Across The Pond, page 9
“It’s the capital of the world, you know? You should see more of it,” she insisted with a child’s certainty.
She is utterly charming.
It is also interesting to see Rob in his own home and away from work. He is obviously enamored of his daughter, and while clearly close to his mother and respectful of her wishes, he is very much his own man, able to hold his own against her. The two older Aguillars enjoy their verbal sparring, and there is a deep love and affection there that comes from shared hardship and mutual respect. It is a family dynamic I used to enjoy with my parents, but never saw among the Collingsworths.
While he defers to his mother, the two are equals. A man who is his own person. As if he weren’t sexy enough.
After dessert, I get up to help clear the table, but all three shoo me away, and Catalina leads me to the porch looking out onto the backyard. We talk a little, or rather, she asks me questions about England, and Europe in general. It is clear she has done much independent research of her own, and explains that she would love to visit the continent when she is old enough.
I am amazed at her skill at conversation, as well as her obvious intelligence. I expected to talk about fashion, or something else that I imagined would interest a child her age. When Maria and Rob join us with cups of hot chocolate, they explain that while most 12-year-olds in America are in seventh grade, Catalina is in the ninth, having been moved up twice. If I recall the British system correctly, she would normally be in year seven, as well.
I impulsively invite her to London ‘one of these days,’ and her eyes light up at the offer.
“When can we go, dad!?” she shrieks at her father.
We all laugh at her enthusiasm.
“You’ll have to wait for me to find a house first,” I throw in when I manage to catch my breath.
“But you have a house now! The hell have you been doing this entire time, huh?” she asks her father accusingly.
“I mean a house back in London,” I explain. “I’m somewhat homeless since my divorce.”
“Oh.”
“Catalina,” Rob cuts in, and though his voice is still pleasant, it has steel in it.
“Sorry,” she turns to me, looking sheepish. “I didn’t know.”
“It’s alright,” I assure her.
“So you’re not staying? Here in Jersey, I mean.”
“No. Your father is fixing up my house so I can rent it out.”
“But it’s such a beautiful house. Wouldn’t you want to live in it? I would!”
“It is, but my life is not here. Besides, my visa expires shortly, so I couldn’t stay even if I wanted to.”
She mulls over that information over for a while, then gives me a grin, “You’re afraid of the ghost, aren’t you?”
“Catalina!” Rob and Maria hiss at her simultaneously.
“Ghost?”
But Maria waves a hand at me, and Rob just shakes his head.
“It’s what they say!” the little girl insists.
“Don’t listen to her, mija,” Maria says as she leans over and pats my hand.
“Are there stories about my house?” I persist.
“They say that there have been lights seen in some of the windows at night,” Catalina says defensively as she looks at her father defiantly. “They say it could be your grandparents.”
“Catalina, that is enough!” Rob growls.
“Sorry.”
“No. It’s alright,” I insist. “I’d like to hear more.”
“Look, Danny,” Rob turns to me. “I’m sorry about that. After your grandmother died, someone called the cops on your house claiming to see lights moving about at night. They came, checked out the place, and saw nothing. Probably just some kids playing a prank on 911 is all.”
“Of course, it was!” Maria huffs, her eyes narrowed in slits as she glares at her granddaughter. “The Sorensens are in heaven where they belong.”
I remember waking up after passing out in my kitchen several days ago, and the feeling of being watched. But I shrug it off, smilinge at Catalina to show her (and her elders) that everything’s fine.
When it’s time for Rob to finally drive me home, I almost expect Catalina to join us, but she stands by her grandmother and waves at us from their porch. In my hands are generous amounts of left-overs, sealed in plastic containers.
“I had a lovely time,” I tell him as we drive off. “And your daughter’s incredible. You are very right to be proud of her.”
“She is something else, huh?” he grins. “My mom helps a lot, but refuses to move in on a permanent basis. Despite all her help, though, I think my daughter had to do a lot of growing up on her own.”
“Good reflection on you,” I say, and he beams in response to my flattery. “Your daughter is very beautiful. I would very much want a daughter like her.”
“That’s right. You never had children. With a mom like you? There’s no way they’ll turn out other than beautiful.”
