Instead, we took advantage of the material comforts that were hard to come by—like wine and food and a whole slew of kitchen gadgets. We walked for miles, checking out the mall and the surrounding stalls, the fresh market, and the buildings around the city. We entered the office buildings and took the local transportation around town. We were frugal, conscious of the remaining funds we had, but a dollar went a long way in that place and so we ended up with a few things to take home with us. We were constantly surrounded by all sorts of people, oftentimes engaging them, asking questions, getting opinions.
That day, the thought crossed my mind more than once. Were we as good together when we were in our element? When we weren’t hiding?
I thought we were.
You constantly reminded me that we were on our honeymoon, which meant we holed up in our room most of the day before we left. When we finally emerged from the room, we felt obligated to take a walk along the beach.
“Feels different, doesn’t it?” I asked while walking along the shore with you.
“Yeah,” you said, squeezing my hand. “Even the sand feels manufactured, more compact.”
“And the crowd of people. It makes me appreciate where we live. Most days, you and I have a one-mile radius all to ourselves.”
“I can’t wait to get home.”
I looked up and smiled at you. Such simple words with so much meaning. I felt a tingling in my stomach, a swell in my chest. If only I could stop missing Charlie, my life would be so serene, so complete.
We stopped to watch two children, a boy and a girl, chasing each other in ankle-deep water, the froth of the surf wrapping itself around their legs. They giggled every time one of them got knocked down by the waves. The boy had sandy blond hair like Charlie’s, same lanky build, same freckled nose. The girl had her hair in French braids. They looked like twins. Same height, same build, same face.
“Are you twins?” you asked as they got on their boogie boards and prepared to swim farther out.
“Yes,” said the boy.
“How old are you guys?”
“Seven,” said the girl.
“Okay, well be careful out there. Don’t go out too far,” you said, waving to them. You held on to my elbow and led me away, laughing as the boogie board slid out of the boy’s arms into the air.
We hadn’t taken too many steps forward when the young girl chased after us. “Mister, please,” she said in a very heavy Spanish accent. “My brother!”
“What happened?” you asked. “Where is he?”
“I don’t know! He disappeared in the water!”
“Stay here,” you said, running back toward their original location. I took the girl’s hand watched you run into the water and disappear from sight.
The girl started to cry. I knelt down to give her a hug, my eyes still fixed on the water. I couldn’t see you. The waves were so high I couldn’t make anything out over or under their crests. “What’s your name?”
“E-mi-lia,” she said in between hiccups. Her braids had come undone, wiry tufts of hair cascading down her small face.
“Emilia, don’t worry. Do you know that my husband, Roman, is a great swimmer? He’ll find your brother.”
“Emilia!” An older man darted toward us, followed by a frantic woman wearing a large brim hat.
“Emilia,” screamed the woman. “Where is Enrique?”
“In the water, Mama!” she answered. “The man went after him, trying to find him.”
“Call the police!” the woman yelled to her husband, who had his phone to his ear.
“Please stay with your mother,” I said, running toward the water, desperate for any sign of you. I wanted to swim out, but my fear was so strong, my legs felt like lead. They refused to carry me forward. Instead, I stood knee-deep in the water, aware of every single sound and movement around me.
The mother wailed on the shore, falling to her knees while her husband tried desperately to comfort her. Emilia stared out in front of her, alternating between wringing her hands and biting her nails. I heard the shrill cawing of seagulls in the air, saw a dolphin vault above the waves, felt the chill in the air.
That wasn’t going to be the day, Matias. I always knew it would come. But not like that.
It seemed like forever before the blaring of sirens and flashing lights appeared. Three policemen in khaki uniforms approached while a news truck barreled toward me. A loud boom and then jet skis starting out from the shore. A woman in a blue dress followed by photographers jumped out of the truck.
“There they are!”
The father ran into the water. I saw you then, swimming sideways but moving very slowly. You held the boy’s head up in one arm, the other arm paddling swiftly. “Matias!” I screamed, louder than I ever had before. I knew you couldn’t hear me, but I had to say your name. I sank to the ground amid the glaring, flashing lights. The jet skis bobbed up and down in the water as you handed them the boy. He was limp, unconscious. I could tell because it took two men to lift him out of the water.
By the time you got back to the shore, an ambulance was waiting to tend to the boy. The drove of people surrounding me had now focused on you.
“Sir!” said the pretty reporter in a dress, tripping over the camera wires that were trenched in the sand.
“Matias!” I ran to you, elbowing those in my way.
You stopped when you heard me call your name, frantically moving your head from side to side. We were desperate to find each other. And when we did, I wrapped my arms around you so tightly, feeling every part of your wet skin, tasting the salt on your face, tears of relief streaming down my cheeks.
“I’m okay,” you said.
“Sir!” The reporter shoved a microphone right in your face.
You batted your arm in the air, causing the reporter to step back. Right then, someone called out her name.
Quickly, you tucked my head under your arm, shielding my face from the cameras.
