one hot summer (14 page)

I wasn’t a genius at introspection. In fact, I thought it was a waste of time. If I couldn’t understand something about myself or others quickly, then I just left the matter alone until an answer revealed itself. It was Vivian and Anabel, in a moment of high insight, who pointed out to me my greatest fear: That I would become as self-absorbed as my mother. Maybe that was why I shied away from contemplating my life, and why I prided myself on being a doer rather than a thinker.

I didn’t make it back to the office after lunch with Luther. There was no point, I was too preoccupied by what had happened at Bice. Dealing with Maria and pressing matters at the office was too much to contemplate. I would have to return to Weber, Miranda another day. Still, I remembered wincing at Maria’s tone of righteous indignation when I called her from my cell phone and confirmed her worst fear—that I wasn’t coming back as promised.

Instead, I went straight home after leaving Luther and played with Marti for the balance of the afternoon. I needed to get grounded in my real life and real responsibilities. Marti had been gleefully surprised when, upon arriving home, I invited him for a romp in the pool. We didn’t actually get into the water until late afternoon and the sun had started to weaken. There wasn’t a sunblock strong enough to fend off the afternoon summertime Miami sunshine.

I was tempted to tan a bit, to add some color to my skin, but I didn’t give in to the idea. Only the tourists are tanned in Miami; the residents know how harmful the sun is, and avoid it as much as possible. I have olive coloring and probably could withstand some sun without turning into a withered old lady, but my mother had for decades instilled the fear of God in me about spending a single moment unprotected in the sun. My gynecologist once startled me during an examination by observing that I was his only patient with no discernible tan lines whatsoever. Mamá would have been proud.

Splashing around in the pool, I realized that too much time had passed since I’d last played with Marti. I knew that I took care of his needs, and I made play dates with his little friends. I made sure he ate right, got enough sleep, and saw the pediatrician when he was supposed to. But I had neglected to spend time with him one-on-one, playing the games that he liked to play.

I turned my head to keep from being splashed in the face: For about the fiftieth time, I caught Marti as he dove from the side of the pool into my arms. It had been just over ten months since I’d worked, and gradually in that time I had filled my days until I spent a couple of hours at most with my son. If I wasn’t with Vivian and Anabel I was with a family member, or checking out antique stores or art galleries, or going in to the office. It was amazing how busy I could be without working. The time away from the firm had gone by in a flash, and now I was feeling like I had little to show for it. I had taken a leave to spend more time with my family, but lately it had felt as though I was simply developing a new lifestyle. I was no closer to figuring out whether or not to go back to work, and Luther had come into my life and made me face some pretty unpalatable truths.

It wasn’t easy to make big life decisions while playing Marco Polo with a three-year-old boy, so I decided to put them off. Thankfully, Marti was beginning to slow down, and his splashes and thrashes grew a little less maniacal. I figured it was time for a break, so I swam over to one of the brightly colored plastic floats we kept by the side of the pool. I put it in the water, and heaved Marti on top of it. He must have been exhausted, because he just lay there with his eyes closed, not putting up a fight as he usually did. Looking at his face, I was struck again by his resemblance to Ariel. If anyone ever doubted Marti’s paternity, they could just place father and son side by side—that would be enough to make anyone throw out the DNA test.

Ariel came home and found us lying on chaise longues, wrapped up in huge beach towels and staring up at the sky, laughing as we identified the clouds as different animal shapes. The game was going to end soon, because the sun was beginning to set; soon it would be dusk, and the clouds would disappear.

As soon as he saw us, Ariel dropped his briefcase and, apparently not too worried that his fancy British suit would get wet, slid onto Marti’s chaise and joined in the game. A few tigers and several elephants later, it was clear that Ariel was even better than Marti and me at spotting the animals in the sky. I must have still had some Chianti from lunch in my system because I couldn’t stop giggling.

Lying there, happy with my husband and son, I asked myself why I was even contemplating starting an affair with Luther. It was strange. When I was with Luther, it seemed that everything was right with him. Now that I was with Ariel and Marti, I couldn’t imagine risking my happy family life.

