Day of the Dead (17 page)

Ned froze. Just like a scared little animal in the middle of the road, Michelle thought.

Then Daniel smiled. ‘Okay, look, we can talk about it. How about I call you tomorrow after lunch? All right?'

‘Yeah.' Ned nodded so hard that Michelle thought he'd give himself whiplash. ‘Yeah, that would be great.'

She leaned over, opened her tote, pretended to hunt for something. Switched off the watch.

She couldn't wait to take the fucking thing off.

‘Sorry about that,' Daniel said after Ned had left.

‘It's okay.'

She'd seen that side of him before, when he'd caught her in his apartment.

‘Ned's just kind of high-maintenance.' Daniel grinned and rested his hand on her knee. ‘And I don't like having my date night interrupted.'

The way he could turn it on and off so easily, she hadn't seen that until now.

All the while Charlie had leaned back in his chair, watching them. The kind of ‘aging drunk' who didn't miss much, Michelle guessed.

‘You up for some dinner?' Daniel asked her.

‘I am.'

‘Good. I'm starving.' He drained his beer in a few gulps. ‘I'll catch you next week, probably,' he said to Charlie.

‘You two have a lovely evening,' Charlie said, lifting his shot glass.

They went to El Dorado, sat under a
palapa
on the beach with their feet trailing in the sand, had grilled fish and vegetables, watched the anchored boats bobbing up and down in the moonlight. A part of her made small talk while the other part of her sat back and monitored the results. She thought she'd done pretty well. He'd grinned and laughed and at one point stretched his hand across the table to twine his fingers in hers.

She'd laughed, too. He was fun to be around.

As long as she pretended, everything was fine.

‘Where to?' he asked after he paid the bill.

‘Maybe a nightcap?'

‘Let's go to my place. I've got drinks.' He leaned over. His lips brushed against her ear. ‘I even have a blender.'

She hesitated. ‘I don't know . …'

‘Come on, I got the flies out. Promise!'

‘My place is closer.'

‘When we're at your place, I feel like if we make any noise, we're gonna give some old lady a heart attack.' He kissed her neck, at the crease of her jaw. ‘Besides, at my place I can make you breakfast.'

‘You cook?'

‘Well, a few things. Huevos rancheros. Bloody Marys …'

It wasn't a good idea, she thought. At his place they'd be alone. With no witnesses.

Away from Hacienda Carmen, where people were watching.

Or was that a good thing?

If she said no, if she turned him down, then what?

What was safer? She couldn't tell anymore.

‘You sure you got the flies out?'

Don't think. Just do. Quiet the monkey mind. That was what she needed right now, to shut up the chatter in her head, to just forget about everything. To pretend it was all going to be okay.

‘So are you into this?'

‘What?'

Even in the dark, she could see the concern in his eyes, the worry – that he wasn't pleasing her, maybe?

‘Are you kidding?' she said, trying to keep it light.

They lay side by side on Daniel's big bed, which after the hard pallets of both her hotel rooms felt almost decadent, like being gently held.

‘You're kind of tough to read,' he said.

They were touching, her knees brushing his thighs, his hand resting on her hip, their faces inches apart.

You can't panic, she told herself.

She hadn't given him any reason to suspect … well, anything.

At least she didn't think she had.

She felt the pulse beat in the back of her throat.

‘Look,' she said. ‘I'm sorry if I seem … I don't know, distant. I'm not always very good at showing how I feel, I guess. But it's great being with you. It's the first time in a long time that I feel like I'm getting out of my own head. And with the stuff that's in my head … believe me, it's great not to be there.'

She thought she sounded convincing. She was mostly telling the truth, which helped.

Daniel frowned and then nodded. ‘Yeah. I hear you. Sometimes it's good to just get away from yourself.'

He had
that
right, she thought.

She needed to get the focus off herself. Off her drama. He must be sick of it by now.
I'm
sick of it, she thought.

‘What about you? I mean … are
you
into this?'

Maybe he wasn't anymore, and that would be her out.

