Chapter 22
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
I wasn’t sure how I made it home without dying, because I certainly wasn’t paying attention to where I was going.
All I could think about was the fact that Matías had a) kissed my cheek, b) said he needed me to be close to him, and c) left without seeing most of the evidence.
I was the biggest moron in the world, and I didn’t even care.
I wasn’t just walking on air; I was doing cartwheels over the jet stream.
I didn’t even look across the street when I crossed by the fatal water tanks.
I waved at the young Chinese man painting over the wall of his store.
I kicked pebbles with my shoes and skipped over the little ditches on the side of the road.
Matías liked my photos. Matías said I was beautiful.
Matías wanted me to be in the same hotel as him, and if that’s not code for sex, I don’t know what is.
I spent the rest of the evening chatting away with Eva as we washed dishes. I had never shared anything truly intimate with her before, but I couldn’t stop my mouth from moving. I repeated every comment Matías had made, analyzed every look, recalled every gesture. Eva seemed wary of my new crush.
“Be careful with this one. He’s a man. Not a boy.”
“He’s like twenty-eight. I’m twenty-one.”
She shrugged. “Even so.” Then she began listing her dating rules. Don’t call him— ever , wear something seductive but not slutty, and bat your eyelashes. I couldn’t deny that those tactics would get you a man; but would they get you a man that you wanted?
As I was washing my face, I saw an unidentified number flash on my phone. I hit speakerphone.
“ Preciosa .” My stomach began to ache. “I know you told me not to call but I couldn’t help it.
” It was unidentified because Adrián was calling from Panamá.
I could hear street noises in the background: car engines, children, vendors.
“I need you to understand something. I’m sorry about Lucía. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you the truth.”
“It’s okay, Adrián. I’m not mad about that.”
“But I should’ve been more honest. Right from the start. I can’t lose you over this.”
The ache in my stomach was unbearable. “It’s not about her.”
“I really miss you,” he said. His vulnerability was like a physical presence. I felt salt water begin to collect in the corner of my eyes. “Do you miss me?”
What could I say that wouldn’t make this worse?
“It’s okay,” he said. “You don’t have to answer.”
I sat there in silence, pricking crescent moons into my cheek with my fingernails.
“We drove down the Pan-American Highway,” he said. “It wasn’t the same without you.”
Now the water was trickling out of my eyes and down my face, mixing with the water from my chin. There was nothing wrong with Adrián. There was nothing wrong with me. We were just so different. “I’m sorry,” I said finally, my voice choked with dryness.
“Don’t be sorry.” I could hear the constriction in his voice. “I guess...” He stopped speaking. A car horn blared. “Do you want me to call you when I get back?” I could hear how much that question cost him. And he couldn’t put it on a card.
“Maybe not.” Now I was crying and I knew he could hear me and I knew that me crying made it harder for him and that just made me cry harder. “I’ll call you.”
* * *
The next morning I was still emotionally unbalanced.
Excitement about Matías and sadness about Adrián competed for dominance.
I put Salsa Lizano in my coffee instead of in my gallo pinto , which I quickly learned was not an improvement.
Abuelita tsk-tsk ed but gave me fresh coffee and added the salsa herself to my rice and beans.
I thanked her, then silently told myself to get it together, Dee.
I had a meeting with Suzanne in two hours and I needed to be in top form.
She was staying at the Fantasía Resort in Alajuela.
It didn’t look like a conference hotel; it looked like the jungle brought to the city.
It was a collection of bungalows and suites spread out among ponds and stones and trees, with brightly colored toucans flitting from tree to tree.
Steam wafted from the fern-covered patios where delegates drank their morning coffee, and rotting leaves collected in deep green pools.
The air was so dense you could feel beads of moisture on your arms and face.
I found Suzanne sitting by herself at the café, wearing a white button-down top and elegant gray pants. She was not dressed for the tropics. She was dressed for a business-casual runway. I sat across from her and signaled to a waiter.
“Is everything ready for the trip?” she asked, sipping her cappuccino. “The donors should be congregating in the lobby soon.”
“Yes. But there’s been a change of plans. You’ll be visiting Finca Atenas instead of Café Alegre.”
“What?!”
“There’s emergency roadwork on Route 126,” I said. “Something about a boulder falling into the road? Two trucks in the ravine. Multiple fatalities. It would take all day to get to Café Alegre. We’re very lucky I was able to arrange something else so quickly.”