After a while it was too dark to see much of anything, so Ariel and I took Marti inside. Ariel retreated to the den to watch the news, and I carried Marti to the bathroom for his bath. After a long soak in a tub filled with Mr. Bubble—the only way I could get him to bathe without protesting—Marti was so relaxed that he was about to fall asleep from sheer exhaustion. I dried him by rubbing him with a towel until his skin turned pink, then sprinkled some baby powder on him and dressed him in pajamas that Jacinta had laid out on his bed.

There was a short window of opportunity left for feeding Marti something before he fell completely asleep, and it was rapidly closing. I carried him into the kitchen and put him in his booster seat. Before he passed out, I managed to get him to eat some of the spaghetti that Jacinta had made for him. Then I put him to bed and said his prayers over him—he was too sleepy to join in—then leaned over and kissed him good night. My eyes welled with tears as I held his soft, sweet-smelling, warm body close to mine.

I went to my bedroom and took a quick shower to wash off the chlorine from the pool, then dressed in a pair of chinos and a black T-shirt. I found Ariel happy in his favorite leather armchair, sipping scotch and watching the evening news. There were splotches of pool water on his shirt from when he laid on the chaise longue next to Marti. He looked tired, but he also looked like a man at peace with himself and his world.

Before guilt consumed and paralyzed me, I perched on his armchair. Ariel pressed the mute button on the remote control.

“A glass of wine?” he asked, getting up, confident that I would accept his offer. On his way to the bar he hugged me and kissed my lips.

“Great,” I said.

“God, Margarita, you look like a teenager,” Ariel said in an admiring tone. He stepped back to admire me more closely. “Look at you. No makeup, wet hair, pants, and a T-shirt. And you look like a young girl.”

“Thanks.” I laughed. “I like it when you don’t wear your glasses.”

Ariel walked over to the wet bar and opened the small Sub-Zero refrigerator under the counter. He peered inside and reached for the Morgan, a California chardonnay.

“This okay?” he asked, holding up the bottle. He knew it was my favorite.

“Perfect.” And it was. Ariel always knew what I was in the mood for.
“Gracias,”
I said as he handed me the glass.

He refreshed his scotch, and we went back to the chairs positioned in front of the T
V. By then the news was over, so we switched over to
Law and Order,
our favorite show. We decided to have dinner on trays while watching it, so during a commercial I told Jacinta then settled back in my chair.

“This is nice,” I said, almost purring.

Ariel smiled. “You know, not working agrees with you. Playing with Marti, staying home, all that,” he said, keeping his voice casual and his eyes on the TV screen. “You look so relaxed and carefree. It makes you seem years younger.”

“Does it?” I asked.

I guess he sensed me stiffening. “No,
querida,
don’t take it wrong,
por favor
. It’s a compliment. I don’t mean to pressure you. The decision about going back to work is yours to make, really.”

I took a sip of my wine. Why was it, I thought, that both the men in my life pressured me about the biggest decisions, then said that they hadn’t? First Luther at Bice, then Ariel at home.

No pressure
. Right.

The next morning I set off for the office, making good on a promise to Maria. I had mentioned to Ariel the night before that I would be going in to clear up some paperwork, but I don’t think the information had sunk in. He looked completely surprised when I came out to the terrace for breakfast in a cotton dress and high-heeled sandals, holding a jacket over my arm. I was wearing makeup, and had washed and blow-dried my hair. I definitely didn’t look as though I was planning to spend the day at home playing with Marti.

To his credit, Ariel refrained from commenting. He kissed me as I sat down at the table. He had already finished, and he read the
Herald
while I sipped my café con leche and buttered my toast. Marti was busy flicking Cheerios at the seagulls milling around our feet. It was the picture of a normal, relaxed family about to start a busy day.

Before I went to sleep last night, lying in the dark, I had made up my mind never to see Luther again. I was taking too much of a risk by having contact with him, and it had to stop.

It wasn’t a decision I made lightly, but last night had convinced me that I belonged with my husband and my son. Ariel and I had had dinner, and afterward made love for hours, tenderly and inventively, in a way that we hadn’t in a long time. Afterward I lay in bed listening to Ariel breathing quietly next to me.

