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CHAPTER THIRTEEN

THE MALDONADOS

“What’s the problem now, Nina?” David says. They’re crammed in the back seat of an Uber on the long drive back to Half Moon Bay.

Stella was right, Nina thinks. It was stupid to pick a hotel so far from campus. Particularly after David bought everyone shots and they had to leave the rental car parked near the restaurant. Nina stares out the window at the blur of pine trees flanking the dark road.

David’s had too much to drink, and now he’s spoiling for a fight. Nina should let it go. But she’s spoiling for a fight too. “I didn’t say anything.”

“You don’t have to, Nina. I’m so fucking tired of this.”

She feels the heat of anger settle into her core. “ You’re tired of this.”

“What the hell’s that supposed to mean?” he says, lowering his voice for the benefit of the Uber driver.

“You spent the entire dinner flirting with that woman.” Nina took an immediate disliking to Cynthia Roosevelt, the tall woman with the security detail. It’s not that she was unfriendly or insufferable. It was the way David looked at her.

“I wasn’t flirting.”

As usual, his denials have no energy, no conviction.

“You’re just mad at Stella,” David says. “Don’t take it out on me.”

He might actually be right. It hurts that they came all this way, and their daughter couldn’t be bothered to show up for dinner. But Stella likes to punish them.

At the same time, Nina feels a tingle of worry under her skin.

After all, Stella didn’t seem angry at them earlier today at the hotel when they checked in. Only mildly annoyed, like she’s been constantly since she turned fourteen. Nina could kick herself for asking if Stella knew Cody Carpenter. Maybe that’s it. If Stella knows the boy and what happened, that would explain her sudden decision to head back to campus early—her transparent lie about needing to turn in her Critical Thinking assignment. But that doesn’t explain why the other kids were no-shows at the dinner. The one boy’s mom, the dean’s secretary—Alice—seemed like she was about to burst into tears when the kids didn’t appear by the end of the dinner.

But Nina knows her daughter. Despite the distance that erupted during Stella’s teenage years, they’re inextricably linked.

Where are you, Stella?

Back at the hotel, she steps out of the bathroom and is surprised to see David in shorts and a T-shirt, his right foot propped up on a chair as he ties his HOKAs. He snatches the key card from the night table.

“Where are you going?”

“For a run.”

“What? It’s nearly midnight.”

“I need some air.”

Running. A David specialty. Running from anything he doesn’t want to deal with. She shakes her head. She feels something rise from deep within her body—is it hatred? Disdain? Maybe it’s time to start facing the fact that they’re not fixable.

“Tell Cynthia I said hello.” Maybe she shouldn’t have said that. But it felt satisfying after he flirted with that woman all night.

“Fuck you, Nina.”

The lobby of the Ritz is hushed. David can’t endure silence anymore. The long stretches where they don’t speak. Nina’s disapproval of Every. Single. Thing he says. Every. Single. Thing he does. The worst part is the sinking feeling that there’s nothing he can do to fix them. That it’s time to call the game.

David walks down the hallway where the restaurant—it has amazing views, he can tell even from here—is closing up. Staff quietly setting tables for breakfast, the lights dim. The bar is closed as well, which is probably a good thing. He asks a hostess how to get to the outside terrace, a running path. She insists on escorting him, leads him to an elevator that goes to the ground floor, walks him to the terrace. At these types of places if you ask directions, they’re trained not to direct you but to escort you.

Outside, his heart is thumping. Pulse tripping in his neck. Anger juicing through his veins. It’s partly from the booze. Tequila makes him aggressive.

For the record, he wasn’t flirting with the tall lady with the security detail. Between his bitter wife, the anxious admin lady, and the boring-ass judge and his wife blathering on about their perfect daughter Libby, someone had to lead the conversation.

And what the fuck , Stella? He can’t believe his daughter skipped dinner. Was she punishing him? Will she ever forgive him? Will he ever feel this weight lifted from his shoulders? All he wants is to be happy.

Adirondack chairs line the hotel’s terrace, curving around the firepits. Like the lobby, the area is nearly empty. He can see a couple in the glow of firelight at the far end.

He starts jogging on the path, the only light coming from the hotel. It’s not a high-rise, more like a compound, an exclusive country club, rambling along a bluff overlooking the ocean.

In med school, running was the only thing that leveled David out. Helped him cope with the sleep deprivation, the stress. He ran so much back then he shot his knees, so he needs to take it easy. He finds the steps that lead down to the beach. A sign says the beach opens at sunrise and closes at sundown, but there’s no one here to enforce that.

The wind is blowing hard tonight. As he runs in the sand, the moon dips in and out behind clouds, its slash of silver reflecting and disappearing in the choppy water. When he was younger, David might’ve gone for a swim. To hell with the risks of a strong current or sharks, he would’ve dived in. Probably with a pretty girl next to him.

Is it wrong that he misses that? Misses the admiring gaze of a woman? Misses feeling wanted? Women have always been his Achilles’ heel. But he tried to be faithful after he got married. Really tried.

And he wasn’t flirting with the tall woman tonight. Fuck Nina and her accusations.

He’s sweating now. Beach running is harder than he anticipated, the soft sand dragging down every one of his footsteps. Getting older sucks. He doesn’t care what anyone says, there’s nothing good about it. He’d trade every bit of wisdom he’s obtained to be in his thirties again. That was the prime age. Not rich, but enough money in the bank. Washboard abs without much effort. No kids.

He feels guilty about the thought. He wouldn’t trade having Stella, his fiery, funny, secretly sensitive daughter. She may hate his guts right now, but she’s one of the best things he’s ever done.

Picking up his pace, he listens to the waves. He normally jogs to music. But in the heat of storming out of the hotel room, he forgot his phone.

He sees a figure running toward him.

His teenage brain hopes it’s a woman in a bikini. Wishful thinking. What’s wrong with him?

As the person gets closer, David realizes it’s not a woman; the silhouette is a male form. David feels a tingle at the back of his neck. Something is off.

His heartbeat explodes when the man charges toward him.

David can hold his own, but in the shadows he thinks the man is clutching something in his fist. It could be a cell phone. It could be a weapon. A gun, a knife.

His instincts scream at him to turn and run with everything he has.

So he does.