By this time, I was close to the door, waving at the pilot and copilot who stood enmeshed between the food cart and the microwave.
“I love you too,” he answered.
“Okay, bye for now.”
“Mom! Wait, Mom!”
I slowly made my way down the stairs, holding up the line while trying to maintain my balance. It became hard to breathe, the air so thick and torrid, it arrested my movements.
“What’s wrong, Charlie?” I asked, panicked. “Do you want me to fly back sooner? You know I’ll be back in time for your break.” It was the middle of March, after all.
“Nothing’s wrong, Mom. I’ll miss you, that’s all. I think I see you more now than when you lived at home.”
“Do you like that, Charlie?”
“Yes, I do. And I’m sorry for everything I said. Paul said that you also have a right to be happy.”
“Don’t be sorry, baby. We’ll talk when I get back. I love you, too.”
The ride from the airport was uneventful. The Plaza Hotel was a bed-full of contradictions. In all the majesty and opulence of its marble floors and luxuriously decorated lobby, it was less than a mile away from an entirely different scene, where shanties and makeshift wooden homes lined the pothole-laden streets and soot-filled ground. I checked into a room overlooking the bay and grabbed an hour of sleep, mindful of the fact that I was about to embark on the biggest deal of my career.
There I was, about to meet the man whose island in the middle of the South Pacific was up for sale, with my company on the way to making the most generous investment to develop the first all-inclusive resort in the area. There were security concerns—this was a third world country beset with political unrest that simultaneously welcomed this type of intrusion. It was a quandary, really. Opening a world untouched by modern conveniences to the riches of the western world, where a price was always paid for change. I thought about this to no end, felt sorry for those poor souls who didn’t realize what was about to happen. With change there is pain.
Progress always came with a trade-off.
Two hours later, there we sat in silence, me and a legal team of three on one side of a long boardroom table made from handmade seashells bordered with coral and jade. Directly above us was a line of antique Spanish chandeliers, their stems filled with precious stones that shone like diamonds. Opposite us was a kindly gentleman named Dr. Fernandez, his legal team and his son Vincent, who had brokered this sale.
I spoke up, finally, after exchanging many pleasantries. “I think we’re ready to sign the papers,” I started out. “The team has reviewed the contract and we are thankful for this opportunity.”
A woman named Josefina piped in. “No, I think we are waiting for one more person from your team. He called to say he was on the way.”
The heavy wooden doors swung open and in you walked, wearing a navy blue suit and loafers. I turned to glare at the person beside me, handing out my surprise to anyone who would accept it.
“He insisted on coming,” she said helplessly, glancing over to the man next to her, her eyes beseeching him for help.
“Hello, everyone, apologies for the delay.” You took a seat next to me without acknowledging my presence. The room grew warm. The women at the table sat up taller—one flipped her hair, the other adjusted her neckline. I wondered whether you noticed them—these tiny petite, dark-haired Asian women with olive skin and fine features.
As you leaned back into your seat, I turned to face you. “I thought you—”
The room grew eerily quiet. I shuffled my papers, hoping to draw everyone’s attention away from us.
“Management wanted me to complete this deal, see it through.” You looked at me, your eyes unblinking. There was harshness in your tone. “I shouldn’t have left my unfinished business.”
“You forgot to wear socks,” I muttered under my breath.
The doctor cleared his throat and nodded, prodding us to get on with it. “Ms. Frost, Mr. Torres.”
“Yes, yes. Ladies and gentlemen, what a privilege to be here. Want to ensure you have no further questions before Ms. Frost over here”—you turned to me with a smirk—“finalizes the sale.”
I wasn’t going to fall for your antics, at least not in front of these people. I opened the folder and leafed through the three-hundred-page agreement. I’d read each and every page about ten times to ensure there was nothing of concern.
“Well, there is one point of clarification,” Dr. Fernandez said. “Page two-hundred forty-four, the elimination of an underground gas pipe requiring additional funds to be placed in escrow. Ms. Frost, are you amenable to this?”
Gas pipe? What gas pipe? What the hell was he talking about? I had no knowledge of this. Had I missed this page? How was this possible?
“Did this come up in the due diligence, because I—” I stammered, frantically thumbing through the pile of papers in front of me so they spilled onto the floor.
The doctor leaned back on his chair and pushed backward, preparing to disengage.
You cleared your throat. “What Ms. Frost meant was whether this was the only item found through the due diligence. If you turn to Exhibit H, you will see proof of escrow which was transacted two days ago.”
Dr. Fernandez relaxed and leaned over to his son, who quickly showed him the page. “Very well. Let’s get this deal signed and sealed.” He smiled. “Mr. Torres, you have saved the day.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
History
Shaken and flustered about what had happened at the meeting, I retreated to my room, intent on redeeming myself the next day.
How could I have missed that addendum? Unless it had been done at the last minute without my knowledge at all. It wasn’t the right time to get to the bottom of it—I was still reeling from your unexpected appearance. I just couldn’t handle facing you, facing my embarrassment, facing the buyers at this point.
