Page 105 of When We Believed in Mermaids

“What kind of snake?”

“Ordinary. He probably lived in the garden till the end of his days.”

We walk up the hill toward the Spanish restaurant where Miguel plays, and I realize I’ve mapped out some of the routes, from ferry to apartment, apartment to market. I’d like to expand my reach, see what lies beyond the park full of magic trees. Go to the other side of the bridge, see what the lights to the north are, but I suppose I’m out of time. “I guess I have to get back to my real life.”

“So soon?”

I twitch a shoulder. “My mother is staying in my house, taking care of things. I left my job without a lot of notice. And I’ve done what I came to do.”

He nods. His hand is still holding mine. Ordinarily it feels sweaty and claustrophobic to hold hands with someone, but his fits mine better than most. I almost pull away as I think that, but it doesn’t matter. I’ll be leaving.

Before we go into the restaurant, he stops and faces me. “If you stay a few more days, we could explore a bit together. You could have a true holiday, enjoy getting to know your family.”

Light from the doorway cascades down the center of his nose, catches on the curves of his mouth, illuminates the column of his throat. “Maybe.”

“Think about it.”

“Okay.”

When we go in, Miguel spies us and hurries over. He’s wearing a turquoise shirt this time, the color making the most of his dark hair and warm skin.“Hola, hermano!”They give their man hugs, slaps on the back and then away. “You must be Kit,” he says, offering me his hand.

I accept his handshake. “I’m happy to meet you.” In my mind are the eyes of a little girl, haunting me, making me ache. “Javier has told me a lot about you.”

He closes my hand between his own. “As he has told me about you, though he could never have fully expressed your beauty.”

I laugh at the extravagant compliment. Javier tsks good-naturedly.

“Are you going to sing?” Miguel asks. “We have missed you. But of course, we do not wish for your date to run away. Was it so terrible you couldn’t bear it?”

“Pay him no attention,” Javier says, his hand at my back. “He thinks he’s clever.”

“I had pressing business last time,” I say. “So rude. This time I look forward to hearing every word.”

Javier swings his arm around my shoulders, kisses my temple. “It will be my pleasure to serenade you.”

“Is that what it will be, a serenade?”

His eyes go sleepy. “Every word will be words of love,” he murmurs close to my neck. “And they will all be for you.”

Again it’s extravagant, but our little idyll is nearly over, so I let it slide past my barriers and settle in my blood, warming me. I lean into him and let him kiss my forehead, and only when I am settled at the small cocktail table near the stage do I see the eyes on us, envy and curiosity and eagerness. “Everyone is staring,” I murmur.

“Because they wish to know who that beautiful woman is with Señor Velez,” Miguel says, giving me a wink.

Then they’re taking the stage, and the crowd goes crazy, whistling and clapping as Javier picks up a guitar. He lifts a hand and settles in a chair before a microphone. The two men begin to play, the guitars weaving in and out of each other, rising and falling, and I think it must be flamenco.

A woman sits down next to me, slim and middle-aged, her perfume spicy in the beery room. She leans in, offering her hand. “You must be Kit. I’m Sylvia, Miguel’s wife.”

I give her a frown. “You know my name?”

She smiles. “We are his family. He talks.”

“Ah.” It makes me uncomfortable, but I take her hand, nod in acknowledgment. A waitress comes around, bringing beer and shots. “Right?” she asks, bending close. “Ale and tequila?”

I’m startled but lean close enough to say, “Yes, thank you.”

“Anything else?”

“No, thank you.”