3
Sydney takes in the couple standing on their doorstep: late twenties, good-looking, drenched in sweat as if they’ve been hiking in the late-morning heat.
They appear to be tourists in their shorts and sandals, well-worn T-shirts.
The woman steps forward, smiles beseechingly.
She has dark-blond hair; tanned skin; an open, approachable face.
There’s a small jewel in her nose, a Japanese symbol tattooed on her forearm.
Three gold necklaces of varying lengths adorn her throat. “?Habla inglés?” she asks hopefully.
“We speak English,” Curtis responds tightly.
His fists are clenched in some macho display of protectiveness, and Syd can feel the tension emanating off him.
Does he think this attractive pair is here to scam them?
Or rob them? Or worse? Syd is surprised by the intrusion too, but she’s not worried about it.
Maybe she just sees the good in people. Or maybe the antidepressants are muting her fear response.
“Thank God.” The young woman smiles, presses a hand to her chest. “My name’s Bianca. This is my partner, Damian.” She has an accent, Australian or maybe Kiwi. It suits her girl-next-door energy.
“We’ve had some car trouble,” Damian says, his accent unmistakably Aussie. He has dark hair under a ball cap, broad shoulders, and well-developed traps. If he’s here to harm them, Curtis, with his slim, urban physique, will be no match for him.
“We pulled over to take some photos,” Bianca explains. “And now the van won’t start.”
“I’m pretty sure the fuel pump’s shot,” Damian says, adjusting his cap. “We’ve been trying to call mechanics for over an hour. None of them speak English, and our Spanish is terrible.”
“We were using Google Translate, and now our phones are dead.” Bianca holds up a useless device as evidence.
“So, what do you want?” Curtis asks, and Syd feels embarrassed by his hostility. Why is he being so rude? And so paranoid? She steps forward.
“Do you want to charge your phones?” Sydney offers. “Or borrow ours?”
“We hate to impose on you,” Bianca says, twisting open a metal canteen. “Maybe you could charge one of our phones, and we can wait somewhere in the shade.” She takes a drink of water, clearly the last in the vessel.
“Come inside,” Syd offers. “We have air-conditioning.” She feels Curtis’s eyes on her, but she ignores him.
Syd gets a good vibe off this girl. And Damian seems fine, too.
Until this moment, Sydney hadn’t realized how starved for company she’s been.
She and Curtis have been on their own for four months, “rebuilding” and “connecting” and “finding their way back to each other.” It’s tedious, frankly.
Sydney craves outside stimulation, laughter, and interesting conversation. She’s been lonely.
Bianca’s pretty face lights up. “Really? You wouldn’t mind?”
“We really appreciate it,” Damian adds.
“Of course,” Syd says brightly, looking over at Curtis. He’s not comfortable with this. It’s evident in the set of his jaw, the prominent vein pulsing in his temple. But he won’t go against her.
“Come on in,” he says tightly.
One of the benefits (or hazards) of never having visitors is a certain laxity in housekeeping.
Syd’s eyes rove over the jumble of blankets on the sofa, the pair of shoes abandoned in the middle of the living room, and of course their half-eaten breakfast cooling on the dining table.
She hadn’t noticed the layer of dust coating the TV and coffee table, the book splayed open on an ottoman. But Bianca seems immune to the mess.
“Oh my God…” she says, voice tinged with wonder. “It’s so beautiful. The arched windows are incredible.”
“They were a major selling feature,” Sydney says, watching Curtis as he leads Damian down the hall to plug in the dead phones. The two men appear to be chatting amiably. Curtis must be warming up, dropping his guard, realizing this attractive young couple isn’t here to murder them.
“I love all the built-in details.” The Aussie woman pauses to admire a small curlicued nook where Sydney has placed her mother’s favorite porcelain vase. The piece isn’t expensive, or particularly stylish, but it is precious.
“The Spanish architecture is so charming,” Sydney agrees.
“How long have you lived here?”
“Just over four months. We still have a lot of work to do.”
“The place looks great.” Bianca smiles at her. “You’re living the dream.”
A muscle twitches in Syd’s jaw, but her grin stays in place. “First time in Spain?” she asks.
“First time anywhere. Australia is so bloody far away.” Bianca strolls into the dining room. “I love this old table.”
“It was here when we moved in,” Syd replies, whisking the neglected plates to the kitchen counter. “It weighs a ton. They probably had to build the house around it.”
“You’ve done an amazing job with the decor. It’s modern without sacrificing the old-world Spanish charm.”
“Thanks.” Syd glances around at the pale overstuffed sofas, the low coffee table, the battered credenza that she plans to refinish. She’s not sure the aesthetic is working yet, but she appreciates the compliment.
“I really admire you guys,” Bianca says, taking in the postcard view from the dining room windows. “Starting a new life in a new country is such an adventure.” She turns to face Syd. “Damian would never leave Australia permanently, but I would. I’ve got nothing there anymore.”
“Oh?” Syd doesn’t mean to pry, but Bianca opened the door.
“My dad’s been out of the picture since I was little. And my mom died a couple of years ago. Skin cancer.”
“I’m sorry,” Syd says. “I recently lost my mom to cancer, too.”
“It’s so hard, isn’t it?” Bianca’s eyes are shiny. “I mean, my mom and I didn’t always see eye to eye on everything, but your mom is the moon in the sky. She’s like your gravitational force. And when she’s gone, you just feel… adrift. Like you’re not really tethered to the world anymore.”
Syd’s throat tightens. This stranger has articulated exactly how she’s felt since her mom passed. No one in her circle has understood her, not even Reid. Her brother has always been so strong, so independent. But this young stranger gets it. Syd forces words past the lump of emotion.
“Can I make you a coffee? We can get to know each other while the phones are charging.”
Bianca smiles. “I’d love that.”