“Let’s get out of here,” you said. “On the count of three, we run as fast as we can. One. Two—”
You gripped my hand and pulled me across the steep sandy hill. We ran as fast as our legs would take us. Until the scene at the beach was as distant as the boats on the water, the flashing lights merely sequins in the sky.
Chapter Forty-Two
Gratitude
“How long have I been asleep?” you asked, rubbing your eyes before stretching your arms in the air.
“Fourteen hours,” I answered, nuzzling your neck, inhaling the life out of you. “You smell good.” I leaned my head on your chest as you wrapped your arms around me.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah. I’m feeling rested now. Yesterday it felt like I had just run three marathons.”
“I was terrified. I knew you were doing the right thing. But in my head, I kept thinking—’who would I blame for this if I lost him’?”
“You weren’t going to lose me,” you whispered into my hair. “I’m a great swimmer.”
“Tell me what happened.”
“He got pulled out by a rip current. By the time I found him, he was so tired from thrashing in the water. Luckily I got to him before the undertow pulled him down. He was conscious when I reached him. He wrapped his arms around my neck and then passed out. The boogie board was nowhere to be found. I tried to keep his head up while swimming. In fact, my ears still don’t feel right. Feels like I still have some water in them or something.”
I reached out and caressed them. Your ears. “We should see a doctor in town when you’re up to it.”
“Not today. I just want to stay home with you.”
“Ariel told the university you’d be out for a few days.”
“Good old Ariel,” you said, shifting as if trying to sit up. “Today is good enough. I’ll be fine tomorrow.”
I pushed two pillows up for you to rest your head on. “You hungry?”
“Starving.”
“I figured. Be right back.”
You were sitting up, leaning against the headboard, ready for the tray I brought into our room. I smiled when I saw the blanket draped neatly across your waist. You pointed to the pillow next to you. “Come back to bed.”
Instead, I sat at the edge of the bed. “Coffee, French toast, strawberries. Eat up.”
“Mmm, Mrs. O’Neill. You spoil me.”
“You’re a hero, babe. You deserve to be spoiled.” I poured you some coffee, watched as you spread some butter on the French toast. “Hey, I have another surprise for you.”
“Really?”
“Uh-huh.” I fished the neatly wrapped painting out from under the bed. “I finished it!” I tore the wrapping paper up and set it nicely on the bed, right in front of you.
“Oh baby,” you said, pushing the tray of food to the side so you could get closer. You touched it with your fingertips, traced the outline of my face with a big smile. “It’s beautiful. It really looks like you. Your eyes, your mouth. It’s a remarkable self-portrait.”
“So you like it?”
“I love it,” you answered, pulling me in for a kiss.
“Good. I want you to remember me always.”
“There you go again,” you said with an exaggerated frown. You rolled your eyes and puckered your lips. “Stop saying that.”
I laid the painting flat on the ground, moved the tray to the night table and crawled under the covers next to you.
“My turn,” you said, reaching inside the drawer next to you. “I have a surprise too.”
You handed me a little red box, wrapped in a giant black ribbon. “A real wedding ring.”
I gently tugged on its ends, careful not to unravel its perfect bow. And when I saw what was in it, I gasped. “Oh my god. What did you do?”
“I bought you a ring,” he answered. “The one you deserve.”
I was speechless. It was a gesture that meant the world to me, but I had a sick feeling in my gut that this would sink us. “This was the one we looked at the other day—the two-carat solitaire, Matias. This must have cost at least fifteen thousand dollars.”
“Relax, Carin. It’s okay. Spending the weekend in civilization reminded me—you and I—we’re millionaires.”
“How did you pay for it?”
“I memorized my credit card. They took it down, and it went through.”
“Credit card,” I said, shaking my head. “You just freaked out when I went online. You said you didn’t want to be traced.”
You had guilt written all over you—eyes darting from side to side, hands waving all over the place. “I know, but I saw how much you loved it and wanted to get it for you. I used our married name, gave the home address in Chicago. I figured if it did set a trail, it would be a fake one.” You waited for me to say something. When I didn’t, you went on. “If they trace us to this resort, what does it matter? We’re no longer there.”
“Please don’t think I don’t love it. It is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. I’m just overwhelmed by the cost.”
You prompted me to slip it on my finger, and I did. It fit perfectly.
“God, Matias. It’s gorgeous.”
“You’re gorgeous,” you said, smiling.
“But I don’t need this. I’m completely fine with the band Chiqui made for us.”
“You’ve given up so much for me. For a life with me. You deserve this and more, Carin. I want to give you everything. Besides ...” You reached out to tap my nose with your finger. “Your birthday’s coming up. It’s also an anniversary gift. We met on your birthday.”
I held my hand in the air and watched the diamond reflect the light from the window, specks of white bouncing all over the wall. “I remember.”
“Will you wear it all the time?” you asked quietly.
“Of course I will, baby. Thank you.”
“Thank you,” you responded. “I’ll make sure and pick up some materials to hang the painting up on the wall right here.” You pointed behind us.
