Chapter 25 Luisa
Eli asks me to meet him at Fort Yargo State Park, just down the road from the Happy Hooker, where he’s making deliveries for bait ’n’ tackle and fishing supplies.
It gave me an excuse to drop in on the Castillos, deliver a home-cooked meal and bilingual picture books for the kids, and quickly update Pablo and Gloria on our progress.
I wind through the park’s narrow roads, snaking my way under a lush canopy of green.
I pass several families on bikes, and others readying for a hike on one of the many trails.
A wrong turn lands me on a side road dotted with campers, RVs, cozy-looking cabins, and even a handful of yurts.
It’s a popular state park, I realize, taking in the multiple gatherings in picnic shelters and the conference pavilion.
I find Eli by the boat ramp, where he’s teaching two freckled boys how to cast a fishing line. They look at him with a mixture of respect and admiration. Eli must say something funny, because the boys laugh, then follow his lead, pulling the rod tip back over their shoulders, then forward.
Eli sees me and smiles, beckoning me to the ramp where they’re standing.
I gather the collection of Jackson Country Club and Phi Delt golf polos, and the Ole Miss Rebels driver cover I came here to deliver, then jump out of my SUV.
Holly ordered them after our shopping spree, and they’ve just arrived.
“Let’s pick a nice juicy one,” Eli is saying, proffering a container full of live worms.
“Please don’t,” I yelp. All three stare back at me like I’ve lost my mind. “I can’t watch you impale a helpless worm. They feel pain.”
The boys’ expressions turn aghast.
“You said they couldn’t feel anything,” one of them reproaches.
Eli rolls his eyes, grunting in frustration. “Thanks,” he says to me sarcastically, before covering the container and storing it back in a cooler.
“You’re welcome,” I respond, matching his sarcasm.
Worms safely tucked away, he gives the boys an artificial silverfish bait, instead. The boys throw their lines into the lake, smiling back at Eli with satisfaction, and I bite my tongue, so as not to share that the fish will also feel pain when hooked.
“You in a hurry?” he asks, gathering his fishing supplies.
“Depends,” I say. “I have no intention of fishing, if that’s why you’re asking.” I get a second eye roll in response.
It’s sweltering hot and the air is sticky, so we leave the boys and return to Eli’s truck.
We grab some cold drinks from his cooler and store the new golf gear.
Eli brings down the tailgate and I sit, watching him store his fishing supplies in the bed’s metal toolbox.
With his back to me—and his T-shirt drenched in sweat and practically painted on his lean body—I can appreciate the contours of his upper arms and broad shoulders, the athletic lines framing his spine.
I’m thrown back to that night on the golf course—the surprising softness of his lips, the way my body felt grounded by his solid form, and the mind-blowing sensation of his hands gripping my thighs under the skirt of my dress.
What else can those capable hands do if left to their own devices?
How much more can that gorgeous mouth accomplish, given the time?
I bite my lower lip, shuddering at the thought, reminding myself that I have no business thinking about Eli’s mouth, or hands, or any other body part for that matter. Not when I don’t know what Virginia expects from their upcoming date, or what Eli is willing to give.
I’ve tossed and turned all week obsessing about this thought, while also trying to do a deep dive into Dudley Magruder, even though I already knew he has virtually no digital footprint.
Eli will be meeting him unprepared, and I may just get an ulcer counting all the ways their encounter can go wrong.
But without a paper trail, there’s no way to prove the link between the bank, the development, and Griggs’s family foundation. So we’ll have to settle on Eli recording a conversation of the business deal, hopefully one exposing criminal activity.
“Holly ordered the Ricky Bobby NASCAR fire suit you asked for,” I say, taking a cold Coke can from his hand, then opening it with a hiss. “If you ain’t first, you’re last? Really?”
He sits on the tailgate beside me, his voice suddenly dropping into a backwoods North Carolina drawl. “Here’s the deal. I’m the best there is. Plain and simple. I wake up in the morning and I piss excellence.” His Ricky Bobby impersonation is so on point, I can’t help but laugh.
“You’re gonna blow them away.” I raise my soda can at him.
“I expect Griggs and his buddies won’t waste any time making fun of a backwoods redneck,” he says, one corner of his lips ticking upward, “but I’ll enjoy knowing they’re on the losing end of the joke.
