“Que se passe-t-il?” What’s going on?
Does she assume I don’t speak French like I assumed she doesn’t speak Spanish? I understand everything she says.
“Tu l'as envoyé?” Did you send him?
She listens to whoever’s on the other end. I can’t hear anything.
“Trouve qui l'a fait.” Find out who did.
Whatever the response is, it’s brief.
“Je t’aime… Toi aussi…Gros bisous. Fais de beaux rêves.” I love you…You too… Big kisses. Make beautiful dreams—sweet dreams.
That sounds more like she’s talking to one of her sons than a lover or friend. I wait for her to hang up, and when she does, we stare at each other. I know she’s evaluating what to tell me. She comes back and straddles my lap. We both like it when she sits that way.
“Enrique, I obviously live a very comfortable life here. I told you I used my portion of the house sale after I divorced to pay cash for this home. I work my ass off to write and publish my books, and with ten years under my belt, I’ve got a solid income every month.”
She shifts, bringing her body closer to mine. She’s not doing it to distract me. She wants more physical nearness as she shares information she fears will push us emotionally apart.
“This is an extremely modest lifestyle compared to what I could’ve once had. My sons benefited by getting superior educations and having their undergrad degrees paid for. Two have already paid for their graduate degrees. All three got high salaried jobs on their own. All three are on their way to being independently wealthy. With that money comes resources. They worry about me. They don’t know you, and they didn’t enjoy learning you can come and go as you want in this neighborhood. My oldest son has a friend who owns a security staffing company. I wondered if he put his friend up to getting one of his guys hired here, so my boys could keep an eye out for me.”
“Did he?”
“No. My son didn’t know what I was talking about. I told him to find out who got the guy the job. He’ll reach out to his friend, who’ll call the security company. I’ve known my son’s friend since they were in high school together. He’ll ask some discreet questions. If he learns anything concerning, he’ll tell Will.”
There’s more to this she’s not telling me. She knows I know that. She’s bracing for me to demand an explanation. I could order her to tell me, but I have something else in mind.
“Chiquita, I’m certain you’re safe here. Between the alarm system, my guys, and me, you’re well-guarded. But does it bother you enough that you want to go to one of your sons?”
“No. If you say we’re safe here, then I believe you. Besides, one of my boys is in New England, another is in Connecticut, and the third is staying with a friend in the city while he pet sits Constantine.”
I tuck a lock of hair behind her ear. It’s not that our lust is no longer there. We both feel it crackling between us. But we know there’s more we need to talk about, and it wouldn’t hurt for us to slow down a little. I try an easy question.
“How was your trip?”
“It was good, but it’s always nice to be home.”
Evasive.
“How about you?”
Now it’s my turn.
“Productive, but you’re right. It’s always nice to be home.”
I cup her cheek, and she leans forward. Our lips brush.
“I really missed you, Enrique. I didn’t think I would that much.”
“I hated not knowing how long either of us would be away.”
This kiss is languid as she melts against me. There’s a depth of emotion I know she’s not ready to admit. It’s one that unsettles me.
“Little one, I know it’s unfair that I can’t tell you about where I went or what I did. But I’d love to hear about your trip.”
Once again, she watches me as though she’s evaluating whether I have an ulterior motive for my question. She never takes more than a couple seconds, but I recognize it because I do the same thing.
“I got to see some folks I haven’t in a while. When I wasn’t thinking about you, the time flew. When I was, it dragged. The weather was nice.”