Shit! Now I’m in fourth place.
There’s only one lap left, and I decide to risk it all and forget about the pain in my hand. When I approach curve number fifteen again, I sense that if I go inside instead of outside, I’ll be able to win by a few seconds. There may be a problem coming out of it if my wrist fails, and I can’t control the bike. But I’ve dealt with tougher things in my life, and I decide to chance it.
I grit my teeth as I come into the curve. The other women make room for me, I reduce my speed and go for it. I take the curve exactly as I planned and . . . all right! My wrist responds well, and I control the bike. Yes! Three more curves, and I’m taking home a trophy.
Suddenly, one of the other racers jumps, and her back wheel skids. She loses control, and her bike glances off my front wheel. Unable to avoid it, I go flying off and over my bike.
Everything goes dark.
16
I hear a constant and annoying sound.
Goddamned alarm clock!
I try to move to turn it off, but I can’t. I’m so tired!
Noise. Voices. What a racket.
Someone calls me. Eric calls me.
I try to open my eyes. I can’t. Darkness.
I don’t know how much time passes until I hear the alarm again.
This time I can open my eyes, and I blink. I move my neck very carefully and sigh. My head hurts. What did I drink? When I open my eyes, I see a television anchored to the wall. Where am I? Someone is holding my hand, and I see Eric’s head leaning on it.
What’s going on?
Like a flash, everything rushes back: Race. Curve number fifteen. Flying over my motorcycle. I sigh.
Mother of God, I must have given myself a beating. I breathe. My body hurts, but I don’t care about that. I just want to make sure Eric’s OK. I know him, and I’m sure he’s depressed and scared.
I look at his blond hair. He doesn’t move, but when I gesture with my hand, he quickly raises his head and looks at me. I feel like my heart just stopped beating.
“Hello, handsome.”
Eric sits up and comes closer to me. “Sweetheart, how are you?”
His eyes are red, terribly red.
“What happened to you, my love?” I ask.
And then he does something that leaves me completely speechless: his face, his beautiful face, tenses, and he sobs.
“Don’t you ever scare me like that again, understand?”
I want to hug him and console him. I pull on him and make him hold me. Tears come rolling down my face when I realize how desperately he responds and how much he’s crying. My Iceman—my serious, grumpy, and stubborn German—cries like a baby in my arms while I caress and kiss him.
We’re like that for a few minutes until his breathing stabilizes, and he pulls back.
“I’m sorry, my love. Forgive me,” he says, embarrassed.
I’ve never been so in love with him.
“There’s nothing to forgive, baby.”
“I was so scared . . . I . . .”
“You’re human, and we humans have feelings, my love.”
He moves his head and tries to smile and ends up giving me a kiss on the tip of my nose.
“What happened?”
He pushes the hair off my face and tries to explain.
“There was an accident. You flew off the motorcycle, lost consciousness, and didn’t regain it until we got to the hospital. That scared me to death, Jude.”
“Darling . . .”
“I thought I had lost you.”
His despair makes me shiver.
“But I’m OK, right?”
Eric nods, but he’s still very emotional.
“Yes, my love, you’re OK. You have a very slight concussion.” He swallows a knot of emotions. “But you’re OK. You don’t have a single break. Just a hairline fracture on your left wrist.”
“You didn’t call my father, did you?”
Eric shakes his head.
“I figured I would call him when you woke up.”
“Don’t call him. I’m all right, and there’s no need to scare him.”
He kisses my hand. “We have to call him, Jude. If you want, we can wait until tomorrow when they release you.”
I protest.
“Tomorrow? And why not now?”
“Because they want to keep you for twenty-four hours of observation.”
“But I’m OK. Can’t you see?”
He finally grins. “Your stubbornness tells me you are, in fact, all right, and you have no idea how happy that makes me. But I want you to stay in the hospital as well. It’ll ease my mind. I’ll stay with you. I won’t move from your side.”
I like that. If I have to be here, he’s the best company I could have. Just then, the door opens and in comes Marta with an anguished Sonia.
“Oh, my girl, are you all right?”
“Yes, it’s OK, Sonia. I’m fine. It’s just a bump.”
“A bump? You mean a hell of a crash!” exclaims Marta. “You have to see the shape that motorcycle is in to fully understand what happened.”
Eric moves so his mother can hug and kiss me. He touches her shoulder to reassure her.
“It’s OK, Mamá. Judith’s fine.”
But now I’m the sad one. “What happened to my motorcycle?”
When no one responds, my eyes fill with tears, and my neck itches. “Please tell me my bike is OK,” I say, which leaves them all aghast.
“My dear,” says Sonia, “don’t get anxious.”
Eric scolds his mother with a look.
“Listen, my love, don’t worry about the bike now. The only thing that’s important is you.”
But that doesn’t convince me. I scratch my neck.
I adore my bike. My father sacrificed a lot to buy it for me many years ago.
“At least tell me if it can be fixed.”
“It can be fixed,” says Eric, now back at my side and blowing on my neck.
That helps. My bike is very important to me. It’s my connection to my past, to my family, to Spain.
