Page 4 of Justice for Radar

“Well, you do now,” he said. “You comfortable coming with me or you want to wait for Lucia to get off work?”

“Oh, no, I don’t want to put anybody out. I can come now,” I said, adding hastily, “If that’s convenient for you.”

He gave me a crooked smile and nodded slowly, as though he thought my stumbling over my words and rushing them out was adorable or something and not the ingrained fear response they actually were.

I tried not to sigh in frustration with myself and instead plastered on a fake, but hopefully convincing smile of my own.

“What can I help you with?” he asked me gently, and I swallowed hard.

“Um, nothing. I’ve got it,” I answered, hefting my laptop bag onto my shoulder after looping my purse over my head and settling the strap crossways over my body.

He telescoped the handle to my rolling hard-sided carry-on and handed it to me, and I nodded.

“Thank you.”

“You sure I can’t take anything?” he asked.

“No, no, you’re already doing so much. I can handle it.”

Standing, I realized he was shorter than me, though not by much, maybe five-foot-six to my five-foot-eight. Still, what he lacked in height, he made up for in presence.

“Lucia!” he called out across the diner and his daughter turned with a raised eyebrow, pen poised as she’d been about to take an order. He rattled off in Spanish that was at once the same and yet completely unfamiliar to my rudimentary understanding of Mexican Spanish from living in Texas. The pronunciation of his Spanish a completely different animal from what I was used to, but being in Florida, I had to consider it wasn’t typical Latin American Spanish but potentially Cuban Spanish that I was hearing.

I was curious about that, and when he turned back to jerk his head that I should follow him, he did so with a bit of a rakish grin. I realized my wide-eyed expression in a bid to keep up with the differences in his Spanish perhaps made him think I didn’t know the language at all – which was fine. I could appreciate the value of having a hidden advantage.

I would be lying if I said I didn’t have any apprehension or anxiety following him out of that diner and into the oppressive heat and beating sunrays of Florida. The sunshine was deceptively cheery for how dark the day had turned for me and I cleared my throat.

“I walked this morning,” he said, pausing.

“So, it’s not far then?” I asked and he smiled, turning, and coming back to me.

“Just around the corner and like three houses down,” he said. I nodded slowly. “Would you like to phone a friend back home?” he asked.

I shook my head. “No, I’m fine… it’s fine,” I said, and he cocked his head.

“Nothing about a man abandoning you several states from where you live is ‘fine,’ honey. It’s okay to be scared. It’s okay to be sad, and angry, and nervous and your mind going a mile a minute. It’s okay to not be okay right this second. I know you don’t know me, and that you’re taking a huge leap of faith. I know it doesn’t mean a whole lot, but it’s going to be okay. We’ll get you set up, let you breathe a minute, and get this all figured out. The important thing is that even though you don’t feel safe, you are. I promise.”

I blinked and nodded mutely. I mean, what did you even say to that? I wanted to believe him, but somehow, I just couldn’t and yet… I swallowed hard and dragged my carry-on a step and with a smile he dropped back a step beside me so we walked together and I wasn’t following anymore.

“So, we covered your name and what you do, but where are you from originally?” he asked.

“Um, Iowa originally. Got married at eighteen to my high school sweetheart. He joined the military, and we were stationed at Ft. Hood, in Texas. Things fell apart.” I laughed a bit nervously. That was the understatement of the century. He was still in prison for what he’d done to me. “I stayed in Texas and that’s pretty much all she wrote.”

“It’s a start,” he said with a nod.

“What about you?” I asked, and he smiled, bowing his head.

“Took a bit of the long way around,” he said. “Got married young, like you. Thought she was the love of my life, had Mariposa and Lucia. She got tied up with drugs and it got bad. Divorced, fought for my girls, won… their mother died. OD’ed when they were seven and five. Met Marisol. We were hot and heavy and got hitched… then she got cancer. She died while the girls were in high school. I sort of gave up trying after that. Threw myself into work and stayed there.”

“I’m sorry,” I murmured. “That’s a lot.”

He barked a short laugh and looked over at me. “Impressive.”

“What is?” I asked.

“You’re going through it, and you still got a spot of empathy for things that happened years ago and are done and dusted.”

I swallowed hard and said, “It was my own stupidity that got me here.”

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