* * *
Sometime after 11:00 a.m., Isabella woke, shuffled out her door, climbed up into Paulo’s lap, and fell back asleep. A few minutes later, Paulina appeared. She didn’t look much better. Coffee only raised her eyelids to half-mast.
“I have an idea I’d like to run by you.”
She and Paulo looked at me agreeably. Isabella cracked open her eyes and stared at me with little interest. “I think Zaul may be returning to his parents’ house in Costa Rica. I need to check it out. If you’re not opposed, I’d like to show it to you. There’s a pool where maybe we could teach Isabella to swim, and there’s a beach with miles of sand in either direction.”
Uncharacteristically, Paulina rubbed her face and consulted no one. “I think I’d really like that.”
Paulo and Isabella nodded. We left at noon. The problem I had with this excursion is that while I could pass myself off as a vagabond in flip-flops and cutoffs who had a little cash to flash around, Colin’s house would not let me get away with that. It was one of the nicer homes in Costa Rica. By taking them there, the disparity between my life and theirs was about to become apparent and that would give rise to questions that might be tough to answer.
We drove the shoreline. Paulo played the role of tour guide and showed me the facets of his country that never make the travel books. He was right. It was beautiful—and nothing more so than the smiles of the people. For nearly seven hours, we stirred up dust on dirty back roads and drove on the asphalt only long enough to cross over it en route to another dirt road. Never once did he consult a map. Paulo knew this country like the back of his hand.
We arrived at the house a few hours before sundown. If passing through the security gate itself wasn’t an eye-opener, then driving through the gate and down the long drive was. When we pulled up before the front door, Paulina spoke through an open mouth. “What business did you say your partner was in?”
Isabella’s eyes were large as silver dollars. Paulo sat speechless with both hands on the wheel.
I laughed. “Come on.”
* * *
The house was clean, dry, and mostly put back together. Some finish work remained but it was livable. Looked like a contractor had yet to clear out the punch list. I gave them a tour, during which they were mostly silent and afraid to touch anything. The house was much as I’d left it, only cleaner, and unless he was hiding, Zaul had yet to show. I showed them their rooms and then told them I’d meet them at the pool. Paulina spoke up. “I don’t own a bathing suit.”
I hadn’t considered that, so I took her to Marguerite’s closet. “Probably find something in here. I’m not an expert judge of size, but you and Marguerite look to be similar.”
“Marguerite is your partner’s wife?”
“Yes.”
“She won’t mind?”
I shook my head. “No.”
Paulina pointed to a picture on the wall hanging in the closet that depicted Marguerite in her bathing suit, wearing a tiara, after having just won one of many pageants. “That’s her?”
“Yes.”
“Great.”
* * *
It didn’t take them long to change.
Isabella, wearing a suit that was two sizes too big and sagged in the butt, walked up to the edge of the pool, where I was standing in the shallow end. I held out a hand. “Come on.”
She shook her head.
“I’ll catch you.”
She leaned, her feet weighted to the pool deck, and fell forward into my arms. As I held her afloat and talked to her about kicking her feet and pulling with her hands, Paulina walked out wearing a rather modest one-piece and a chiffon wrap tied around her waist. In my defense, I was holding it together pretty well until she untied that chiffon, folded it, walked to the steps, and stepped into the pool, where I guess my jaw was hanging open. She reached up and closed it with a smirk. “Haven’t you ever seen a girl in a bathing suit?”
“Not like that I haven’t.”
I don’t know if she was flirting with me or if I was flirting with her, but somewhere in those few seconds, we passed from woman helping man find kid to woman allowing herself to look appealing and wondering if man was interested.
And he was.
* * *
Paulo joined us a few minutes later, we swam, I tried my best to teach Isabella to swim, and at sundown we all walked down the steps to the dock, where I gave them a tour of the boathouse and Colin’s Bertram. Paulo ran his fingers along her clean lines and loved every minute of it. From the boathouse, Isabella led us out onto the beach, where the tide was low and the breeze was welcome and cooling. We walked until the sun disappeared behind the edge of the sea. Living on Bimini, I’ve seen some beautiful sunsets, but I’ve never seen one more beautiful.
* * *
I cooked dinner—spaghetti—and the conversation while we ate was relatively muted. After dinner, Paulina pointed at a door we’d not entered and said, “What’s in there?”
“That’s the theater.”
“Theater?”
