21
Sydney has never been a confident driver.
The unease may stem from her father’s sudden death in a traffic accident when she was a child.
They’d lived upstate then, and her dad commuted to work just fifteen minutes by car.
That short drive was enough time for him to get T-boned by a pickup truck driven by a joyrider high on cocaine.
Their little family had been devastated.
One minute, they were complete, with a father and a husband.
The next, they were shattered, a priceless vase they hadn’t realized was so delicate.
Syd’s mom had insisted that trauma would not keep her children from gaining a valuable life skill.
When Reid and Sydney turned sixteen, they were forced to get their driver’s licenses.
Syd had taken all the defensive-driving classes, had passed her test, but she’s never felt comfortable behind the wheel.
In New York, she’d preferred to take the subway or a cab.
When she did take the Range Rover, she usually inched through city traffic, so she’s unaccustomed to the quick and confident Spaniards on the road here.
Curtis told her to take her time, not to succumb to the pressure of more aggressive motorists, but she’s aware of a line of cars forming behind her.
“Did Curtis eat something funny?” Bianca asks from the passenger seat. “It can’t be related to his knock on the head.”
Syd keeps her eyes on the steep winding road. “He’s okay.” There’s a smile in her voice. “I think he just needs a quiet day to himself.”
“Fair,” Damian says from the back seat. Syd glances in the rearview mirror, but Damian doesn’t meet her eyes. In fact, he’s looking over his shoulder, likely noting the frustrated procession behind her. “How long is the drive?” he asks.
“Hour and a half,” she says, though it’ll take longer at this pace. “I just need to get some fuel, and then we’ll head up to the main highway.”
Her passengers are quiet as she navigates the twisting road toward town.
There are gas stations along the major artery, but Sydney’s still adjusting to the car’s manual transmission, is uncomfortable pulling off the busy road at high speed.
She’s familiar with the small station on the outskirts of Cadaqués, even if it adds some time to their journey.
She pulls up to the pump without stalling: a small victory. Syd turns off the ignition and climbs out of the car. As she moves around to the hose, Damian clambers out of the back seat. Syd’s capable of pumping her own fuel, obviously, but she appreciates his chivalry.
“Bianca and I are going to head to the grocery store and get some snacks for the road,” Damian says, opening the passenger door. “Come on, B.”
“Good thinking,” Syd says to cover her surprise. “I’ll pick you up out front.”
“Thanks,” Bianca calls over her shoulder as the pair hurries away.
Syd swipes her credit card and inserts the hose into the car.
As the fuel chugs into the tank, she watches her guests in the distance.
They’re walking briskly, hand in hand, headed to the main grocery store where she and Curtis shop.
Well, Curtis does most of the shopping on his own, but sometimes Sydney tags along. She knows where to collect them.
When the tank is full, Syd gets in and drives down the narrow street, grateful for their tiny European car.
The Range Rover was so huge and unwieldy, even on Manhattan’s wider avenues.
She does a loop of the block, slowly passing the storefront, but her passengers haven’t emerged.
She does a second and then a third loop.
It must be busy inside the store. On her fourth trip around the block, she wonders if she’s missed them somehow, until she spots Bianca standing alone on the sidewalk, hugging a bag of groceries.
When she spies the Citroen, her face lights up. She smiles and waves.
“It’s going to be a girls’ trip,” Bianca says, climbing into the front seat.
“Where’s Damian?”
“He met this guy in the grocery line who does fishing charters. He had a cancellation on his next trip and invited Damian to go.”
“Really?” Syd tentatively eases back into traffic. “This all happened in the grocery line?”
“You know how friendly Damian is. The guy heard him speaking English and they started chatting.”
Syd shifts into second. “That’ll be fun for him.”
“And for us,” Bianca says. “We deserve a break from all the testosterone flying around at the house.”
Syd smiles over at her. “Yeah, we do.”
The beach at Aiguablava is breathtaking, and Bianca is suitably impressed.
She marvels at the turquoise waters, the fine golden sand, and the pine-covered cliffs.
Though Bianca lives near the world’s most beautiful beaches (according to Damian), she’s full of accolades for this spectacular cove.
Syd appreciates the enthusiasm. It validates her decision to give up everything and start over in this beautiful country.
Dropping their beach bags and their clothes, the women run into the waves.
Despite Syd’s affinity for a cold plunge, she’s grateful for the ease of the warm waters.
The pair swim out—it’s nearly effortless in the buoyant ocean—and Syd savors the feeling of stretching her limbs and engaging her muscles.
When they’re a fair distance from shore, they pause, turn back to take in the golden beach dotted with sunbathers and brightly colored umbrellas.
As Bianca treads water beside her, Syd lies back, feeling suspended, almost cradled by the waters.
For a moment, she’s like a fetus: without thought, or care, or jealousy.
Her worries about her husband, her marriage, and Bianca wash away with the gentle current.
But the meditative state doesn’t last long.
“Shit,” Bianca mutters next to her. “I’ve got a cramp in my calf. I’d better head back.”