Eric’s phone rings, and he goes out in the hallway to answer.
“Oh, my dear,” whispers Sonia, “you have no idea how terrified I was when I got the call from Marta!”
I smile and try to calm her.
“But nobody was as scared as my son. I thought Eric wouldn’t be able to deal with it. You have no idea how hysterical he got. Marta practically had to slap him so he’d let you go and let the paramedics attend to you.”
“He must have been reliving Hannah’s accident, poor man,” I say, horrified.
We all know that’s exactly what happened. He was present for that accident too.
Knowing Eric has gone through such a terrible thing hurts my soul.
“I know he’s been crying,” Sonia says.
“Don’t say a word about it, Mamá. You know how he is.”
“Simona and Norbert send kisses. I told them they didn’t have to come, that you’d be home tomorrow,” Eric says when he comes back.
Those poor souls; they must be so upset.
“Are you all right, my son?”
Eric knows what she’s really asking.
“Yes, now that I know Jude’s OK.”
That makes me want to smile. He is definitely still my Iceman, but today he’s shown me another side, one I didn’t know. I can really see now how much he loves me and needs me.
A few hours later, the room is jammed with visitors. Dexter, Graciela, and Laila bring Flyn, who hugs me when he sees me, takes my hand, and refuses to let anyone get between us. Frida, Andrés, and Björn arrive later. They bring me a beautiful bouquet of orange lilies, for which I am grateful.
Everyone is talking all around me, and then Björn settles next to me with a worried look.
“Quite the scare you gave us, you crazy girl.”
“I know. It wasn’t my intention.”
“Are you OK?”
I nod. Eric leans into us. “Do you n
eed anything?”
I say no and smile. Björn puts a hand on his friend’s shoulder.
“Do you need me to get anything from the house?”
“We could use some clothes for Jude. All we have here is the jumpsuit, and I don’t think she wants to leave the hospital in that tomorrow,” says Eric.
“I’ll stop by your house later. Simona will get that stuff ready, and I’ll bring it by tonight,” says Björn.
“You don’t have to come back tonight, Björn. If we have it tomorrow, that’s fine,” says Eric as he kisses my forehead.
“I can bring it,” says Laila. “There’s no need for Björn to stop by the house.”
“It’s not a bother,” insists our friend.
Eric isn’t picking up on anything. “What if Björn picks you up, and you come together?”
“Ah, no . . . I can’t,” says Laila after a quick glance at Björn. “I just realized I have a meeting in the morning.”
Björn nods, looks over at me, and I smile back. Problem solved.
17
As the days go by, I get better. On Thursday, we say goodbye to Graciela and Dexter. They’re going back to Mexico, but we promise we’ll see them again here or there.
I miss Graciela’s company right away. She’s such a good person, it’s impossible not to miss her. Laila’s still at the house. The truth is, she’s charming. I haven’t had a chance to talk to Simona yet, but, with me at least, she’s very kind and good.
Eric has to see his doctors. They have to make an adjustment because of his vision problem. Marta lets me go in with him when they run tests, and I get a chance to see what he has to go through. Later, the three of us conference in Marta’s office.
“Have you had headaches lately?” asks the doctor.
“A few.”
I immediately protest. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I didn’t want you to worry,” responds Eric.
I sigh. Marta gives me a look that tells me to calm down.
“Eric, everything’s OK right now, but if your head hurts again, tell me, please.”
He nods.
“If you smile, I’ll smile,” my German whispers to me as we leave the hospital.
Days later, when I feel a thousand times better after my accident, I call my father and tell him what happened. He gets scared and irritated because I’m telling him so many days after the fact, but, like always, he forgives me. He’s a love.
I tell my sister too, but she’s a whole different story. Raquel gets pissed and tells me I’m out of my mind for continuing to ride my motorcycle. I listen . . . and listen . . . and listen until I’m at the point of telling her to go to hell, and then I remember how much I love her and keep on listening.
When she finally has nothing else to say, I ask her about Juan Alberto. Eric told me that, after his trip to Belgium, he went back through Spain, so I’m not surprised when she says he visited Jerez. He’s back in Mexico now, but he calls her every two or three days.
She sounds calm and seems serene, but I know she’s suffering. She doesn’t say anything, so I won’t say anything either.
When I hang up, I lean back on the bed and fall asleep. I wake up about ten minutes later, and Simona’s in my room with a glass of water and some pills. It’s time to take them.
“Do you want to see Emerald Madness up here? It’ll be on in ten minutes,” she says.
I say yes and tell her to get up on the bed with me. I lean back on the pillows.
“What’s going on with Laila?”
“Why do you think there’s something going on?”
“I heard you arguing with Norbert about her visit. I’ve also noticed it’s tense between you two and between her and Björn, but you all pretend otherwise. Are you going to tell me what happened?”
Simona touches my arm. “She’s not my niece; she’s Norbert’s. And the dislike is mutual. According to that little monster’s mother, that we work as servants is my fault, and that’s why they always treat us with disdain. But you know what? I’d rather be a servant than someone as deplorable as that girl, no matter how educated she might be.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s a shady story, Judith,” she says, and lowers her voice. “I had another fight with Norbert yesterday because of that shameless girl. She puts things in his head and—”
“Like what?”