I led them into Colin’s twelve-seat theater. I don’t know the dimensions of the screen, but it was the size of the wall, which was huge. The chairs were plush leather, stadium seating with motorized recline, massage, and footrests. Paulina pointed at the wall of DVDs. “Will you pick us your favorite?” I made my selection, started the video, and left as the nuns began lamenting the problem that was Maria. The three of them were glued to the screen.
* * *
I checked in with Colin, reported on the condition of the house, and told him there was no sign of Zaul but that we’d stay through the weekend. Talking about Zaul was painful for Colin as it was a constant reminder of his failure as a father, so to deflect and change the conversation, he told me I should take my three guests on the ATVs tomorrow. The trails leading out the back of the house go for miles along the ocean. “It’s one of the more beautiful vistas in Costa Rica.”
When I first went to work for Colin, Zaul was just a ten-year-old kid. He always saw me as the guy coming and going in his dad’s boat, so it was only natural, when he was about eleven, for him to meet me on the dock of their house in Miami one morning and ask, “Can I drive?”
I loaded him into one of Colin’s smaller boats, a twenty-four-foot Pathfinder, because it’s more maneuverable, and we eased off into the canals that led out into Stiltsville. Zaul stood at the console, up on his toes, staring through the windshield, craning his neck, one hand on the throttle, the other on the wheel. I stood beside him, watching. He was a natural, and unlike his father, he was good with boats. Coordinated. He was good with his hands, and when you could get him to, he would work hard and wasn’t afraid of hard work. He drove us out of the canals and between the homes that make up what’s left of Stiltsville. Off to the northwest of us, several kite surfers rode the famous break that existed about a mile offshore. It was breezy, not a cloud in the sky.
I remember him staring at those homes, mesmerized by how they rose up out of the water and rested on stilts, at those kite surfers suspended in the air flipping and spinning with ease, at himself driving that boat, at the blue water and the porpoises rolling nearby, and I remember him being happy. I remember him smiling. I remember a kid at play. The problem is, I don’t have too many memories of him being happy after that nor of him playing. And that’s what I was sitting there thinking about, staring out across the ocean below, when Paulina snuck up behind me. I don’t know how long she’d been standing there, but when I turned around, she asked, “What’re you thinking about?”
“Enjoying the view.”
“You’re not a very good liar.”
“Thank you, but the truth is I’m an exceptional liar. I’ve made it an art.”
She sat next to me. “Well, then tell me one thing that’s true about you. What do you remember about life as a kid?”
I thought about this a second. “As a kid, I don’t ever remember not feeling dirty. It wasn’t so much feeling dirt on my skin a
s a sinking in my gut. A resident weight. Something I was born with or that woke up with me every day. To combat it, I surfed a lot—thinking the ocean might wash it off. When I got to high school, I ran a lot, thinking I could sweat it out. Same in college. After college, I lived on planes and in hotels, thinking if I didn’t stop moving, I could outrun it. That the newness of my environment would replace it. Finally, when none of that worked, I moved to the ocean and bought a little place where I could watch the sun go down every day and sleep every night under the sound of constant waves crashing.”
“Did it work?”
I shook my head. “No. And you want to hear something funny?”
“Yes.”
“In all my life, my work, my travels, my attempts not to work, in all my going and doing, I’ve never felt more ‘clean’ than when covered in volcanic mud, hanging from Paulo’s rope in the bottom of that dark, damp well.”
Unlike at the hotel in León, she didn’t press me but just sat with me. Enjoying the view. After several minutes, she offered, “Thank you for today. It was special. Especially to Isabella.”
I smiled. “You would do well not to take advice from me, but if I might—you should think about wearing a bathing suit more often. It suits you.”
A chuckle. “It’s been a long time.”
“Doing so would really spice things up in Valle Cruces. Spend about thirty minutes walking around in that, and you’d have more men knocking down your door than Paulo could keep away.”
“That’s not the kind of man I’m looking for.”
“You mind if I turn the tables and ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“You’ve been a widow more than a decade, and you don’t seem to be trying to change that. You’re beautiful, you laugh with an easiness I don’t think I’ve ever known, you bend over backward to serve folks, you are constantly pouring out, so—”
She interrupted me again. “What’s wrong with me?”
“Yes.” I laughed. “For the life of me, I can’t find anything wrong with you.”
“I have my moments.”