“Why, thank you, sir!”
“Don’t mention it, ma’am! No offense, but a guy who’d let you go has got to be really stupid.”
“Ooh, the compliments keep flying, eh? Actually, it was me who did the letting go.”
“Uh, not trying to pry into your business, Danny. But since you brought it up, care to let me in on that part, at least?”
“Another woman came between us.”
“Like I said, really stupid.”
“His mother.”
He gives me a look of shock, then bursts out laughing. I can’t help but join him, pleased at how easily I do so when he’s around. Only Angie has elicited this type of reaction from me in years.
“Listen,” he chuckles. “If you ever need someone to talk to, I’m here, alright?”
And the next thing I know, I’m telling him bits of the story. Unlike the many times I cried over Angie’s shoulder, however, I saw the humor in it this time, and he parks the car by the road as we roar in laughter.
“You have such a beautiful laugh, Danny. I really wish you’d do more of it.”
“It helps to have a good friend. Thank you.”
“Feels great, doesn’t it?”
“It certainly does. The interesting thing is, I actually feel so much better. It wasn’t always bad with Damien, you know. I actually loved him, and I think that a part of me always will. It’s just that either he changed after our marriage, or became the man he always was. I’m not sure. Does that make sense?”
“I think so. But from what you’ve told me, it sounds like you stopped being husband and wife the day you decided to move into separate bedrooms. That’s kinda old-fashioned, isn’t it?”
“We did so on the advice of our marriage counselor. We tried so hard to make it work. Unfortunately, the other Collingsworths couldn’t all fit into the counselor’s office.”
And we burst out into another round of laughter.
“What happened with Rosaria, if you don’t mind my asking?” I ask, when we finally catch our breaths.
“No, it’s alright. Tit for tat, it’s only fair. Catalina was five. Rosaria was on her way to pick her up from kindergarten and a drunk driver ran her over as she was crossing the street. Hit a bunch of other pedestrians, too. But Rosaria got the brunt of the hit. She was carrying our second child.”
I regret having asked. His look is both so far away, as well as haunted. I feel his pain. How could mine possibly compare to his? I now understand some of the shared pain that bonds him to his mother, and marvel at the strength of this family, this man.
Impulsively, I reach out and touch his shoulder to give him some comfort. To let him know that if he wished, he could cry on my shoulder should he ever need it.
His eyes meet mine, and I am impaled by their intensity. There is pain there, an old one, but no less real. There is also something else. A loneliness so raw, it reminds me that I, too, am lonely. Have been for years before my divorce, even.
I do not know who made the first move, only that it feels wonderful to be in his arms again, to feel my arms around him. I know the wetness on my cheeks come from his eyes, and it is only when I become aware of them that I realize that I, too, am in tears.
Thousands of questions arise in me, but I quell them, lost in the heat and strength of him. It feels so wonderful to be held again, to be comforted by another, despite the awkwardness of our positions.
“I’m not taking advantage of you, am I?” he asks gruffly against my ear, the hint of a chuckle in his voice.
I cannot reply. It feels too right. Frighteningly so.
“I’ll apologize later,” I manage to say, eventually.
I revel in the feel of his cheek against mine, wet with his tears, and rough with his stubble this late in the evening. I pull back to see him better, but his lips brush against mine, and I drown in their insistent, moist softness.
I am so hungry for him that I answer his growl with my own. His tongue darts past my lips, parting my teeth, and I welcome him in, reveling in the taste of him inside me.
Stop! What are you doing!? This is wrong!
But I tell those voices to mind their own business. A vague part of me wonders why they obey so quickly, but even that bit flies in the face of what’s happening.
He is so much bigger than Damien, and in the confined space of his car, his presence overwhelms me. My hands explore the hard muscles of his flesh beneath his shirt, while my mouth pulls his tongue deeper within me.
The feel of his hands and arms around me make me feel like a child again, and I am helpless before my own need.
When he pulls away, I whine and surge forward, wanting more of him. I do not want this kiss to end.
“Danny, wait,” he gasps. “Oh wow. Uh, hey, you ok?”