“I’ll be in soon,” Syd says. She wants to extend this carefree moment, drifting in the amniotic suspension, but the spell is broken. Thoughts and concerns soon meander their way into her mind. She rights herself and swims back to shore, where Bianca sits on a beach towel, massaging her calf.
“How’s your leg?” Syd asks, patting herself dry with the striped towel Bianca passes to her.
“It’s okay. I should probably eat a banana.”
“I’m not sure they serve bananas at the restaurant.” Syd lays her towel on the sand, lowers herself onto it. “Banana daquiri maybe?”
Bianca forces a chuckle, stops her massage. “I have to tell you something.”
Syd swallows a small sense of dread. “Okay.”
“Damian didn’t go fishing. We got into a fight in the store.”
“Oh no,” Syd says, but she’s perversely pleased.
Her houseguests’ harmonious relationship has been a constant reminder that her own marriage is cracked and broken.
Curtis had overheard the other couple arguing, but Sydney had dismissed it as normal tension and bickering.
Perhaps things are not so peachy between the Aussies after all. This shouldn’t buoy her, but it does.
“Do you want to talk about it?” she asks gently. Syd’s eager for more details. She can’t help herself.
“I don’t want to upset you.”
Syd sits up. “Upset me?”
Bianca twists her body to face Syd. “I told you how Curtis has been acting toward me. The energy he’s been giving off.”
There’s a bitter taste in Syd’s mouth. “Yeah.”
“Damian noticed it, too. He accused me of enjoying it. Encouraging it, even.”
A bubble of sick lodges in Sydney’s throat, and she struggles to swallow. She’d dismissed Bianca’s vague accusations, at least doubted them. But if Damian sensed Curtis’s intentions too, then it must be real. How had Sydney been so blind? So trusting?
“I don’t enjoy it, Syd,” Bianca says. “I would never encourage him, I promise.”
Sydney believes her. Because she has no reason not to trust Bianca. And every reason not to trust her own husband. There’s a dull, ugly pressure on her sternum, making it hard to breathe, but she pushes out the words.
“Curtis cheated on me. That’s why we’re in Spain.”
“Oh my God.” Bianca reaches for Sydney’s hand, grips it. “I’m so sorry.”
“We went to therapy last year. I thought I could forgive him. We were going to rebuild our relationship, but… I don’t know if I can.”
“You don’t have to, Sydney. You deserve to be cherished, not betrayed. Not made a fool of.”
A fool. That’s what Sydney’s been. “I’ve given up everything: my career, my friends, my apartment. I made a commitment to this marriage. To Curtis.”
“You can rebuild a better life,” Bianca says. “Start over somewhere else. Do you have your own money?”
“Some,” Syd says. While she and Curtis have a joint account for mortgage payments and bills, she still has her inheritance.
Most of it. It wasn’t substantial to begin with, so Curtis had promised not to touch it.
But when the renovations had gone over budget, she’d offered. There was no other choice.
“When we get our van fixed, we’ll drive you wherever you want to go,” Bianca says. “And Curtis doesn’t have to know. You can just… disappear.”
Sydney considers the possibility of a new life alone. Where would she go? Home to New York? Or would she stay in Spain? Find herself a small apartment in Valencia or Seville. She could start life over as a single woman. But would that make her happy?
She’s spent fifteen years with Curtis, her best friend, her lover.
In all that time, he’s made only one mistake, and then he fell on his sword, begged her forgiveness.
Curtis had pleaded with her to rebuild their marriage, had agreed to go to counseling, had even left his job to make her feel more secure.
Would Syd really leave him for flirting with Bianca?
Are she and Damian blowing Curtis’s behavior out of proportion?
Or is it just a matter of time until Curtis finds another opportunity to cheat on his wife?
And this time, she’d be alone in Spain, with no family, no friends, no support system. A deep choking sob erupts inside her.
“Oh, babe,” Bianca says, leaning forward and gathering Sydney into her arms. Syd melts into the hug, tears slipping from her eyes, mixing with the seawater in Bianca’s hair.
It’s been so long since Syd’s felt comforted, cared for, and held.
Since before her mother died, she thinks, which makes the tears come harder.
She’s vaguely aware of Bianca’s hand running over her back, cupping her head, an effort to soothe her.
Their faces are pressed together, and Sydney can smell their mingled feminine scents: sunscreen, a touch of makeup, Bianca’s almond shampoo.
Gradually, a feeling other than comfort stirs inside her.
It’s a connection. Or is it something more?
Tentatively, her fingers trace the length of Bianca’s back, her skin soft and hot from the sun.
They tangle into her long damp hair, move up under the veil toward her neck.
Syd can hear her own breath pressed against Bianca’s cheek getting heavier.
She’s aroused. There’s no denying the pull she feels toward this beautiful woman.
Could she explore this attraction to Bianca?
Forget about her husband and all the pain he’s caused her?
Bianca pulls back gently, wipes Sydney’s tears with a thumb. Their faces are close, eyes connected. The beachgoers surrounding them fade away, and there is nothing but this moment. Is Bianca going to kiss her? Is Sydney ready for what this could mean?
But then the Australian girl speaks.
“I think we could both use a good strong drink.”
She gets up, leaving Sydney breathless and confused in the sand.