Funny. She wasn't sure how she felt about that.

He laughed a little, reached over and touched her cheek. ‘Yeah. You're just not catching me at my best. Sorry. I'm kind of an asshole sometimes.'

Weren't you supposed to believe what men said about themselves?

All she knew was that he didn't seem like one now.

‘You're not,' she said. ‘And you don't need to apologize. I've been so wrapped up in myself, I haven't even asked …' She hesitated. But it was what you'd ask in a normal situation, wasn't it? ‘What's going on with you?'

‘Just a bunch of shit I never should've gotten involved with,' he said.

They lay there in silence for a moment, and she thought, Do I ask?

His eyes left her face. Looked down. He skimmed his fingertips over her breast. Lightly rubbed her nipple. Her breath caught.

‘Let's just forget about all of it right now.' His eyes held hers again. His hand moved along her ribs, lower, to the crease of her thigh, his fingers gently probing inward. ‘How's that sound?'

She moved against his hand. ‘It sounds good.'

Daniel made her breakfast, like he'd promised. Huevos rancheros and Bloody Marys. They sat out on his balcony and ate.

‘Really good,' she said, because it was.

When he finished his, he pushed his plate away and leaned back in his chair. Stirred his Bloody Mary with a celery stick.

‘So what do you think?'

She was still eating. She put down her fork. ‘About what?'

He shrugged. ‘Are you going to be sticking around for a while?'

Funny, she thought. Was he really that interested? She wasn't sure. He wasn't smiling the way he usually did. He looked, if anything, thoughtful. Maybe a little sad.

He'd enjoyed himself last night, she was pretty sure. She had, in spite of everything.

She'd managed to forget, for a while.

They were quiet together. Tender, almost. And she'd fallen asleep, which she hadn't really expected to be able to do, and she'd slept well.

She'd woken up to an empty bed, a clatter of pans, and the faint smell of coffee. He'd put a folded robe on the pillow where he'd been, which was a nice gesture, she thought.

Now she stared at the sliver of ocean visible from the balcony.

‘I don't know,' she said. ‘I do have to get back at some point. Maybe in a week or so. After that I really don't know.'

‘My week's looking kind of crazy,' he said. ‘But I hope we can get together again, before you go.'

They were refinancing, Tom had told her.

When she thought about it now, that was when she should have demanded an explanation. When she should have stopped trusting him. Even if he hadn't been lying to her, she shouldn't have let it go.

She'd gone online to their bank's bill-pay center to schedule the month's payments, and the mortgage account had vanished. The line where the payee should have been, gone.

‘We can get a better rate,' Tom had said. ‘The accountant's dealing with the refinancing. He's taken the payments out of the household account, so you don't have to worry about it.'

‘And you didn't think we should talk about it first?'

It had really grated on her the last few years, the paternal attitude, that he could just do these things and not even bother to discuss them with her. Of course, it
was
his money, he was the wage earner, but weren't they supposed to be in this together?

‘Honey, this kind of thing is my
business,
' he'd said. ‘It's what I do. It would be like … like me telling you what photos to hang on the wall.'

‘But I still ask you,' she'd said. ‘I ask you what you think.'

The truth was, she hadn't asked enough.

She'd known that the business hadn't been going well. But he'd told her it was nothing dire, nothing to worry about, just normal ups and downs – a fund that was underperforming. Financing that had fallen through. She could tell that he was more stressed out than usual, working longer hours, keeping a greater distance from her. She'd let him.

That was what bothered her the most now. That she hadn't confronted him. That she'd let him handle things, even when she'd suspected that things weren't right.

Maybe he'd wanted to talk. To confess. If only she'd pushed him a bit, maybe he would have told her. Instead she'd gritted her teeth and nodded. Because she hadn't really wanted to know.

She'd liked the distance between them.

When she got back to Hacienda Carmen in the early afternoon, she changed into her bathing suit and a blouse and sarong and went down to the beach. She had her choice of chairs at the beach club; hardly any were taken.

