Rendezvous with Hymera (2 page)

“Honey, I’m sorry, but you’ll be alone for the next few hours,” she addressed her dog, who was
crawling at her feet.

Leaving the back door open for him, Clara dressed and, taking her shoulder bag, she headed to the door.

On the way to the parking lot, in front of the store, she saw Rose talking to an old man. He was of medium build, dressed in a grey shirt, trousers and wearing a straw hat. When she reached them, Rose asked:

“Well, how did you sleep? You look a little better than yesterday.”

Choosing to be amused, rather than offended, Clara answered:

“Excellent, Mrs. Rose, thank you for asking.
I’m going to the city.”

“Call me Rose. Stop
mistress-
ing me. This is Mr. Garcia,” she introduced the old man, who had remained silent during the exchange.

He had a gentle-looking face, on which time and pains known only by him had carved deep lines, but
without diminishing the nostalgic, kind expressivity in the pale blue eyes.

“It’s a pleasure meeting you, Miss,” he said to Clara, gallantly kissing her hand after removing his hat.

“Likewise, Mr. Garcia. I’m Clara DeVine,” she answered smiling.

“Tonight, we’d like to invite you to a barbecue on the lake shore. Marie and Robert will also be
there. What do you think?” Rose asked her.

“Wow, I would love to,” answered the young woman, pleasantly surprised by the informal
spontaneity of the invitation. “Thanks! I’ll see you later!”

So saying, Clara got into her car and started the engine.

The drive to the city was a delight on the highway bordered by vegetation. The sunny day, the fragrant fresh morning air, the softly playing radio and the fact that she had the road almost only to herself gave her a feeling of joy, so she was all but sorry when she reached her destination.

Although it wasn’t located very far from her freshly discovered refuge, the metropolis seemed just as well
to be on another planet, a hyper-populated one, so the young woman armed herself with patience while browsing the shops, searching the articles from the list she had quickly put together that morning. Typically female, the impossibility of resisting temptations presented in the form of clothes, jewelry, perfumes and other paraphernalia charged her with a few extra bags and not exactly insignificant bills, but Clara decided she deserved every indulgence.

After two hours of infernal traffic, pollution and shopping congestion, she stopped for an iced drink on one
of the many terraces which decorated the city’s center, choosing the one whose main attraction was an artesian fountain shaped like a water lily with dozens of petals. From between them, water gushed, cooling the ambient from a well-calculated distance. Sitting in the shadow, she relaxed watching the spectacle of the drops which undulated graciously, dancing on the clear background of pretty clouds. The water remodeled itself in an almost poetic ascent, reaching the fluid apogee of each parabola, and then returning to its original state, in a permanent rebirthing.

An unknown sensor of her instinct became aware of the man heading towards her table even before she turned her gaze in his direction. He would have caught her attention anywhere, but when her brain processed the information generated by this apparition and turned it into recognition, an inexpressible sensation of heat and emotion formed in her solar plexus and rapidly propagated in her entire being.

Not a twitch of his expression betrayed that he was also seized by the same intense and somewhat
contradictory feelings, but Colin felt his pulse unusually accelerated when he said, with the calm and deeply masculine voice she used to know so well:

“I’ve always liked how you looked dressed in red...”

In all the years she had known him, Colin had always had that direct, intense and arrogant stare that seemed to playfully suggest the illicit knowledge of his interlocutor’s most intimate secrets. Often, Clara had found herself intimidated and thoroughly analyzed by those extremely dark and expressive eyes, with equally dark and well-defined eyebrows.

They had been acquainted for over ten years and, although there had always been a powerful attraction
between them, because of the circumstances, they had never had the chance to explore or exploit that mutual tacit interest. Even if time and experience could have urged her to see him through the filter of a slightly critical maturity, the athletic presence, the tanned skin and the short, military haircut stirred her senses just like in the old times.

Colin wore a pair of simple jeans, a black shirt that emphasized his hard, nicely worked body – for which
she had a particular weakness – and a million-watt smile.

“Cat got your tongue, Blondie?” he said, expertly sliding next to her on the bench.

Clara, who was usually voluble and self-confident in her interactions with the opposite sex, harmoniously combining charm with a dose of flirt, felt a shadow of disconcertedness and, to her horror, she actually blushed. Still, she managed the great accomplishment of not stuttering when she replied:

“Well, well!
The uncrowned idol of old-days cheerleaders appears at my table! Are you still as cocky as you used to be?”

Colin widened his smile.

“Absolutely. I accidentally saw you and suddenly felt an irresistible desire to salute and assure you that you look excellent! Even better than you did back in college!”

“Thanks, I can return that compliment,” she answered, genuinely impressed by this encounter,
which, in her subconscious, she had always foreseen.

“I’ve always known we’d meet again someday,” she said, without realizing her thoughts had taken
voice. Then, trying not to give Colin time to reply and also to hide her own embarrassment towards her remark and its implications, she rapidly changed the subject.

“So, tell me, what have you been doing with yourself?” she asked, scolding herself for not being
able to find a more original method to begin the discussion than an expired cliché.

However, the technique soon proved to be efficient, because after this unusual debut, the
conversation began to flow effortlessly, while both were studying each other with an interest that surpassed courteous curiosity.

Clara learned, as a result of the numerous questions they asked one another, that in the past years their
lives had taken sinuous but not very different turns.

She had made a certain renown as a writer, and Colin was a respected journalist; he worked at a high rated
newspaper and was
without wife, kids, or criminal record
, as he informed her with a cinematographic smile.

