Page 48 of Nomad

She looked around. “Did you ever dream about a life like this? I mean, you know, seriously?”

He followed suit and looked around before answering. “Honestly, no. I guess I’m kind of a simple guy.” He looked over at her. “You?”

She shook her head. “This was fun. Today. But I don’t see myself livin’ like this.”

“I guess city planners travel a lot.”

“Yeah.” She smiled. “I don’t know about that. What I do know is that I’m not makin’ plans for just me anymore. Got somebody else to think about.”

He nodded thoughtfully. “Kids need to stay in the same place.”

“They do.” She nodded. “School and all. Maybe I’ll make enough money to have a nanny. So I could be gone for a couple of days now and then.”

After more swimming and lunch, Bud and Cann explored the house and found the media room, which was complete with an enormous library of DVDs in both Spanish and English. He choseNo Mercy. She choseA Walk in the Clouds. As they were leaving, the butler intercepted them.

In Spanish he told Cann that dinner would be at eight then disappeared.

“Dinner’s at eight,” he told Bud. “We should work on your Spanish.”

She yawned. “I was thinking naps. I’ve got time, right?”

He looked at his watch. “Yes. You’ve got time.”

She napped for almost two hours while Cann sat on one of the Chesterfields and read.

“You don’t have to babysit me,” she’d said, when she lay down.

“I’m not leavin’ you alone here.”

He said it matter-of-factly as if the thought was out of the question. And she reminded herself again not to get too used to that. It mimicked devotion, but wasn’t. He was just a nice guy doing a good deed. That was all.

Bud stood in front of the gigantic bathroom mirror blowing her hair dry, wearing the sapphire panties and bra that felt like they were made in heaven. When she pulled the skinny jeans on, she thought, “Damn. These look good. And I’ll probably only be able to wear them for another month.”

She sighed, stepped into the high-heeled sandals, and pulled the tunic over her head. It fell to mid-thigh, but draped her body in the most luscious way. She was pretty sure she’d never looked so good. Ever.

When she stepped out, Cann scanned her down and up, then shook his head. “Jesus.”

She took that as confirmation that she’d never looked so good. Ever.

As he opened the door to the hallway, he said, “What do you want for your birthday? I hear it’s a special one.”

“It is. Age of majority. I’m getting what I want.”

“What’s that?”

“Freedom.”

Cann had to admire the commitment she’d brought to finding her own way at any cost. Looking into her face was like meeting hope. She was the essence of optimism, believing that the future held good and marvelous things, adventures for the taking. She was the very opposite of him; a soul withered by sorrow and loss with nothing to look forward to except death, embittered by hatred of the faceless someone who’d brought complete devastation and destruction to his world.

Dinner conversation was mostly about the drug war zone since their hosts lived within a few miles of the Texas border. It was awkward in the sense that, for the second night in a row, Gael ignored his wife while she behaved as if there was nothing at all unusual about that.

A couple of times Bud had caught her hostess eyeing the rose tunic. “I will leave this behind when I leave tomorrow,” she said.

Señora Gutierrez took a sip of wine from her goblet then said, “Of course not. It will be my honor for you to keep it. I can always get another.”

Perhaps there was a dig in that last thought, but Bud was finding it harder to hate the señora, seeing that she had a lavish lifestyle, but without her husband’s love or even respect.

After dessert, Gael Gutierrez turned to Cann and said, “I’ve heard from Brant. He would like to discuss the plans for tomorrow. In my study there is a worry-free landline. You are welcome to make the call there and chat while the ladies and I enjoy coffee.”

---