And so I focused on Josh Lucas.
Josh Lucas had the bluest eyes I’d ever seen. The moment he turned Reese Witherspoon after she ran to him in the rain never failed to make me swoon, no matter how many times I’d seen this movie. Of course, it took me a few minutes to get over the fact that Sweet Home Alabama was showing on a local channel all the way in the Philippines.
It was two o’clock in the morning in the US. I had to wait for a few more hours before giving instructions to the bank to ensure Jack had access to the funds just deposited in my commission account.
After the closing, I’d retreated to my hotel suite, intending to take a nap before venturing out into the city. I had scheduled an evening tour of the place they called the Walled City of Intramuros, the site of pre-war churches and post-war ruins.
Despite a separate bedroom and a walk-in closet, I decided to camp out on the living room couch, complete with a blanket and pillows, magazines on the floor next to the coffee-table and four paperbacks I’d taken on this trip with me. I wasn’t much of a reader, but this time alone was still part of my new life that required some getting used to.
Staying in bed all day, getting lost in my thoughts, replaying scenes over and over again—I realized how much time I’d wasted in the months that had passed. Those days were slowly disappearing. In their place was a new person who loved to explore and learn new things. It was like living all over again, getting familiar with all the senses I’d lost.
I was besieged with guilt at abandoning my boys, often wondering whether I had done the right thing. In its place, however, were nights of restful sleep and the slow but sure birth of a clearer mind. I didn’t want to die anymore. I was excited to live.
The room service menu had a separate leaflet called merienda. Google told me this was a light meal or snack, sort of the equivalent of afternoon tea. So that’s what I ordered. Jasmin tea and three pieces of rice cake called suman, cooked in coconut milk and wrapped in banana leaves. I think I dozed off, because Reese was back, this time doing the “bend and snap”. What a diversion, to discover a Rees
e Witherspoon marathon in the middle of the afternoon.
I sat up slowly to answer a knock on the door.
It was the room service man, carrying a little round tray with my merienda.
And you.
Dressed in jeans and a black T-shirt, you allowed the man to set his tray on the coffee table before walking in with a bottle of Cristal and two champagne glasses.
“Thank you, Simeon,” you said, taking the leather billfold and signing for my charges.
“Enjoy, Mr. and Mrs. Frost,” said Simeon, smiling.
I sat on the couch with my legs folded under me, trying to think of something smart to say. I had nothing. Instead, I tried to cover up my tank top with the blanket, thankful that my bulky pajamas covered the rest of me.
“Way to go, pulling that off this morning. What were you trying to do, impress me?”
“Hardly,” you answered. “Things here move so slowly. The inspection was completed while you were in flight. I didn’t want to lose the deal, so I handled it.”
“I arrived two hours before the meeting. You could have told me.”
“I could have, I guess,” you admitted. “But I didn’t want to give you time to react when you found out I was here.”
“Why?”
“Because all I wanted to do was to see you. I didn’t want you to run away.”
“I wouldn’t have.”
“Well, so far, your record has proven otherwise.” You moved about the bar and rummaged through the drawers until you found what you were looking for.
“You’ve been gone for three months. You don’t know how things have changed.”
“Look!” you said excitedly, placing a piece of paper in front of me. “We can retire!”
“Ha,” I snorted, unimpressed. Money wasn’t the answer to anything that had happened to me. Money had caused my marriage to disintegrate. It couldn’t bring back my mother. Or Brutus. It sure as hell wasn’t going to give my son his two parents back.
I didn’t think you heard me. You popped open the bottle, poured it, and handed me a glass half-full of champagne.
“Would it hurt you to celebrate for a little bit?” you asked. “You just made two million dollars.”
“Well, so did you. And you can be happy enough for both of us.”
You didn’t say a word—no smart comeback, no anger either. Just a slight nod of your head and a puckering of your lips.
“I’m sorry. That was uncalled for.”
“Oh well,” you said, taking another swig of your drink before standing. “Just wanted to congratulate you on a job well done. I’ll see you at the site visit tomorrow.”
I remained seated, staring at the floor, noticing the cork that had rolled right next to my shoe.
“Matias, wait!” I jumped up, forgetting about the flimsy bra-less look and dropping the blanket. You stopped, hands in your pocket, rocking back and forth on your heels, eyes wide, staring at me as I moved closer. I realized what I had done and crossed my arms against my chest. “Give me some time to get dressed. I’m going on a tour of the city—would you care to join me?”
“Yes, yes. I would love that.” You smiled as if every stupid thing I’d ever said to you had been forgotten.
“Great. I’ll meet you in the lobby at five o’clock.”
We sat side by side in the front row of a tiny passenger van, together with two other couples on the same tour with us. One couple was from London, the other from Costa Rica. You spoke to the Spanish couple animatedly in your language while the older English woman took copious notes while listening to our tour guide, Marina. I heard you asking how long they’d been married. They were newlyweds almost—married only three years. When they asked you about us, you said not long enough. I would have said six months because you’d had my heart on the very first day we met.
