Page 59 of Everything We Left Behind

His skin pricks. He senses Natalya watching him, so he angles his body toward her. The night sky casts her skin in blue. His expression is questioning, inviting her to ask him anything. She must have plenty on her mind.

Her eyes buzz over him; then her chest rises with a deep inhale. “I’m going to come right out and say this. It’s very hard for me to look at you and not see Carlos.”

“My conservative clothes and shorter hair aren’t enough to differentiate us?” he quips, trying for humor in hopes of unbuckling the tension he’d felt strapped around her since their arrival.

“I wish it were that simple, but no. For a long time, Carlos saw his situation differently than I did. He separated himself from you. He talked of you as though you were a brother or cousin.”

“How do you see me?”

“You’re the same person. Almost,” she adds as an afterthought. “The same blood pumps through your veins. You have the same heart and same soul. So, tell me, James Charles Donato. Who are you?”

He doesn’t know. There isn’t much of his old life left. He gulps back his beer.

“Come on,” she prods. “You have to give me something. What makes you different from Carlos?”

“I don’t collect newspapers?” he points out.

She nods, considering. “That is something. But you know he did that for you?”

James palms the sand and lets it rain between his fingers. There’d been more stacks of newspapers than he cared to count, boxed away in the garage in Mexico. Left behind by Carlos for James, so he wouldn’t miss out on one day’s worth of news. He’d tossed them without opening the boxes. The clutter had been overwhelming. It only added to the staggering number of issues he had to contend with.

“There are quite a few similarities between you. You both run, God knows why.”

James chuckles despite his heavy mood. He finishes his beer.

“You both paint.”

“Not anymore.”

“Why?”

He lifts a shoulder. “Not feeling it.”

She studies him for a moment. His skin itches from the way she watches him. He’s not her Carlos, and he’s tired of being compared to a man who no longer exists. He’s already compared himself enough with Carlos. He pushes the bottle into the sand beside him and considers returning to the house. Maybe they should talk tomorrow. His mood has darkened with the night sky.

Natalya digs her feet into the sand and wiggles her toes. “I was four when my mom passed. My dad didn’t surf for a long time. There he was, at the pinnacle of his professional career, and he couldn’t compete. Surfing is like any sport. It’s about where your mind’s at.” She taps her forehead. “Dad’s mind hadn’t been on the water, so he decided to take some time off and mourn. Then he took another year off to start his company. But the ocean called to him, and in time he was back on the water and winning titles because when he went back, he was ready to go back. Now he has a booming business, travels the world sponsoring tournaments, and has a gal in every port.”

“You and Raquel were sisters, right?”

“Half sisters. Dad’s a free spirit. He’s always been open about his relationships. I love all my siblings.”

“How many do you have?” James recalls reading something about her family, but not the details. These would be his sons’ aunts and uncles. Their family.

“My sister, Tess, is in Sydney, Australia, and my brother, Calvin, is in South Africa. He’s the baby. I’m the eldest.”

“How old are you?”

“Thirty-three.”

“You probably already know I’m thirty-six. I feel like I’m thirty.”

“Hmm, I wonder why.”

He taps his temple. “In my head, I’m drinking a beer with an older woman.”

Natalya looks at him with a blank expression; then a laugh bursts from her chest. He grins. “Couldn’t resist.”

“Anyhow, there’s a point to my story.”

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