19
As she smokes a Chesterfield next to the pool, Sydney calls her former colleague Brian, who promises to look into Teddy Drew’s whereabouts.
She doesn’t mention the mysterious gloves, the machete, or the cigarettes.
She doesn’t want to sound paranoid. And she doesn’t want to admit that her idyllic life in Spain is full of darkness and uncertainty.
When Syd hangs up, she drops her butt into the jam jar and heads inside.
She can hear Bianca moving around downstairs.
The walls are primed and ready for their first coat of paint, and Syd needs to help.
Bianca and Damian have been doing more than their fair share of work around the place.
Sydney hurries to the bedroom to don her painting clothes.
She finds Curtis on the bed, a hand thrown over his eyes, his breath soft and steady.
How can he sleep when they’ve just found evidence of a lurker out back?
Not to mention a deadly weapon and leather gloves?
Sydney looks at his scrapes and bruises, the faded welts on his tanned skin.
Curtis’s mouth hangs open, and he looks so vulnerable.
Even pitiful. Her husband is injured, overheated, exhausted.
As she slips into her spattered clothes, she recalls Damian’s whispered promise.
“I’ll go to the farm,” Damian had assured her. “I’ll make sure the gloves and machete belong to the farmer.”
“And if they don’t?”
“If someone is after Curtis, I’ve got his back. You don’t need to be afraid.”
“Why do you think someone’s after Curtis?” she’d asked. “Do you know something?”
“Process of elimination.” He’d shrugged. “No one’s after B. and me. And I can’t imagine anyone having anything against you.” His tone was complimentary, even enamored, but she was too uneasy to feel flattered.
“Coming?” Curtis had snapped, and the conversation was over.
The women paint the basement walls a carefully selected shade of white: Chantilly cream.
Their conversation is stilted as they work, their minds embroiled in the nefarious possibilities surrounding their recent discovery.
At least Sydney’s is. Bianca seems less concerned, but she’s quiet, trapped in her own thoughts.
“We’ll cook tonight,” Bianca offers, out of the blue. “Curtis needs to rest.”
“I can cook,” Syd offers weakly, but she’s terrible in the kitchen. She can make a simple pasta dish, and she’s good at salad dressings, but Curtis has always taken care of the meals. She feels intimidated cooking for guests, while Curtis enjoys it.
“Damian and I love cooking together.” Bianca smiles. “We’ve missed not having a proper kitchen in the van.”
Syd smiles through a twinge of envy. Even before the affair, she and Curtis would argue and bicker when she tried to help in the kitchen. Now, she rarely sets foot in there as Curtis attempts to win her forgiveness through food. “Sounds great. Thanks.”
“Damian should be back soon. We’ll see what’s in the fridge and come up with something.”
On cue, the front door bangs. Damian has returned from the neighboring farm.
The women drop their painting implements and hurry up the stairs.
Curtis has woken, too. He stands in the living room, looking groggy and disheveled.
Damian appears remarkably fresh despite a walk in the afternoon heat. His demeanor is upbeat.
“I returned the gloves and machete to the farmer,” he tells them. “Manuel was happy to get them back.”
Syd presses a hand to her chest in relief.
“Good to hear,” Curtis says, turning to Sydney. “See? There’s nothing to worry about.”
“Thank God.” Bianca moves to her boyfriend, slips under his strong arm. “I’m so glad that’s sorted out.”
“Why was the farmer smoking on our property?” Sydney asks Damian.
“Enjoying the view, I guess.” Damian shrugs.
“It just seems weird that he’d climb through a barbed wire fence onto our land,” Syd continues. “He could see the view from his side just as well.”
“The language barrier was a challenge,” Damian says. “I didn’t ask for an explanation.”
Bianca looks up at her partner. “We’re cooking tonight, babe.” She addresses her hosts. “Any dietary restrictions?”
Syd answers, “I’m allergic to mushrooms.”
“She’s not allergic,” Curtis teases. “She just hates them.”
“No one listens unless you tell them you’ll go into anaphylactic shock!”