Did you feel the tension between us? Your thigh against mine, my shoulder touching your chest. I felt your breath on the back of my head, held your face when you buried your nose in my hair. It was a slow dance, a seduction, happening in front of five other people. I wonder if they felt it too.
Intramuros was located in the historic heart of Manila, the meaning of the word, “within walls”. Surrounded by a three-mile-long brick barrier, it had been the seat of government, the center of religion, economy, and education during the Spanish colonial period in the late 16th century. Its cobbled streets and old stone structures had been mostly destroyed during World War II. But what remained to this day still emanated richly in history and the heroism of the Filipino people.
The van dropped us off at Fort Santiago, once a defense against invaders from the sea and now a historic park. You held my hand as we walked through old jail cells and dungeons, wrapped your arms around me as we listened to the story of the country’s national hero, observing the crowds walk in and out as we watched a short play about his life.
I asked for some time alone to call Charlie, told him how much I missed him and recounted the history of this country and its people. He said he regretted not coming and made me promise to take him back during the summer.
And when our tour was done, we joined the other couples at a place called Barrio Fiesta that served authentic food from the country. We were treated to a folk show where the country’s history was told in song and dance. You held me close throughout, ordered my food, took care of my needs and never left my side. I didn’t stop you from touching me, placing your hand on my thigh and slowly trailing it underneath my skirt.
I wanted you more than anything in this whole world.
In two days, we would be done.
In two days, we would return home.
And you’d do what made the most perfect sense. You would go on with your life.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Because of You
“Dahil tayo!” I sang, swinging my hands back and forth as we rode the elevator to the suite. You pressed yourself against me and I giggled.
“I’m sure you’re wrong. It’s Dahil sa you!” you argued.
“How do you know that? We only heard the song once!”
“Yes, but they said it fifty times in the song. Plus, I’m Spanish. I know their words,” you bragged, taking my hand and leading me down the hall of the fiftieth floor.
“You is an English word,” I laughed.
“And I’m pretty sure it’s in their language too. Google it. I’m sure I’m right.”
So I did. “It means because of you, I want to live.”
“Because of you,” you repeated. “Because of you.” You started to sing the song again.
“Shhh.” We turned a corner and then another corner. “It’s one in the morning. People are sleeping.”
“Or fucking.”
“Shh. Oh my god,” I said again as we turned another corner. “Here I am, 5100.”
“Here you are,” you whispered, heat emanating from your eyes, burning a hole right through me. I pushed you away, unlocked the door, and walked inside, hearing your steps but refusing to turn around.
This was it. The split moment decision that would change my life. For no matter what happened after this, you would be the only other man after ten years of Jack.
I felt shy all of a sudden. The insecurities of the past began to creep in. I wasn’t pretty enough, sexy enough. I had a child. You had a model. Or two. Or three.
“Carin,” you called out to me.
I stayed rooted in place, looking out the window at the boundless bay that touched the sky. There were boats of all sizes, the smaller ones swaying with the waves in a monotonous beat as they surrounded the towering cruise ships.
“Carin,” you said again, your voice louder this time, and every word enunciated. “Don’t be afraid. I won’t ever leave you. I came back for you.”
Did I think about my marriage? Of my son? If you knew me, you’d know. Spontaneity was not my thing, and so I wouldn’t say I didn’t. But all throughout that tour, I knew I would give myself to you if you wanted me.
S
lowly, I made my way toward you.
“I didn’t leave him because of you,” I stated clearly, making sure you heard every word.
“I know,” you answered, head bowed. “It doesn’t change anything I just told you.”
“I left him for me.” Tears began to flow with those words. I raised my hand to stop you from rushing over to me. I needed to shed those tears. They’d weighed me down for so long.
“I know, Carina.”
You gasped, swallowed audibly, as I undressed in front of you. Unbuttoning my blouse, slipping it off, unhooking my bra and revealing myself to you for the first time. “But,” I choked through my tears. “If you want me tonight, I am yours.”
Two large strides and I was in your arms, being kissed by you, touched by you, caressed by your fingers, your mouth, your tongue. I pulled away for a second, allowed you to watch as my skirt and panties fell silently to the ground. I backed away, intent on showing you who I was. For months I’d survived by pretending. This time, I wanted you to see me for me. Vulnerable, open, in love.
I stood in front of you, legs slightly apart, completely naked.
“This is who I am.”
Your eyes grew dark, your lips in a tight straight line. “I’ve wanted you since the day you fell on your knees. You looked like an angel, exquisite, helpless. The most beautiful creature I had ever seen.”
You were the beautiful one. Handsome and strong. Perfect in every single way. I’d wanted to touch you too, hold you, fill myself up with you.
“Make love to me, Matias.” The first bridge I’d burned. The first of many, in following my heart. After this, there would be no turning back. No begging Jack for forgiveness. I knew that once you’d touched me, it would mean that I was yours.
You didn’t need to be asked twice, lifting me and carrying me to the bed. Slowly, you laid me down, and I reached up to take you in my hands.
The Year I Left Page 12