Page 9 of Casualties of War
“I don’t need rescuing, Mr. Caballero.”
“Adán.”
“And if I did, my husband would do it. He’s good at beating up bad guys.”
Adán smiled. “I believe it.”
She considered him. “You didn’t flinch.”
“I should have?”
“I mentioned a husband. Most guys do.”
“I’m not most guys,” he said. “Besides, I’m not trying to hit you up for a date. You’re not my type.”
“I’m not?” Her tone was curious, not indignant.
“I’m Vistarian.”
Her eyes narrowed.“That should mean something?”
“You haven’t even heard of Vistaria?”
“It’s in Mexico, right?”
“Nextto Mexico. Vistarian men, theyliketaking care of their women. They like beating up the bad guys for them, so the lady doesn’t have to. It’s in our DNA. I would just trip you up.”
She laughed. It was an honest bellow, not a polite twitter. “Have you ever hit anyone in your life?”
“No,” he admitted.“For you, though, I would.”
Her smile faded.
“For any lady, I would,” Adán amended. “I’m just trying to thank you.”
“I consider myself thanked,” she replied and straightened. “Anyway…”
“See you around, Officer Graves.”
“Oh la, Mr. Caballero.”
It took him a second to realize what she had tried to say washola. He clutched his chest. “God, that wasawful! Who taught you Spanish? A drunk Frenchman?”
She grinned. “I suck at languages,” she admitted, with a candid air.
“You absolutely do,” he agreed. “Goodbye, then,” he added.
“Ciao,” she replied, mangling that, too.
* * * * *
Adán shifted on the folding chair, listening to the wail of sirens and watching red, green and blue, even yellow lights, revolve and flash against the side of the tent, as he thought of Parris Graves and how theyhad met.
Running into her the second time should have been the end of it. They lived in different worlds, even though they were in the same city. Fate, which Adán had disavowed all his life until that year, threw them together.
The next time he saw Parris Graves, she was in uniform once more and wrote a speeding ticket for the director driving the car Adán was in. Adán joked about being arrested.Parris wrote the ticket and traded quips in abysmal Spanish while the director laughed. The director was still shaking when he took the ticket.
Then, the boat incident.
It had all happened so innocently. So gradually.
And now, Parris was off somewhere defending her country, while Adán was sitting about drinking cocktails, whilehiscountry imploded.
Perhaps she had been right about actorsall along.