I still loved him deeply, but I had to be brutally honest with myself: He was not the love of my life. Luther was. And I hadn’t realized it until he showed up in Miami.

I’ve always believed in the romantic idea of one person being the greatest love in an individual’s life. And if that person is lucky, and the timing and circumstances work out, then they end up together. But it doesn’t always work out, and that doesn’t mean fulfillment and happiness can’t be found elsewhere. Sometimes getting together with one’s true love isn’t meant to happen, I don’t know why. The same idea probably applies to friends, houses, cars, all the big-ticket items in life. Sometimes things don’t work out. That doesn’t mean that a woman can’t be content.

It was hard to get to sleep that night. I should have been tired, after swimming with Marti and energetically frolicking with his father in bed. It was reassuring to know that, even at thirty-five, Ariel and I could still romp around like a couple of randy teenagers.

After tossing and turning for a while, I had given up on falling asleep and got up, careful not to wake Ariel. I went to the den in my nightgown, opened up the refrigerator, and poured myself a healthy glass of the Morgan that Ariel had opened earlier in the evening. I switched off the alarm, walked out to the terrace, and stretched out on one of the chaise longues where I had played with Marti hours ago.

I felt the night breeze and watched the waves lapping up against the dock, sipping wine until I dozed off without realizing it. The sky was beginning to lighten when I woke up. I gathered up my wineglass and went inside with hopes of taking a brief nap before starting the day. Ariel was sleeping so deeply that he never noticed I was missing.

Although I had only gotten a couple hours of sleep, I felt wide awake at breakfast. Ariel and I left the house together just before eight, headed for Miami. Fifteen minutes later I was pulling into my assigned parking space downtown.

I arrived so early that Ashley wasn’t yet at her post in the reception area. I was disappointed to miss her outfit, but I knew I could see it on the way out. At least I had something to look forward to.

Maria arrived just after nine; by then, I had gone through a quarter of the documents she had left on my desk to review. Her look of disbelief when she found me in my office, sitting at my desk hard at work, was something to behold. I knew she doubted I would keep my word and show up in the morning. Years working with her had taught me that Maria was a glass-half-empty kind of thinker. She never gave anyone the benefit of the doubt. I didn’t know any of the details, but I suspected that life hadn’t been kind to Maria.

By leaving yesterday a few minutes after arriving, I knew I had shaken Maria’s faith in me. I was going to have to work hard to get her to trust me again. With that goal in mind, I worked through documents that represented billable hours that Maria could send off to the firm’s clients for collection. I knew that would make Maria happy, keep up our visibility in the firm, and maintain a perception that we were valuable and productive.

Maria and I worked without a break for the next two hours, going through about half the stack of work, when my cell phone rang. I held my breath until I saw Vivian’s number appear on the screen.

“I called your house, and Jacinta said you’d gone to work,” Vivian announced. “You’re not back there permanently, are you?” she asked, sounding suspicious.

“
Hola,
Vivian,” I said, vaguely remembering that I’d promised to do something with her. “No, I’m not back full time. You know I’d tell you if I was. I’m just here clearing my desk. What’s up?”

“You didn’t forget about meeting with me and Anabel, did you?” she asked, peeved. “Remember, we talked about it yesterday?”

“No, of course not,” I lied. Yesterday seemed like years ago. “Give me the when and where, and I’ll be there.”

I sensed Maria stiffening with thinly disguised displeasure as she listened to me making plans, realizing that the workday was most likely going to be cut short. She had been in a frenzy deciding which files were most important, and even as I spoke on the phone she was rearranging them and placing them in front of me.

“Anabel said she can meet us at noon at Greenstreets,” Vivian informed me. “She’s in the Grove this morning, checking up on that project at Cocovillas.”

“Fine.” I looked at the clock. It was just past eleven. Forty-five minutes until I would have to leave. “Noon at Greensteets.”

Having heard my plans and calculated a timetable, Maria started shoving papers in front of me. During the next hour I signed off on so many documents that my hand started hurting, but we finished going through the pile. It was almost noon when I grabbed my jacket from the back of the chair and sprinted out the door with a wave. This time, I didn’t make any promises about returning.