happen. I was only passing by.”
“All right, then. I wish you a great day.”
I gesture for Cabana Boy to approach me. “Let’s go.”
In my room, I press a large tip into Cabana Boy’s hand, then he insists on helping me into my bed. I need a nap.
“Goodnight,” he says and leaves.
I lie on my back, eyes closed, thinking of the people at the pool, thinking of Alice Dupuis. Once her face shows up inside my mind, I’m unable to push it out.
In a moment of burning frustration, I fling back the covers and transfer myself to the wheelchair. Without thinking about what I’m doing, I wheel myself around the bed, straightening it. Since I can’t fix myself, I need to fix something else. I make the bed three times. Each time I’m done, I yank the covers off again and start all over.
I spend thirty minutes making the bed at least five times and then messing it up again. And when that doesn’t help to wipe her from my mind, I go to the bathroom and start wiping every reachable surface with a damp towel. That, too, doesn’t help. Alice’s voice, her laughter, her smile, completely invade my head.
Seeing and hearing her makes me feel like a failure. I’m not afraid to live, and yet it’s so painful to breathe. I return to my bedroom, grab a pillow, and bury my face in it. The sounds of my frustration seep through the memory foam and bounce off the walls before falling to the ground, shattering into a thousand pieces.
9
Lance
Friday afternoon, the moment Cabana Boy walks through the door, lunch tray in his hands, he finds me waiting for him, a bag on my lap. I ask him to take me back to the pool. I could go by myself, of course, but I need somebody beside me as I take one of the biggest steps since my accident.
When I went to the pool yesterday, I had no intention of swimming, relearning a skill I once mastered. Today, after a night of tossing and turning, I don’t know why I want to return the
re. I have no idea whether I’m ready to get into the water. All I know is that something is pulling me back there, something stronger than my resistance.
During the short trip to the swimming pool, I keep my eyes closed. I register where we are only from the variety of smells and sounds. The smells of antiseptic in the hallway closest to the medical wing, the meaty aromas wafting in the air as we pass one of the restaurants, the bouquet scents of lemon cleaner, expensive leather, and flowers in the lobby.
Finally, the smell of chlorine that lures me to open my eyes. The sounds of people splashing in water and laughing is intoxicating and painful at the same time. As he had done yesterday, Cabana Boy positions me at the window overlooking the pool area, then he steps away to give me a moment.
Now that I’m here, I have no freaking idea what to do next. The swimming instructor and his students turn to look. From his expression, he doesn’t seem surprised to see me here. He glances at me from time to time as he continues his lesson.
My fingers form fists around the fabric of the duffel bag on my lap as I watch bodies sliding in the water. Water that had once given me freedom, now both attracts and repels me. Except this time, the desire to be in it is so much more powerful and it gets stronger with each breath.
I call for Cabana Boy and he appears at my side immediately.
“Take me to the changing room.”
He does what I ask without question or hesitation. No asking if Mr. LaClaire is sure.
A little over ten minutes later, I exit the changing room, wearing my swimming trunks. I find the instructor waiting next to Cabana Boy, a smile on each of their faces.
“I apologize,” he says, stretching out a hand. “I didn’t introduce myself yesterday. I’m José Ramon.”
“Nice to meet you.” I pump his hand. “Lance LaClaire.”
“Mr. LaClaire, I know who you are. Have you decided to join us today?” He folds his arms in front of his chest, muscles bulging through the skin stretched over his biceps.
“Call me Lance. You really think I can do this, José?”
“I know you can do it.” He bobs his head with each word, like a puppet on a string. “The only thing standing in your way, the one major obstacle that I have come across with all my students, is fear. Once you shed that fear, you will be fine. You don’t have to do much today. Trust me. Trust the water.”