“Well”—I scratched my head—“I have yet to notice any. Seriously, what kind of man are you looking for?”
“Not the kind who is solely attracted to me because of how I look in a bathing suit.”
“I hate to break it to you, but…you do look good in a bathing suit and I’m not apologizing for recognizing that.”
More easy laughter. “I guess that’s some relief. It’s been so long since I’ve tried to get noticed.”
“So, without getting overly personal, have you dated?”
“There have been guys.”
“That’s not an answer to my question.”
She smirked. “You’re perceptive.”
“Don’t let the flip-flops fool you.”
“I’m beginning to see that.”
“You’re stalling. What kind of guys?”
“The kind that never call when they find out I have a daughter.”
“Okay, let’s say you could script the perfect guy. Order à la carte.”
She considered this. “Seriously?”
“Yes.”
“The kind I can walk beside, lock arm-in-arm with, who’s not afraid to pull teeth, drop down into a well, work with Paulo, hold hands with my daughter and it not be weird, who doesn’t complain about a bucket shower, who would stand up to the neighborhood bully and then give back more money than I’ve made in most of my adult life and”—she held a finger in the air and grinned with a wide smile—“one who can definitely ride a motorcycle. For starters, a guy like that.”
“And how many guys do you know like that?”
She turned away. “A couple.”
“Oh, really. What are their names?”
“Well, okay, maybe it’s just one, but I don’t know him very well and something about him tells me there’s a whole lot I don’t know.”
I didn’t hesitate before this flirting went much further. “And you’d be right.”
“So maybe we should just leave it right there before we uncover the truth and you disappoint me.”
“How do you know the truth of me would disappoint you?”
“Your face tells me every time I look at you.”
If I’d ever had a gift when it came to poker, at bluffing, at not showing my hand to another, it was gone. Talking with her on the deck overlooking the ocean was when I knew I’d never play cards again. The other players would read my face and take everything I held dear.
She sat back, crossed her legs and her arms, and stared out across the water. “I’m just guessing, but I’d say you’ve lived most of your life acting as though you don’t care. As though you don’t concern yourself too much with matters of the heart. But I wonder if you don’t feel them more deeply than others.”
We were starting to get a little close to home. Where I’d always been rather good at reading people’s weakness, Paulina was good at reading people’s pain. The difference between the two of us was glaring.
* * *
We spent all the next morning on the ATVs. We rode miles up the coast, returning through the trees and then out onto the beach and up and down the dunes. Paulo had never ridden an ATV, but he took to it quickly and with great fervor. And while Paulo feared no hill, Paulina—prodded by Isabella—was the speed demon.
We returned for lunch, a dip in the pool, and then I took them out on the Bertram for an afternoon on the Pacific. The seas were glass, and we stayed well within sight of the coastline, which kept their dizziness at bay. I threw the cast net and caught some baitfish, dropped a few baits in the water, and helped Paulo catch a few wahoo and several tuna. Throughout the afternoon, he’d set the hook, and then he and Isabella would reel them in accompanied by much high-pitched squealing from an exuberant Isabella, who desperately desired to see the fish but not necessarily touch them. Paulina sat up top smelling of coconut oil, wearing Marguerite’s bathing suit and my Costas, and laughing at the festivities below.
Toward evening, Paulo filleted the fish with a speed and proficiency that would have rivaled Hack, and then we grilled the fish on the pool deck along with some vegetables that Paulina picked up at a market down the road. As the sun went down, we reclined at the table with full stomachs and easy smiles. Isabella stood in the shallow end of the pool, testing her newfound boldness. Paulo finished his third serving of fish, scraped his plate, and wiped his mouth. His satisfaction was palpable. He patted me on the shoulder, then tapped himself on the chest and said, “Mi corazón está lleno.”
He knew I didn’t understand, but I got the feeling that he said it in Spanish for emphasis.
I shrugged and he said the words again.
When they still didn’t make sense, Paulina translated, “He said, ‘My heart is full.’”
It was quite possibly the most fun I’d had in recent memory.
* * *
Sometime after 9:00 p.m., Isabella fell asleep and Paulo carried her upstairs to bed. Paulina followed, giving me a chance to check in with Colin. I told him about the day, the house, the progress of the cleanup, and that we’d still found no sign of Zaul. I explained how now that Zaul was separated from his friends we were looking for the proverbial needle and—as difficult as it was—our best bet was to wait right here. He agreed and then fell quiet. Heavy, not saying much. Finally, he said, “You remember that favor you asked of me?”
