Page 119 of That Last Summer

She made the decision without weighing it, not processing what she was doing. “Right, then. I’ll take it.”

Her parents had given her an emergency credit card years ago; she opened her bag and pulled it out. As she took it out of her wallet, she saw the one Alex gave her shortly after they got married. She hadn’t wanted to take it, she didn’t feel right spending his money, she was trying to find a job, but he had insisted. Now she wanted to burn it.

She paid for the ticket, with her husband and the redhead in mind, and thanked the attendant for her help.

On the way to the security checkpoint, she noticed she’d missed several calls and messages. She ignored them all, except one. Adrián. She called him back without hesitation.

“Pris? Where are you? Alex came looking for you to check if you were still pissed off, he asked if you were going home—”

“Adri—” she burst into tears.

“Pris? What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

“No, I’m not—”

“Where are you?”

“I’m in Madrid.”

“What? Madrid? What the fuck—”

“I’m at the airport.”

“What the fuck are you doing at the airport?”

“I’m about to get on a plane.”

“A plane? What’s going on? I don’t get what the hell you’re doing at the airport in Madrid or why you want to get on a plane.”

“I don’t want to. But I’m going to. I’ve bought a ticket and I’m about to go through security—”

“What? No, Pris, wait. What happened? Don’t do anything, please. Just tell me—”

“Something awful, Adri. I feel like dying. I need to go away, that’s why. I’m going to go through the security checkpoint and—”

“Don’t! Pris, wait for me, please! Please, I’m coming.”

“Adri, I can’t—”

“Please, wait for me!”

Despite Adrián’s pleas, Priscila went through security. She deposited her cell phone—her brother still on the other end of the line—and her bag on a tray and placed it on the conveyor belt, then passed through the metal detector. When she picked up the cell phone again, her brother was still there, shouting her name.

“I’m through.”

“Fuck! Don’t move. Stay there, Pris, please.”

Priscila stood in the middle of the terminal, adrift. She could hear Adrián talking to Marcos.

“Give me your car keys.”

“Why? Did you find Pris?”

“Yes. And I need your damn car. Give me the keys!”

“Fuck! Here, but tell me what the hell’s going on. Where is she?”

“Adri, I have to go,” Priscila said. She couldn’t take it anymore. If she stayed on the phone, listening to her brothers, she’d fall apart and run back home to them, to find shelter in their arms, and that wasn’t what she wanted.