“Do you live here, in the city?” she asked him.

“Yes, for now. How about you?”

“I’ve rented a cottage on a lake’s shore, thirty miles from here. It’s superb. For now, that’s my
residence.” she emphasized.

“At Rose’s?” he asked.

“Yeah,” answered Clara surprised. “Do you know the place?”

“I do. I’ve spent a couple of weeks th
ere. Maybe I’ll pay you a visit,” he went on watching her questioningly over the Cola glass in front of him, which had been brought earlier by an attentive and energetic waitress, who had displayed for his benefit an obviously seductive smile.

This suggestion triggered a chaos in her soul – emotion, anticipation, pleasure, but also a touch of
hesitation that was ruthlessly ignored.

“Um... Sure, why not? I’m in the third cottage. I really enjoy talking to you.”

A corner of his mouth curved insinuatingly.

“So do I. Tell me, how is it that a woman like you isn’t married or at least engaged?”

Clara raised her eyebrows.

“And what, might I ask, makes you think I’m not?”

“I don’t see any engagement ring or wedding band on these elegant fingers of yours,” he answered and surprised her by kissing her hands.

She felt she was melting.

“You’re right,” she finally replied. “Presently, the only male in my life is Tony, my dog, and there isn’t anybody else because I haven’t preoccupied myself lately with this aspect. My work keeps me very busy.”

“Hmm... Do you know what they say about people who work too much and have too
little fun?”

“That they’re boring?” she joked.

“No, that they get old before their time,” he replied in the same playful tone. “You have to make sure no lines appear on this perfect face,” he said, gently stroking her cheek.

Clara felt completely captive in the magnetic sphere emanated by this charismatic man, the more so as their
attraction had burned like a smoldering fire in her subconscious for over ten years. She felt she was losing herself in those hypnotic eyes, and all the unspoken thoughts he was transmitting only by visual contact seemed to absorb, transform and recreate her. Blinking rapidly, disturbed by the depth of that moment’s emotional charge, she lowered her gaze on the watch she wore on her left wrist, without seeing anything at first. However, when she realized how late it was and how much her track of time had been distorted in the last hours, she stood abruptly.

“Speaking of Tony, I have to go!” she exclaimed grabbing her purse. “He’s alone and probably
waiting desperately for me. I told Rose he’s very obedient, but he slips now and then, and when he’s bored, he chews everything that seems appealing.”

Colin laughed
then took her shopping bags, saying:

“I’ll see you to your car.”

They covered the short distance to the automobile parked on one side of the street. While she was opening the car door, Clara gave her phone number to Colin, who had asked for it. Before she got into the car, he took her hand, interweaving his fingers with hers. Her green eyes lifted to his, seeming to form an almost palpable electric arc.

Thousands of butterflies danced in her stomach when Colin g
ently kissed her cheek and said:

“See
you soon, beautiful!”

***

When she returned to the cottage, Clara moved like an automaton and, although her feet were touching the pavement with each step, her mind was floating galaxies away.

Over the years, she often thought about Colin, wondering what fate had dealt him, meditating on what
could have been between them. The surprising thing was that, even after ten years, what she considered to be a spark without chances of expansion, an ambiguous chemistry, felt just as potent and was mutual.

Her trail of thoughts was interrupted by Rose, who greeted her as she was heading to her cottage,
loaded with bags.

“You’re back?” the old lady asked without actually expecting an answer. “Tonight around eight, we’ll be
waiting for you there,” she said, lifting her index to indicate the small wooden gazebo on the shore, partially hidden under the graceful branches of a willow tree.

“I’ll be there. Thanks for inviting me and please excuse me for being in such a hurry, but I’m so
hungry I could eat like a wolf!”

“Ha!” exclaimed the old woman. “Only a mouth-and-you! If you’d eat like a wolf, you wouldn’t
resemble a splinter,” she went on in a reproachful tone.

Before the young woman could find a smart comeback, Rose had already turned away, going into the
store.

“I don’t resemble a splinter,” she muttered to herself. “I’m more like a big stick!”

Tony was impatiently waiting for his mistress, frantically running around the bags and packs, which Clara had left with an enviable precision right in the center of the living area, and was sniffing them desperately.

“Gee, Tony, if somebody would see you, they’d think you’re the most neglected and under-fed animal on
Earth,” she scolded her quadruped friend, who ignored her completely, continuing his inspection.

After everything had been unpacked and both woman and dog well fed, Clara sat in front of her laptop, now
installed on the small bedroom desk, and began writing, carried by a wave of inspiration.

In the evening, at the set time, wearing a casual white cotton dress, she headed to the gazebo. It was a
construction with lines of an old elegance, sheltering a big square table, flanked on each side by benches with backrests and cushions that ensured a maximum of comfort. The wooden roof had a laced structure, and the pattern masterfully sculpted by an anonymous artist was filtering the moonlight, which threw mercurial reflections over the tableau. A corner of the gazebo was hidden under the branches of an old willow tree, whose foliage gently rustled, caressed by the cool breeze.

The preparations were in full swing and the alluring smell of meat sizzling on the grill tickled Clara’s
senses. To avoid going empty-handed, she had bought a bottle of expensive wine and a box of cookies, hoping the others also harbored, at least, a benign weakness for sweets.

The evening went much more pleasantly than she had expected. Marie and Robert Axel were about the
same age as her and both worked at a telephone company in the city. Recently, they had bought their cottage from Rose, turning it into a permanent home.