I slid down under the blanket until I was neck-deep in it. “Hey, handsome,” I cooed, pulling you on top of me. “You said you’d give it all to me. Pay up.”
Chapter Forty-Three
Temporary
Every beginning has an end. And every end starts with a beginning.
I figured that out in seventh grade, and when that thought dawned on me I never let it go. I would lay awake at night, anxious and afraid. Thinking about how once you’re born, once you begin to exist, there is no way out of this world but to die. I spent that entire year in morbid fear of death. It was also the year that my father walked out on my mother. The year all those fears became a fixture in my life.
This time, I was totally unprepared.
Two days after we returned home, you were raring to get back to work. We got up at the crack of dawn. I remember checking the skies like I always did, just to make sure I knew what to expect. You crossed the ocean every day, and the skies told me whether or not to worry. They were so clear that day, like a matted photograph, unmarred and unblemished. I made you a mushroom omelet. You were so excited to try the hot sauces we’d brought in from the mainland.
“Mmm. I think I like this the best.” You held up the skinny bottle of piri piri. “I can really taste the garlic.”
“You and your spices.” I leaned over to kiss you. Our faces stayed close together. “Are you sure you’re feeling good enough to go?”
“I feel great.”
Death started with a knock on the door.
“Good morning!” I pulled the door open to find Diana and Ariel standing timidly outside. They crouched behind the doorframe, reluctant to walk in. There was the strangest shift in the air. It turned cold. They turned cold. The only friends we had in that foreign land looked terrified, sad, disenchanted. Eyes downcast, bodies stiff and guarded, miles and miles between us and them.
Everything that happens when friends feel betrayed.
“Why are you standing outside?” I said, pulling Diana by the hand. She stumbled in, Ariel following right behind her.
You stood in greeting, walked over to kiss Diana on both cheeks while I held onto her hand and led her to the kitchen table.
“What’s up, guys?” I asked. “My hero is ready to go back to work.”
“Well,” Ariel said, pausing to look at his wife. “I don’t know if you want to do that today.”
We stole a glance at each other. “What’s wrong?” I asked. “Please, both of you, sit. You’re making me nervous.”
Diana fished a newspaper out of her plastic tote and laid it on the table. “This came out today. My brother dropped it off.”
The couple seemed to ease off on the tension, taking a seat next to us. On the front page of the local paper was a large picture of you, emerging from the water, your eyes staring directly into the camera, your arm raised in a delayed attempt to cover your face.
WE JUST WANT TO THANK HIM. Emblazoned across the page was that headline.
“They are hoping Roman comes forward so they can reward him for saving their son,” Ariel said.
“Who are they?” you asked. “I don’t need their reward. I just want to be left alone.”
“You saved the son of the Spanish ambassador,” Diana piped in. “They are a high profile family. Enrique and Emilia go to the international school on the mainland.”
“Shit! Of course, it had to be them,” you hissed.
“Roman,” I whispered. “It’s okay.”
“It’s not okay,” you said, looking straight at me.
Diana and Ariel turned to each other. And as if on cue, Diana turned to the next page. “And here you are.”
There I was, on my knees, looking out at the water. I thought about all the hearts we had broken and all the deception now blown wide open by those pictures.
Ariel addressed you. “Vincent told Diana your names are not real. That you’re Matias Torres.”
“And I’m Carin Frost,” I said.
Diana grabbed my hand. Hers was warm
, light, full of understanding. “We know.”
“Roman,” Ariel said, his tone soft. “They’re looking for you. You can’t go back to the university.”
You stared at your hands laid out on the table. “The ambassador knows my father,” you muttered.
I jerked my head toward you.
“My father owns the largest furniture business in Madrid. He’s friends with that man.”
“You said he was a craftsman,” I countered.
You didn’t answer.
A few seconds passed before you pushed back, the ear-piercing screech of the wooden chair against the floor startling the three of us. Olive ran out of the bedroom and leaped into my lap.
“Fuck!” you yelled, standing and pacing around our little house. In a few steps, you went from the living room to the dining room to the kitchen and back around the dining table. You sat on the couch with your head buried in your hands.
No one said a word. We sat and waited. I wanted to be close to you, touch your skin, calm you down, but I thought it best to leave you alone.
When you finally spoke, I walked over and sat next to you. “Ariel, we will need your help. Can we close up this house and keep everything here until we send for our things at a later date? We don’t have much to take with us, but I’d like to keep the paintings and some other things Julia—I mean, Carin decides she wants. I can—”
“No,” I uttered silently. The one word that would bring us back our peace.
You leaned away, confounded. “No?”
I knew I had to pull you back in. “Matias, we can’t keep hiding. This isn’t us.”
“But this is us,” you argued. “This is our life.” Your face went slack, your eyes wet and dull.
“They’ll find us wherever we go.”
“Not if we’re smart about it,” you pleaded.
“This was temporary.”
The Year I Left Page 20