“Yes.”
“I’ve got some information for you…” I listened while Colin reported on what he’d found.
And the news was not good.
* * *
We hung up and I sat staring at the moon on the water. After a few minutes, Paulina returned and sat. Closer this time. “Where were we?” There was a childlike playfulness in her voice and an innocence in her eyes that told me she was enjoying her time here and, more important, me. I also got the impression that it wasn’t something she did with every guy she met. I admit, I was drawn to her. Maybe a lot. W
ell, okay, more than a lot. But I had a track record of hurting people, and something in me did not want her to be one more. I wanted to spare her from me.
Sitting on that pool deck, I was staring back over the wake of my life and the thing that struck me was how the churn and chop was littered with relationships. With people I’d used to get what I wanted. I didn’t know much about my present life or where I was going or what would happen to me when we found Zaul and I returned him to his folks, but whatever happened, I knew I didn’t want Paulina to be one more casualty in the war that had become my life. Maybe pain does that, and while I tried to mask it and pretend that I couldn’t or didn’t feel it, I was in pain. My pain painted me and was the source of what made me feel dirty. I was rarely self-aware, but somehow at that moment, bathing in the smell of coconuts and sweat and the utter delight of a woman in full bloom, I was lucid enough to know that Leena deserved better than me, and while I might not be able to get clean, I didn’t have to drag her down in the mud with me.
I turned to her. “When I came here, looking for Zaul, I didn’t expect you. This. I am having some trouble wondering what I’m going to do when I or we find Zaul and I have to leave here. I’ve enjoyed the last several days with you, but before I go any further and make you feel I’m one kind of person, I want to tell you exactly what kind I am. And if you’ll let me, I’d like to get it all out before you walk away. Because you’ll want to; you should, and when you do, you’ll be showing good sense.” I swallowed. “When I said I’d made an art of lying, I was actually telling the truth.” I took a breath and tried to figure a way in. Not finding one, I came right at it. “Paulina, I’m a drug dealer. Or I was.” She didn’t flinch, so I continued, “I’ve dealt and delivered more cocaine than most any one individual in South Florida save the Mafia and cartels. My partner and I run, or ran, a boutique purchase and delivery service. It was easy money and we’ve made a good bit. A few years back, I got up one night to go to the bathroom and stumbled over several hundred thousand dollars in plastic bags in my house in Bimini and had to figure out where to hide it because I couldn’t just walk up and deposit it in the bank.” I turned one thumb over the other. “I’ve never considered myself an evil man, but I’m not a good man, either. Good men don’t live life as I do. A couple of weeks ago, on what was to be the night before my wedding to a woman who loved me—or what she knew of me—I made a delivery. Same type I’d been making for a decade. A few kilos to a party in Miami. Zaul got mixed up in it, and as a result, his sister—the closest thing I have to a niece and maybe the only female on this planet who loves me with any real sincerity—got between him and a pit bull.” Paulina winced. “The dog attacked her face and neck, severing the nerve that allows her to smile. My former fiancée was the doctor that patched her back together, and until that moment, she had no idea that I did what I did. I’d lived two lives and she never knew of the second. I have no family, one friend, no real occupation, and I’ve contributed nothing to this earth other than broken businesses, shattered relationships, increased addictions, and greater pain.” I shook my head. “The other night I stood in the hospital room while the nurses pulled the bandages off Maria’s face and realized I don’t know how to make good on a life like mine—I doubt it’s possible—but if I could, I’d find Zaul and return him in one piece to his mom and dad and sister. And if that takes every penny I’ve ever made, and I’ve made millions, then—” I pulled a wad of cash totaling several thousand dollars from my pocket and placed it in her palm. “I’d gladly give it all and steal ten times more.” The suspicion drained out of her face and something akin to compassion took its place. I sat back. “At night, when I get angry, I think about the man who released the dog, but in my mind it’s my hands I see on the leash. I try to shower, to get clean, but I can’t.” I palmed my face. “Right now, out there is a kid trying to act tough and mimic all the gangster icons of the silver screen, and he’s in a really bad place. He’s hurt, scared, and angry. I don’t want to sugarcoat this—Maria’s face. I did that. And I did this to Zaul. So, when you look at me and we talk, you need to know who you’re looking at, where he’s come from, and what he’s brought with him.”