Suzanne absorbed this. “Oh. So you just set it up this morning?”
“Yes,” I lied. “But while we’re discussing Café Alegre. You know how you told me that if I wanted to make allegations about a farm, I needed concrete, irrefutable proof? So that we could actually do something with it?”
She nodded.
“You’re totally right.”
“I’m glad you finally understand.”
“Thank you for mentoring me. I was really naive about all this.”
She gave me a sweet smile. “My pleasure. It’s part of the job. You know, Dee, we all start out naive. Nothing to be ashamed of.”
“Thank you.” I smiled back. “So... I did get solid evidence.”
She put down her coffee. “What kind?”
“Receipts. Contracts. Interviews. Pictures. Everything .”
Her eyes widened. “Wow.” I beamed with pride. “Matías mentioned you were an excellent sleuth but I thought he was exaggerating.”
“Well, I had a lot of help.”
“I’m rather blown away.”
“Can I show it all to you?”
“Yes, I can’t wait to see it.” She finished her cappuccino.
“But we’ll have to do it tonight. I have to meet the donors now and play shrink.
” She gave me a wry smile. “They use their donations to erase their carbon footprint and guilt about their nannies and housekeepers and house managers.” She rose.
“Meet me in bungalow sixteen at eight o’clock tonight.
” She headed toward the lobby, then said over her shoulder, “I’m really impressed, Dee. ”
* * *
I was buzzing with pride and caffeine as I left the café.
I had impressed my boss, and I would see Matías tomorrow.
Soon both of them would officially be on board, and together with the Professor, Clara, and Tomás, we would decertify Café Alegre.
Then hopefully Las Nubes would regain their contracts. Things were finally working out!
I checked into the bungalow Matías had arranged for me. I couldn’t even think about that detail or I would completely lose my mind. I took out my laptop and reorganized my arguments for decertification in what I hoped was an ironclad brief. Working for Uncle Aaron had finally paid off.
When I’d finished the brief, it became a lot harder to push Matías out of my mind.
So I gave up. I obsessed about his dreamy eyes.
Then, for variety, I obsessed about Café Alegre’s decertification.
Then, because I’m a masochist, I obsessed about Adrián.
Then I obsessed about whether or not I needed a hairstyle that more clearly conveyed my personality.
An undershave was out, but what about some shaggy layers?
By eight p.m. I had consumed six cups of coffee, eaten two dozen oily bizcochos , and run through countless permutations about how the next two days (and the rest of my life) were going to go. So I was feeling both sick and excited when I showed up at Suzanne’s bungalow. I knocked on her door.
“It’s unlocked,” she said.
I opened the door and surveyed the dimly lit room.
Suzanne was reclining in an upholstered chair by an open window, sipping what looked like a Cuba Libre.
There was a Coke can and a mini rum bottle on the table.
Unease filled me. It was well known that Suzanne was sober.
It was part of her mystique. One day, she decided to stop drinking, and that was it.
She was just that formidable. Thunder rumbled and lightning crackled over the mountains. Rain started to pelt the window.
“Come have a drink,” she said. Her normal erect posture was relaxed.
I tried to peek into the partly opened minibar to see how many bottles were missing.
She followed my gaze. “I see you’ve heard.
I don’t drink.” She lifted an empty glass from the table and mixed me a rum and Coke.
“It’s not what you’re thinking. I was never an alcoholic.
I just decided I didn’t want to drink anymore.
” Alarm bells rang in my head. Non-alcoholics never said, I was never an alcoholic .
“Today I decided I wanted a drink. So I’m having a drink. That’s it.”
I sat in the chair opposite her, a little wary. “Did the trip go okay?”
She handed me my drink. From my new vantage point, I noticed three empty rum bottles in the wastebasket. “Fine. Finca Atenas was unremarkable. They won’t be on the full trips.”
“But the donors were happy?”
“Yes. I’m very pleased.” Her expression was grim. She poured more rum into her glass. The Coke was so diluted it was beige.
“Pardon me saying so, but you seem... not pleased.”
“It’s unrelated,” she said, flatly. “I was up for a chief of staff job with my home senator. I didn’t get it.”
“I’m sorry.”
She downed her drink. “Not as sorry as me.”
It was so startling to see her out of control. This was a woman who didn’t even let her linen wrinkle.