Bianca laughs. “I’m deathly allergic to green peppers, then.”
“Message received.” Damian takes her hand. “Let’s see what they’ve got in the pantry.”
Dinner is a saffron risotto with squid that Curtis had in the freezer. Damian opens a bottle of crisp white wine, and they eat heartily. All except Curtis. Sydney notices him picking at the calamari rings, taking small bites of rice.
“This is delicious,” she says, to compensate for her husband’s lack of appetite.
“It’s Damian’s specialty,” Bianca offers. “He adds the stock so precisely.”
“Timing is the key,” Damian says with pride.
“Well done.” Sydney smiles at him. “And thanks again for going to the farm today. I feel so much better. It would have been awful to be left wondering why there was a potentially deadly weapon hidden on our property.”
“My pleasure.” Damian’s eyes meet hers over his wineglass. “I didn’t want you to worry.”
Curtis tosses his napkin on the table. “I’m going to hit the hay.”
“Are you okay?” Syd asks. “Could you have a concussion?”
“He’s not concussed,” Bianca says confidently. “He’d be throwing up. He’d be dizzy.”
“I played Aussie Rules football,” Damian elaborates, shoveling rice into his mouth. “I know what a concussion looks like. He’s fine. He’s just not used to manual labor.”
Curtis’s jaw visibly clenches. “Thanks for dinner.” His posture is stiff and tense as he leaves the table.
Sydney finishes her meal quietly as the Australians have a lively conversation about food, their favorite cuisines (Italian for Damian, Thai for Bianca), and the restaurants they miss back home.
She helps Damian clean the kitchen, then decides to join her husband in bed.
The stress of the day has been exhausting.
When she climbs between the cool sheets, she feels almost weak with fatigue.
As she drifts away, she’s comforted by the sounds of her guests preparing for bed, talking in low voices.
It’s the safety she felt in her childhood bedroom, knowing her parents were still up, on guard for monsters and bogeymen.
Thanks to Damian, she knows monsters aren’t real.
But when she stirs hours later, the house is dark and silent. Curtis breathes evenly beside her. Syd rolls over and checks her phone. There’s a message from Brian; he must have sent it yesterday evening, New York time.
Teddy Drew is here. You’re safe.
She lets out a sigh of reassurance, plumps her pillow, and tries to get back to sleep.
But another thought seeps into her mind, tickling the back of her brain.
Bianca’s suggestion that Curtis had been flirting with her had been eclipsed by the discovery of the gloves and the machete.
But it revisits Syd now, leaving an unpleasant bitterness in her mouth.
Sydney is pragmatic; she deals in facts, not intuition.
Bianca doesn’t know Curtis, so how can she pick up on his so-called energy?
Her husband hadn’t wanted the Australians to stay in the first place, but is that because he can’t trust himself around their beautiful female guest?
Is he afraid he won’t remain faithful unless Sydney is the only woman in his orbit?
Syd dozes fitfully until dawn turns the sky golden, and the morning brings improved clarity.
And a concrete plan. The four of them have been working in gendered silos—the women painting, the men tearing apart the shed.
Today, Sydney will suggest a day of rest, of fun, of togetherness.
And she’ll observe the dynamic between Curtis and Bianca.
Next to her, Curtis stretches and yawns. “How are you feeling?” she asks as his eyes flicker open.
“Better, I think. I’ll know once I have a coffee.”
“I’ll make it,” she offers, sitting up. He looks at her, bemused. It’s unlike her to be so solicitous these days. “We’ve all been working hard,” she says. “Let’s take a day off. Take Damian and Bianca to Aiguablava for a swim. Have lunch at the old hotel.”
Curtis scratches his neck, considers it. “There’s not much we can do on the shed until the lumber arrives tomorrow.”
“Perfect,” Sydney says. She leans over and kisses his cheek. It’s performative—she feels nothing—but Curtis smiles. She needs him to act natural, to drop his guard. He mustn’t suspect that she’s watching him. She climbs out of bed and heads to the kitchen. She’s eager to tell the guests the plan.
And she’s eager to learn if her husband can be trusted.