“Laila’s mother lives in London and wants us to move there when we retire. But I’m not going to London or anywhere else. I refuse.”
“I heard you say something about what happened with Björn,” I say. “Can you tell me what that was about?”
“She did something very ugly, and I’m not going to talk about it. I would rather Björn tell you what happened. But that horrible girl is a bad seed . . . a very bad seed.”
We remain on the bed and watch how Luis Alfredo Quiñones recovers from the gunshot to his chest but suffers amnesia and can’t remember anything, not even that Esmeralda Mendoza’s his lover and that he’s the father of a beautiful boy. She suffers. We suffer.
Mother of God, what a melodrama!
Soon, my accident is forgotten. Eric and everyone else have taken very good care of me, everything’s going very well, and I sometimes have a terrible fear of being too happy.
Eric and I argue a few times about my going back to work. He thinks if I do, it’ll take time away from us and cause problems.
I want to work and can’t stand to have limits imposed on my life so every time we talk about it, one of us ends up storming out of the room and slamming the door.
Also during this time, Eric, Flyn, and Laila go to the shooting range a couple of Sunday mornings. I refuse. I don’t like guns and prefer to keep them out of my life.
One morning, Eric calls me from work and asks me to go to Björn’s office to sign some papers. When I ask him what they are, he tells me the documents are our wills, and that leaves me cold.
After a few minutes of reasoning through it, I realize it’s for the best. I know it will avoid problems for my family if something should happen to me.
At the office, everyone greets me affably. I’m Mrs. Zimmerman, and they’re a little surprised to see me here, except Helga, who greets me warmly. I blush a little when I remember what she and I did together at that hotel so many months back.
Oh . . . the heat!
When I get to Björn’s office, the memories make me sweat. The last time I was here, I ended up on the desk, nude, with my legs wide open. When Björn sees me, he stands and kisses me on each cheek.
He very professionally shows me the docs Eric has already signed, and I discover our friend is not only a lawyer but also a notary.
Handsome, good-hearted, elegant, a lawyer, and a notary . . . excellent! He tells me Eric has named my father, sister, and nieces as beneficiaries. That moves me. My husband thinks of everything.
Afterward, Björn suggests we have lunch together. I accept. I want to know about Laila. It’s killing me!
We walk arm in arm to the restaurant. Björn is constantly joking around, and I can’t stop laughing. We order wine and toast to the many years Eric and I still have to live. We’re laughing but just about ready to really start talking when some friends of his show up and sit with us. We have to put off our talk. I set aside the wine and order a Coke.
One afternoon when I’m bored at home, Sonia calls. She wants me to come over. I have nothing better to do, so I say yes. Norbert drives me. Once I arrive, my mother-in-law receives me as warmly as ever. We’re chatting when, suddenly, Earth, Wind & Fire’s “September” comes on the radio.
“Do you know that every time I hear this song, I remember the first time I saw you dancing like a crazy woman at that hotel in Madrid?” says Sonia.
“Seriously?”
She nods.
“I love that song.”
“Me too!”
We both laugh.
“Well then, let’s dance,” she says.
My
mother-in-law is the best! She raises the volume, and we begin to dance and sing.
Marta comes in, sees us, and quickly joins the party.
When the song ends, we’re still laughing. Sonia’s housekeeper brings us some beverages, and I quickly claim a Coke. I’m so thirsty.
“All right, Mamá, now that we’re past the moment of euphoria, what’s going on?”
That gets my attention. There’s something going on? Mother and daughter quickly look at each other; then Sonia turns to me. “I need your help.” Now it’s Marta and I who take a quick glance at one another.
“You know I broke up with Trevor Gerver a few months back, right?”
We both nod.
“Well, the night before last, when I was having dinner with a friend at a restaurant, I saw him with a very pretty young woman on his arm.”
“So what, Mamá?”
“Well, that young woman couldn’t have been more than thirty years old.”
“And?” I ask.
“It enraged me to see him so well accompanied,” mutters Sonia.
I blink, not quite sure I understand what’s going on. I know my mother-in-law was really into that guy . . .
“Were you jealous?” asks Marta.
“No.”
“Then what?”
“It angered me that his companion was younger than mine.”
I want to laugh. I can’t help it. Sonia never stops surprising me. Marta protests.
“Mamá, please, what are you saying?”
I’m still laughing.
“When Trevor saw me, he came over and invited me to a party at his house tomorrow.”
“So?” asks Marta.
“Well, that’s a problem.”
“Then don’t go,” I say. “If it doesn’t appeal to you, don’t go—problem solved.”
She glances at me and sighs. I’m even more lost than before.
“I want to go to that party, but not with a man my age. What I want is to go with a handsome and attractive young man. You know the kind. Scandalous. I want that snot Trevor Gerver to realize a woman like me can ignite passions in younger men.”
Tell Me What You Want—Or Leave Me Page 16