She got out her iPhone and stared at it a moment before calling Ted Banks.

‘Hey there, Michelle. Nice night?'

It was all she could do not to hurl her phone into the sand. Instead she swallowed hard. Took a deep, calming breath.

‘Hi, Ted. Yeah.'

Maybe he didn't know. She was calling him; presumably she had something to report.

Or he had someone watching Hacienda Carmen, who'd reported that she hadn't come home that night.

Either way he could read between the lines.

She didn't know what to say. She kept silent, her chest and throat tight with frustration.

‘So are you gonna tell me about it?'

‘Look …'

The parasail guys finally had a customer. She watched for a moment as the chute advertising a local real estate agent lifted up and soared out over the surf.

‘How much longer do you expect me to do this?'

‘For now I think we need to play that by ear.'

‘Gary …' Her heart was pounding. Deep breath. One more. ‘I don't know if I can keep doing this. I … it's too hard.'

Gary snickered. ‘Awww, don't tell me you're falling for him.'

‘Fuck you,' she said before she could stop herself.

‘You are, aren't you? Sweetie, I could tell you some things about Danny that would curl your hair.'

‘Then tell me,' she snapped. ‘Go ahead, tell me! You're always insinuating all this shit – why don't you prove it to me?'

For a moment there was silence.

‘Oh, I get it,' Gary said. ‘You think you can get a better deal with him, don't you?'

‘What are you talking about?'

‘What's he been promising you, Michelle? You think he's gonna give you a cut? Well, let me tell you, you're in for a world of hurt if you believe that.'

Michelle stared at the phone in disbelief.

‘I don't know what you're talking about. I don't want a deal, I don't want a cut, I just want to go home.'

‘Well then, we both want the same thing,' Gary said. ‘So you need to keep your cool and do what I tell you, okay?'

The parasail was landing now. A young guy, bearded and shirtless, laughing as he stumbled onto the beach.

‘How long, Gary?' she repeated.

‘Not too long. I promise. Just tell me about last night.'

Oh, God, she thought. What was she supposed to tell him? About the sex? About what they'd done? Was that what he wanted to hear?

‘Ned came by El Tiburón,' she said. ‘He's an American who owns a restaurant.'

‘I know who he is.'

‘He was looking for Danny. He seemed really anxious about it. Said it was … it was time-sensitive.'

‘Oh, yeah? So what did Danny say?'

‘I …' Michelle squeezed her eyes shut. ‘I used the watch. I'll send it to you.'

‘I knew you could do it,' Gary said, and the satisfaction in his voice made her cringe. ‘Good job, Michelle! Lookin' forward to it.'

A pause. ‘Anything else?'

Just a bunch of shit I never should've gotten involved with.

‘No,' she said. ‘No, nothing else.'

Fuck the passport, she thought. I'll just get on a plane, and when I get to L.A., I'll say I lost it. They could lock her up in Immigration, whatever. It didn't matter.

Except … didn't she need a passport number to book a flight? Did she know her passport number?

You were supposed to make a copy of your passport when you traveled – how many times had she read that? – but she hadn't done it. Hadn't even thought about it.

Would they even let her on the plane without one?

A bus, then. A bus to Guadalajara, then a bus to Tijuana. Just get to the border.

But Gary knows where I live, she thought. He knows who my family is. He knows my credit cards, my bank accounts . …

Stop, she told herself. Just stop.

She lay back in the beach chair and closed her eyes.

She could call Daniel. Tell him what was going on. Maybe everything Gary had been telling her about Daniel was bullshit. Lies.

Or maybe it wasn't.

Sunday morning she got up and did yoga, but after that she was still restless. The courtyard of Hacienda Carmen felt like a trap, a place contaminated by Gary – he'd chosen it for her, after all.

I'll go have coffee someplace else, she thought. One of those cute breakfast places up on Basilio Badillo, maybe. Buy yesterday's
New York Times
and try to relax.

One of the little markets on Olas Altas carried English-language papers, she recalled. Maybe they even had magazines.
New Yorker,
something like that.