” He stares at the can sweating in his palm.
“I’ve wondered what they’d think of me, if they knew where I actually come from.
” There’s an almost imperceptible layer of shame under his words, and I muse whether he’s thinking back to his childhood.
I want to know more, but I also don’t want to push him to reveal the painful parts of his life before he’s ready.
I need to be patient, I tell myself. But it’s easier said than done.
“It’s so damn hot,” I say instead, pulling at my T-shirt, damp with sweat. “I may actually melt.” I take a long swig of my Coke.
“You got a swimsuit in that fancy SUV of yours?” he asks, jumping off the tailgate, then tugging off his T-shirt.
“I didn’t realize I’d be needing one,” I counter, my voice dropping off at the sight of his bare torso.
Ave María, Madre de Dios. I’m wonderstruck at the real-life six-pack before me, and the stunning watercolor tattoo of a mountain landscape on the left side of his chest. My fingers itch to touch the pine trees etched on his skin, the mountain ridges behind them, the full moon that perfectly complements his wolfish eyes, the two little birds inked over his heart.
“You’re good like this.” Eli gives my T-shirt and shorts, my bare arms and legs, a once-over.
His Adam’s apple bobs as he brings his hands to my waist, then pulls me to a stand before him.
He then takes me by the hand, teasing me as he drags us along Fort Yargo’s sandy beach, threatening to throw me over his shoulder when I complain that I can’t go in the water fully dressed, and then insist that a lake beach is, in fact, not a real beach.
“It really doesn’t get any more redneck than this,” he exclaims as we plunge into the glorious cool water.
Eli’s self-deprecating laugh illuminates his entire face in a way I’ve never seen before.
His eyes glint, mirroring the sun’s bright reflection on the water.
His cheeks radiate with an easy contentment that permeates even his speech.
His words come out natural and relaxed, not artificial and defensive, as they tend to be when we’re around other people.
This is the real Eli, I think. I laugh, too, diving into the sweet release from the oppressive heat. When I come back up for air, I tilt my head up, relishing the tingle of sunshine on my skin and the sand against my toes.
We wade in place for a while, watching the families spread out across the beach—parents grilling hot dogs, toddlers in little arm floaties, teenagers playing volleyball.
“I used to love those carbon-smoked hot dogs,” he observes, smiling wistfully to himself. “My mamaw used to bring us here over the summer.”
“Is she still around?” I ask.
“She died a few years ago.” His gaze is intent on the shoreline, where some kids are building a sandcastle. “She left us her house, in Westlake. I’m not sure we could’ve managed otherwise.”
In the weeks we’ve spent together, this is the first time he’s offered a part of himself unprompted.
I contemplate what it means, that he’s finally trusting me with pieces of his real life.
Could I do the same? Could I open myself up to him, too?
Be vulnerable? Or as Holly said, step outside my comfort zone, take a risk.
I suck in a deep breath and ready myself to sink or swim.
“Eli?” I start, tentatively. “Is there anything going on? With you and Virginia, I mean?” I let go of his hand, slowly paddle my arms, pushing the water around me.
“And trust me…” I add, self-aware, “I know how nuts that question sounds given that we’ve been pushing you to do whatever it takes to make this crazy scheme work.
” I look at him in earnest, my eyes fixed on his gray irises.
“But if I’m being honest, I didn’t know what we were asking.
I didn’t know you. And now…” He glides closer to me, holding my gaze.
“It’s different. We’re different. And I just need to know.
Okay?” I shrug dismissively, but my heart couldn’t feel more defenseless and exposed.
“Luisa,” he says, reaching for my arms under the water.
“Nothing has happened between Virginia and me. And nothing will happen. I promise you.” I study his expression, searching for any indication of a lie, but I find none.
He can see my apprehension, and he releases an audible sigh, his head angled slightly.
“I know you think I’m some kind of hustler or whatever,” he says, sounding disgusted at the thought, “but I don’t go around hooking up randomly.
That’s not my thing.” His thumbs run over my biceps, lightly caressing my skin in a way that implores me to stay, to believe him.
“I’m not exactly a no-strings-attached kinda guy. ”
“What does that even mean?” I ask. The current shifts and our legs brush against each other, moving us even closer. “You are, after all, a single guy.”