Erik’s death, so I suppose there’s guilt. He’s dead so I shouldn’t be able to enjoy
life. But I also feel like some kind of
failure. I planned to be a teacher and I
sell flowers. I wouldn’t even have been
able to buy the shop if Erik hadn’t died. My other dreams all faded away to dust a long time ago. I don’t dream about the future or make plans
or even hope. I don’t do a lot of the
stuff I once did or take pleasure in little things. I came here last year for the fall colors,
but I haven’t been anywhere else since. I gave up, Santiago, on life and being happy and everything. Or, I had,
until….” Her voice trailed into silence. For a few moments, Sara refused to
look at Santiago, afraid to read pity or scorn in his expression.
He touched her cheek and she glanced up. “Sara, tell
me.” His eyes met hers, brimming with need and bright with emotion.
In a hoarse whisper, she did. “Until
you came.”
The words hung in the air between them, heavy with
meaning. Santiago nodded. “I understand, so much more than you probably
think. I recognized the stark emptiness
of your place, because it was like mine. Although, I haven’t had been to my place for almost two years, but as
you can see, I travel light.”
He touched his duffel bag and she nodded. Santiago
touched her face with his fingers, stroked her cheek. “Tell me how your husband
died.”
Sara shivered with a cold chill, more emotional than
physical in the warm room. “He drowned,” she said. “He went fishing alone on
the lake and he apparently was driving the boat too fast. He hit another boat and the impact knocked
him into the water. He’d been drinking,
the coroner said, and he drowned.”
She had no tears, no true grief but a terrible,
gnawing guilt, the kind eating away at her soul with destructive power. “How is that your fault, querida ? You weren’t even there.”
Memory slammed her with force, but she answered him.
“He asked me to go with him and I said ‘no’. Instead, I told him I wanted a divorce. By then, I knew I’d made a mistake, and I wanted to go back to LA.”
Understanding flooded his face. “And he didn’t like
the idea?”
“He was angry,” Sara said. “He left in a wild rage,
upset and cussing me. Witness on the
lake said he was reckless before the accident.”
“Why do you think it’s your fault?”
Sara sighed. “He was normally very safety conscious. But he took chances that day because of
me. He left me a message on my phone, a
long rant and accused me of being unfaithful. Those are the last words he said to me, Santiago. I wasn’t, though.”
“I never thought you would be, la muñequita. Did he have someone in mind?”
If she didn’t say it now, she never would. “You. He
suspected you.”
His face shifted into a bland mask and he went
still. “Why?”
The single word spoke volumes. Sara closed her eyes
for a long moment and then met his gaze. “Because he knew how much I loved
you,” she said, misery sharp as a knife in her chest. “And because I told him I
was going back to California to see if I could find you again.”
Santiago sat up, slow and easy. He opened his right arm and she moved toward
him. He folded her into his embrace.
“Oh, Sara,” he said, his voice ragged with emotion. “I wish you had, very
much. Things might be so different now. But why didn’t you?”
She hurt too much for tears. “I had so much guilt. I thought I’d killed him and sometimes, I
still do. I decided not to go, to leave
you alone because maybe I’d bring nothing but pain and hurt with me. And I stopped living until you knocked on my
door. God, was it just yesterday?”
“ Si.” Sara rested her head
against his chest for a moment, then realized he
radiated warmth. “You’re still feverish. Lie back down,
Santiago. You need to take it easy.”
“ Estoy bueno.”
Santiago brought
life. But I also feel like some kind of
failure. I planned to be a teacher and I
sell flowers. I wouldn’t even have been
able to buy the shop if Erik hadn’t died. My other dreams all faded away to dust a long time ago. I don’t dream about the future or make plans
or even hope. I don’t do a lot of the
stuff I once did or take pleasure in little things. I came here last year for the fall colors,
but I haven’t been anywhere else since. I gave up, Santiago, on life and being happy and everything. Or, I had,
until….” Her voice trailed into silence. For a few moments, Sara refused to
look at Santiago, afraid to read pity or scorn in his expression.
He touched her cheek and she glanced up. “Sara, tell
me.” His eyes met hers, brimming with need and bright with emotion.
In a hoarse whisper, she did. “Until
you came.”
The words hung in the air between them, heavy with
meaning. Santiago nodded. “I understand, so much more than you probably
think. I recognized the stark emptiness
of your place, because it was like mine. Although, I haven’t had been to my place for almost two years, but as
you can see, I travel light.”
He touched his duffel bag and she nodded. Santiago
touched her face with his fingers, stroked her cheek. “Tell me how your husband
died.”
Sara shivered with a cold chill, more emotional than
physical in the warm room. “He drowned,” she said. “He went fishing alone on
the lake and he apparently was driving the boat too fast. He hit another boat and the impact knocked
him into the water. He’d been drinking,
the coroner said, and he drowned.”
She had no tears, no true grief but a terrible,
gnawing guilt, the kind eating away at her soul with destructive power. “How is that your fault, querida ? You weren’t even there.”
Memory slammed her with force, but she answered him.
“He asked me to go with him and I said ‘no’. Instead, I told him I wanted a divorce. By then, I knew I’d made a mistake, and I wanted to go back to LA.”
Understanding flooded his face. “And he didn’t like
the idea?”
“He was angry,” Sara said. “He left in a wild rage,
upset and cussing me. Witness on the
lake said he was reckless before the accident.”
“Why do you think it’s your fault?”
Sara sighed. “He was normally very safety conscious. But he took chances that day because of
me. He left me a message on my phone, a
long rant and accused me of being unfaithful. Those are the last words he said to me, Santiago. I wasn’t, though.”
“I never thought you would be, la muñequita. Did he have someone in mind?”
If she didn’t say it now, she never would. “You. He
suspected you.”
His face shifted into a bland mask and he went
still. “Why?”
The single word spoke volumes. Sara closed her eyes
for a long moment and then met his gaze. “Because he knew how much I loved
you,” she said, misery sharp as a knife in her chest. “And because I told him I
was going back to California to see if I could find you again.”
Santiago sat up, slow and easy. He opened his right arm and she moved toward
him. He folded her into his embrace.
“Oh, Sara,” he said, his voice ragged with emotion. “I wish you had, very
much. Things might be so different now. But why didn’t you?”
She hurt too much for tears. “I had so much guilt. I thought I’d killed him and sometimes, I
still do. I decided not to go, to leave
you alone because maybe I’d bring nothing but pain and hurt with me. And I stopped living until you knocked on my
door. God, was it just yesterday?”
“ Si.” Sara rested her head
against his chest for a moment, then realized he
radiated warmth. “You’re still feverish. Lie back down,
Santiago. You need to take it easy.”
“ Estoy bueno.”
Santiago brought
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