I come back to myself, half angry at him for ending it, half angry at myself for letting it get this far.
“Perfectly so, thank you,” I reply, desperately trying to regain the shreds of my tattered dignity.
The sudden formality of my tone cuts the air between us like a knife, and I am aware that we are still holding onto each other. He opens his mouth, about to speak, but bursts out into laughter. My eyes narrow into slits, and I am about to give him a tongue lashing, but the ridiculousness of what I just said and how I said it, hits me.
I fight the giggles coming out of me, but in the face of his booming laughter, they break apart and turn into guffaws. We pull away as we laugh harder, the tension melting despite reality hitting us once more.
“For what it’s worth, I’m pretty sure I started the kiss,” I finally manage to say. “So spare me any attempts at apology. You’ll get none from me, sir.”
“It’s amazing the way you switch from super formal to… well, human.”
“Uh, thanks. I think. Would your mother and daughter think me a loose woman if I invited you for a drink inside my house? I have a bottle of port, which I think you can handle, especially since you’ll have to drive yourself home right after.”
He grins and restarts the car.
***
~ Rigoberto
“Back so soon!?” my mother asks, looking completely scandalized.
“Yeah. Why?”
“Well, I just thought…”
“She invited me in just for port so I can drive back home safely.”
“Shame, you didn’t stay longer,” she sighs wistfully.
“Ma!”
“She’d make a wonderful wife. And she gets along with Catalina. Plus she’s hot. So what’s the problem?”
“Ma, I’m not in the mood to talk about this. It’s been a long day. Might as well spend the night. No use in driving all the way back to Queens at this hour.”
“I wasn’t planning to leave. I was kinda hoping you wouldn’t come home till tomorrow morning.”
“Ma!”
“Good night. It would have been a better one had you stayed over there.”
“Ma!”
And she walks off to her room, chuckling. She has a point, though. I did want to stay over, but it’s all happening too fast, too soon. As I lay in bed, I can’t stop thinking about what happened earlier. It felt weird sitting next to her in her kitchen, talking shop after what we did on the way to her house. Talking as if we were old friends, about life, the universe, and everything but what we did.
It also felt familiar. I can see myself doing that again and again. Be with Danny, sitting and talking in the kitchen, just enjoying her company. Knowing she wants me as much as I want her.
But could she really be over her ex? Could I?
***
~ Daniela
My phone rings as I watch Rob drive off. I want to ignore it, but at this hour, it can only be Angie.
“Danny! You alright, luv!?”
“Mm-hmm. Why wouldn’t I be?”
“You might want to sit down for this.”
“Oh dear. What is it now?”
“It’s Damien. He wants to talk to you. Been asking me for your number. I haven’t given it, of course. But you should know that he’s on his way to New York.”
“What!?”
“I know, right? He’s flying there for some business or other, and asked me about you. Like I’d tell him. Unfortunately, he has more intelligence than I’ve given him credit for. He knows your grandparents’ address.”
“But how’d he know I’m even here!?”
“Called some of your clients, I imagine. All I can say is that, don’t be surprised if he, ermm… pays you a surprise visit.”
“That bastard is the last thing I want to see any time soon!”
“Oi! Don’t shoot the messenger, luv. If anything, you owe me for the warning. Don’t be too surprised if he shows up at your doorstep one day, is all I’m saying. At least he doesn’t have your number, right?
“So how’ve things been? You sound a lot less melancholic, lately. It wouldn’t have anything to do with a certain Latino hunk, now would it?”
The mind reader, as always. So, of course, I tell her everything.
***
“So the collection’s no longer in the house,” says the woman as she pours tea into a chipped ceramic mug. “That makes things a lot easier, wouldn’t you say?”
“So what now?” the man asks.
“There’s no way we’re going to rob a bank. Fortunately, we won’t have to. We know she’s definitely going back to the UK. When she does, she’ll take it with her. The trick will lie in getting it from her before she flies off.”
He slumps, “Meaning I have to keep a watch on her?”
“Ayup. What else? How hard can it be? She doesn’t go out much. And it’s not as if she’s unpleasant to look at, no? Consider this a vacation.”
