Page 157 of That Last Summer

“What?”

“When?” Marcos moves closer to us.

“What are you talking about, Pris?” River asks.

“For once, I’m the only one who knows everything.” Jaime smiles, trying to ease the tension, but Hugo tells him to shut up with a single look.

I begin to explain myself.

“I did catch that plane on January 6th. I got into a taxi and went straight from the airport to the hospital. I didn’t tell you because it was something I wanted to do on my own; I needed to see Alex and make sure he was okay. I even came with the intention of talking things over, trying to fix our marriage, but everything went to hell. Carolina was in his room. I was shocked to see her there, but that wasn’t going stop me. I swear, I was determined to go in. It was your girlfriend who stopped me, Adrián—in two ways: first, she didn’t correct my mistake when she realized I thought her sister and Alex were together, and second—worst, if I have a say—she convinced me that Alex was physically fine, that it had been nothing more than a scare and he would recover quickly. I returned to Boston, believing Alex was okay and Carolina would take care of him, and it was only once I was there, after one day at work, that I found out Alex was quitting swimming. That’s your girlfriend. Do whatever you want with that information.” I pick up my purse and sling it over my shoulder. “I’m going home too; I’m exhausted, and I have to pack.”

Are we really leaving?

Pristy the Squirrel: An unexpected call, a non-wedding, and various discoveries.

IB8391

Today, I’m going back to Boston.

I said my farewells to my whole family and came here, to one of my favorite places, to do the same with my beloved Mediterranean Sea.

I said goodbye to my parents and siblings. I said goodbye to Adrián. We’ve hugged, we’ve said how much we love each other, we’ve both asked for forgiveness. Me, for hiding that moment of my life, the visit to the hospital, from him; and him, for not trusting my word when I told him Carmen wasn’t good. We parted ways after that, just a minute after we reconciled. Is there any point in repenting now for the time we’ve wasted this summer? Time we’ll never get back? I guess not.

I’ve dragged my luggage here under the watchful eyes of vacationers, who watched in amazement as a woman carried a pink suitcase across the beach until she reached the rocks.

I don’t want my family to come with me to the airport; it’s like goodbyes are harder there. I prefer to say goodbye at home, so I can pretend I’m only going on vacation for a while, no farther than a few miles away.

I haven’t seen or talked to Alex, and I know I won’t. It’s been three days since the non-wedding, and though I’ve been dying to apologize, to get on my knees for the rest of my existence, he doesn’t deserve that. He doesn’t deserve to have me do that to him. He doesn’t deserve to have to tell me no over and over again. No after what I did to him. Now, I have to live with it.

I’m surrounded by jagged rocks, shining in the glare of the sun, but I know them all like the back of my hand and the one I sit on is flat—the only flat one there is. Water crashes against them, splashing and slipping through the cracks then rushing out again. Water always finds its way out. The sun burns my right arm, but I don’t care. It will be a long time before my Mediterranean sun warms me up again. I want to enjoy it.

It smells of the sea—the sea, not the beach. There’s hardly any breeze, or sound. Only the noise of the waves that reach the shore behind me, and the ones dying here, against the rocks. Everything is calm. You can see the sand at the bottom through the crystal clear water.

I lift my knees and hug them, watching the boats plying the water and the line, as thin as a needle, separating the sea from the sky. And the clouds, scattered across the firmament, taking on as many shapes as the imaginations of those who observe them.

“Hey, Cabana.”

I smile at his greeting. I don’t need to turn around to know it’s Jaime. He’s not coming back to Boston with me, at least not yet; he’s going to spend a few days with his family before returning to the States. The only positive thing about my lockdown at home is that we’re ahead of schedule—we have comic strips lined up for the next three weeks.

“How did you find me?”

“I saw a meditative figure from the shore, looking at the sea all pensive, hiding from the universe, and I said ‘that has to be my girl.’”

“How did you find me?” I ask again, turning my head to look into his eyes.

“River may have given me a few hints about your favorite places. Places you needed to say goodbye to. I found you on the fourth try.”

He sits beside me and we stare at the row of slippery, moss-covered rocks that cut through the water to another set of much larger rocks in the middle of the sea.

“Have you ever walked over the rocks to there?” he asks me, pointing to the islet.

“Yes.”

“Wow. Maybe we can try it on our next visit.”

I show him my knee, the scar that corroborates my adventure.

“I did it one summer, with Adrián and Marcos. We’d been planning it for quite some time.”