Page 25 of What Matters Most

“I think you’re right.” Carla’s interest was aroused as she sat up. “Allow me to introduce you to ‘some crazy American’ Saturday night.”

“Philip?”

“You got it.” Carla blinked twice. “And it was romantic, except that everyone at the pool was staring at us.”

Nancy sighed and sat on the end of Carla’s mattress. “Eduardo’s romantic like that.” She smoothed a wrinkle from her white cotton pants as she crossed her legs. “He says the most beautiful things to me. But half the time I don’t know whether to believe him or not. The lines sound so practiced, and yet he appears sincere.”

“In instances like that, only time will tell,” Carla said without thinking.

“But that’s something we don’t have. In four days I’ll be flying home, and I bet I never hear from Eduardo again.”

Carla searched her friend’s coolly composed face, interpreting the doubts. “But I thought we were only looking for a little romance to liven up our vacation.”

Nancy sighed expressively, and her eyes grew wary. “I was, but you know what? I think there’s something basically wrong with me. For years now, you and I have had this dream of the perfect vacation. We’ve been to Southern California, Vegas, Hawaii, and now Mazatlán. Every year we plan one week when we can let down our hair and have a good time.” She paused, and her shoulders sagged in a gesture of defeat. “We do it so that when we get back to Seattle and our neat, orderly lives, we’ll have something to get us through another year.”

“But it’s never worked out that way. Our vacations are always dull.”

“I know,” Nancy agreed morosely. “Until this year, and all of a sudden I discover I’m not the type for a one-week fling. I’ll never be the ‘love ’em and leave ’em’ type. I like Eduardo, and as far as I can tell, he likes me. But I could be one of any number of women he escorts during the course of a summer. He sees a fun-seeking American on vacation, and I doubt that he’d recognize the hardworking high school teacher that I really am.” Nancy sighed and ran her fingers through her hair in frustration. “The funny part is that after all these years, this was exactly what I thought I wanted. And now that I’ve met Eduardo, I can see how wrong I’ve been. When I meet a man, I want a meaningful relationship that will grow. Not a one-week fling.”

Carla wasn’t surprised by her friend’s insights. Nancy often saw things more clearly than she did, whereas she, Carla, often reacted more to her emotions. Remembering last night and the way she’d panicked at the knowledge that Philip had been stabbed produced a renewed sense of regret. With Philip, her emotions had done a lot of reacting lately.

Later, when they met for an excursion to Palmito de la Virgen, the bird-watchers’ island in the bay, Carla mentioned Eduardo’s invitation to dinner. Philip was agreeable, as she knew he would be.

The following morning, Philip and Carla went deep-sea fishing at the crack of dawn. Philip managed to bring in a large tuna, but all Carla caught was a bad case of seasickness.

“It wasn’t the boat rocking so much,” she explained later, “but the way the captain killed that poor fish, cut him up, and passed him around for everyone to sample—raw.”

“It’s a delicacy.”

“Not to me.”

—

On Saturday, their last afternoon together, while Carla stood terrified on the beach, Philip went parasailing. With her eyes tightly shut, his glasses clenched in her hand, she waited until he was in the air before she chanced a look. Even then her heart hammered in her throat, and she struggled to beat down the fear that threatened to overcome her. Philip had to be crazy to allow his life to hang by a thin line. The only thing keeping him airborne was a motorboat and a cord that was attached from the boat to the parachute.

Her fear was transmitted as an irrational form of anger. The worst part was that Carla realized she was reacting to her emotions again. She wanted Philip to behave like a normal, safe, and sane male. Who would have believed that a lanky guy who wore horn-rimmed glasses defied death every day of his life?

Carla was exactly where Philip had left her when he returned. His glasses had made deep indentations in her fingers, and she didn’t need to be told she was deathly pale.

Exhilarated, Philip ran to her side and took his glasses from her hand. “It was fantastic,” he said, wiping the seawater from his face with a towel and placing it in her beach bag.

She gave him a poor imitation of a smile and lied. “It looked like fun.”

“Then why do you resemble a Halloween ghost?”

“It frightened me,” she admitted, and was grateful he didn’t mention that she looked as if she was going to throw up.

“Carla, I was watching you from up there. You were more than frightened. You looked like a statue with your eyes closed and your teeth clenched, standing there terrified out of your wits.”

“I thought you couldn’t see without your glasses,” she responded, only slightly interested.

“My vision is affected only close up. I saw how terrified you were.”

“I told you before, I’m a conservative person.” She didn’t enjoy being on the defensive.

“You’re more conservative than a pin-striped suit,” he growled. “There’s nothing reckless in parasailing.”

“And that’s your opinion.” Impatiently, she picked up her beach towel, stuffed it into her bag, and turned away.

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