Chapter Thirty
Thirty
Miguel and Miriam head over to Lakeside after brunch. They leave me behind, but that’s okay; I have a feeling Amelia Mae won’t be at the store, and since I’m still worn out from the pup, I’d rather save my energy for when she’s around.
Miguel returns alone a few hours later. He doesn’t say where Miriam is, but he’s distracted—so much so that he trips on the runner rug in the hall.
Then he serves kibble in my water bowl and doesn’t even realize it until I repeatedly clang it against the wall to let him know I’m not interested in having soup for supper.
At least he isn’t grumbling at his computer, though.
He even picks up the paperback Fiona gave him and flips through it.
It’s not real reading—he does that with his glasses on, prostrate on the sofa—but it’s a welcome sign of life all the same.
It’s cooler out than it’s been in weeks, so after he puts Walter on a pee pad and somehow convinces him to do his business, he takes me for a long post-dinner walk.
We loop past the school and the park where kids play their games, beyond the library and police station, both of which we share with the next town over, and finally to the top of the hill that looks out over Lake Michigan’s horizon.
He doesn’t speak as we walk—not to himself or to me—which makes me worry that something’s amiss.
But he’s humming again, just beneath his breath, and the new if vaguely familiar tune tells me that he’s thinking about Fiona.
I wonder if not thinking about Amelia being gone all the time gives him the same kind of melancholy it brings me.
Hopefully his heart knows that this is exactly what our Amelia wanted for him—to have someone else occupy his mind.
After all, he won’t forget Amelia or love her any less; that’s not possible.
But maybe Fiona can help him go on without her once I’m not here anymore.
We sit on the bench on top of the hill for a good while, staring out at the water as he absentmindedly strokes my head. When the sun starts to collapse in on itself, he stands and nods east, and having been given the signal, I point my nose and guide us home.
Only after we let ourselves inside the house does Miguel finally break the silence. “Miriam,” he announces. “?Llegué!”
There’s no response, but there are a couple of wineglasses and a set of keys on the coffee table in the living room. Above us, I hear something—a drumming sound, maybe, or hammering. I can’t really tell, but someone’s here and making a whole lot of noise.
“Raccoons?” Miguel wonders aloud. “That’s strange. They’ve never gotten inside before.” He looks at me with raised eyebrows. “Maybe the squirrels have come for their revenge, Harold.”
Har, har, I think, but then I realize this is the first time in ages he’s cracked a joke about my misbehavior. Okay, Miguel. You earned that one.
Except he must be half-serious, because he grabs the broom from the door leading to the basement. I’m beyond pooped already, but curiosity gets the best of me, and I follow him upstairs.
“Miriam?” he calls as he ascends with the broom in hand. “Are you here?”
Now I hear scrambling sounds that are a lot like the kind I make when I’m caught dozing on the bed.
Moments later, Miriam comes flying out of the guest room into the hall.
She’s smiling widely, and her curls are in every which direction.
“?Estoy aquí!” she announces. Spotting the broom, she adds, “Do we have more cleaning to do?”
“No—” Miguel begins, but before he can finish his sentence, Dane, shirtless, emerges behind Miriam and salutes him.
“Ho-la, chief!”
“What on earth?” says Miguel, glancing back and forth between them.
“Dane and I were just catching up,” says Miriam.
“You can say that again,” adds Dane, and they look at each other and giggle.
Well. Well. This is a development I did not see coming, but I can’t help but like the idea of two people I love together.
Apparently, I’m alone in that sentiment, because Miguel is glaring at Dane like he’s trying to set him ablaze. “I am going to need to speak with you privately,” he growls.
“What are you, her chaperone?” says Dane, grinning even wider.
“Did I mention that I plan to murder you while we’re speaking? Slowly? With my bare hands if need be?”
“Better your mitts than the broom. Besides, I already died the little death tonight, so I’m good.”
Miguel groans. “What about Riley? Everyone from here to Lansing knows about your crush.”
Miriam turns to Dane. “You were into Riley?”
“I used to be. Now I’ve seen the error of my ways. Big-time,” he says, raising his eyebrows.
She laughs again.
“Besides, chief, Riley needs to fix her beef with Brenna. And I’ve known for a while that she and I are better off as friends.”
“She and Brenna are still having issues?” Miguel’s forehead’s all scrunched up. “I should have picked up on that.”
“I mean, Riley’s working through some stuff in therapy.” Dane claps a hand over his mouth. “Sorry—that wasn’t mine to share.”
“It’s okay. Riley already told me about that,” Miguel says, sighing. “It sounds like the right thing for her. So…” His gaze shifts from Dane to Miriam and back.
“I was a little surprised myself, but whatevs. I was way more surprised when a certain stunning sister made a move on me,” he says, side-eyeing Miriam.
Miguel has pulled his head back and appears to be fighting his gag reflex.
“Don’t be dramatic, Miguelito,” says Miriam. “And Dane, we both know you made all the moves.”
“Sure did. And for once, they worked!”
“I can’t believe you two were getting it on in my house, of all places,” mutters Miguel.
“My apartment’s too trashed right now, though I’m totally going to fix that when I get home,” says Dane, crossing his arms and leaning against the hallway wall. “But if you’re upset because you were going to invite your lady friend back over, Miriam and I can skedaddle to give you some privacy.”
“Woman, Dane,” Miriam says, but she’s smiling. “ ‘Lady’ makes her sound old. Which makes me sound old, because I’m pretty sure Fiona and I are about the same age.”
“Roger that,” he says, planting a kiss on the top of her head. “I will no longer use ye olde L-word. Unless we’re talking about love, of course.”
She giggles and loops her arm around his waist.
“Dane…” Miguel begins.
“I’m about to show myself out, chief—just gotta grab my shirt,” says Dane. He lowers his voice and says to Miriam, “If you’re still up for it, I’ll see you tomorrow morning before you head to Ann Arbor.”
“Maybe,” she says, but then she kisses him on the lips.
“I’m going to need something much stronger to discuss this with you,” Miguel says to her as Dane retrieves his shirt from the guest room and saunters down the stairs.
“Pour me one, too,” says Miriam, who’s just wrapped herself in the silky patterned robe Dane handed her on his way out. “I don’t have to take off until ten tomorrow.”
Downstairs, Miguel grabs a bottle from the bar cart in the corner of the dining room and serves them both a dark liquid that smells flammable.
Then they sit on opposite sides of the sofa, legs stretched out, regarding each other like a couple of cats that haven’t decided whether to cuddle or claw at each other.
“You first,” says Miguel.
“Bueno. I’m a little concerned about Fiona.”
“Wait a second—I thought we were going to discuss Dane.”
“What’s to discuss? He’s a lovely distraction.”
“The ‘lovely’ part is highly debatable. Are you sure you want to get involved with him? After all, you yourself said you have a bad picker.”
Miriam sighs so heavily that her whole torso heaves.
“For today? Maybe tomorrow, or even when I get back from Ann Arbor? Sure. Beyond that, I don’t know that I want to be involved with anyone.
But giving a nice guy a chance instead of waiting for some self-centered prick to give me the time of day—well, I’m sure my therapist would call that progress. ”
“Define ‘nice.’ ”
She lifts her glass to him momentarily before taking a sip.
“He pursued me. He complimented me more in three hours than that jerk from Caguas I dated did in two years. Te prometo, you don’t want to hear the details beyond that,” she says, and now he pretends to barf into his drink.
“I’m much more concerned about you getting caught up with Fiona. ”
“Fiona? Why? You told me you wanted me to be happy.”
“I do. You know that. And she seems great.”
“But…”
“But as you yourself have pointed out, she lives in Chicago, and you live here. She has a kid with the same name as Amelia, which is probably not helping you on the guilt front. And frankly, I get the impression she’s holding something back.”
“Sure,” he says cautiously. “She’s been open about that.”
She sputters a little. “You do hear the irony in that statement, no?”
Miguel’s on the verge of glaring at her.
“She’s related to someone who’s either in crisis or is a covert narcissist. I know you don’t choose your siblings—” Miriam raises an eyebrow at him, but he continues.
“But she’s obviously protecting Jonathan.
Which is something you and I, of all people, can relate to. ”
“Absolutely. But Miguelito, spoken as someone who’s known you thirty-nine out of your forty-two years of existence, you’re a serial monogamist who doesn’t do casual.
When you fall, it’s hard. And I just don’t want to see you wrapped up with someone who isn’t in this for the long run. You know what that did to Mami.”
“Fall? Who said anything about falling? I just met Fiona, and she’s leaving tomorrow.”
“When she could have easily left today, or even the day before—and don’t tell me it’s about the puppy,” she adds, glancing at Walter, who’s in a pile near the fireplace. “Because I’m not buying what you’re selling. You’re into her.”
“Says who?” scoffs Miguel.
“You, every single time you talk about her,” says Miriam. “Miguel, you’ve been through so much. First Papi leaving us, then Mami passing, and now…” Her voice trails off. “If you get serious about Fiona and she takes off…I just worry about what happens then.”
He looks away. “Well, lucky for you, she’s leaving, so we won’t have a chance to find out. And lucky for me, you’re flying back to Puerto Rico and aren’t likely to entertain a relationship with Ding-Dong from two thousand miles away.”
“You know I don’t want you to be holed up here alone.”
“I’m not alone. I have Harold.”
“You do,” she says, casting a grateful glance at me. “I can tell Fiona makes you happy.”
“Happy’s not my goal anymore, Miriam. I just don’t want to be in pain.”
Now she frowns. “I’m pretty sure one leads to the other—but maybe I shouldn’t have said anything. Point is, I haven’t seen you like this in a very long time. Just go slow, okay? The last thing you need is a broken heart.”
“I appreciate that you’re worried about me, Miri.” Instead of meeting her eye, Miguel looks up at the ceiling. “But you don’t have to be. Because when your heart’s already been shattered into a million pieces, there’s nothing left to break.”