Meet Me in Barcelona (5 page)

Grace and Jake placed their matching towels so that Grace could catch a bit of shade from a neighboring umbrella while Jake took the full brunt of the sun. Despite working long hours at his veterinary clinic, Jake was always tan. Grace had a light toasting as well, but too much of it and she would burn. She wanted to warn Jake about skin cancer, but she never wanted to be one of those women who harped, or mothered. It was a slippery slope, and with Jake it was particularly tough to follow—he was impulsive; she was careful. Live and let live. She did, however, offer several times to help him put on sunscreen. He took one look at the giant bottle with SPF 50 in huge red letters and shook his head.

“You know they say there's no definitive proof that anything over SPF 30 offers much more protection,” he said.

“Are you saying if I had SPF 30 you would wear it?” Grace asked.

“Nah. I'm fine, sweetie.”

You're fine right now. Later you might turn into a lobster. I'll pay the price if you don't want to go dancing or make love because your back is on fire.

“If I let you put it on me will it make you stop staring at me as if I'm about to burst into flames?” Jake asked playfully.

“Yes, it will,” Grace said, grabbing the bottle before he could change his mind. “It really will.” Jake sat up, giving Grace access to his shoulders and back. His skin and muscles felt so nice and taut beneath her fingertips. Maybe she'd surprise him with Spanish guitar lessons one of these days. On his chest she outlined a little heart with her fingertips. She hoped it would work. Make theirs a love that lasted. She often indulged in little superstitions like that, just like the pancake pan she had bought, etched with little smiley faces. It was the simple things in life that got Grace through. She finished her artwork and handed him the sunscreen.

“Do me,” she said.

“Again?” Jake said. “This
is
a vacation.” She laughed, and he pulled her in and kissed her. In Spain, on the beach, kissing. See, Marsh Everett? Life didn't have to be baring your soul; sometimes it was baring your body. Then slathering it with SPF 50. “Is this waterproof?” Jake asked.

“You have to ask?” Grace said.

“Then let's go.” Jake stood, reached for her hand, and pulled her to her feet.

“What about my purse?” Grace said. Jake glanced down at her little black satchel.

“Do you have a lot in there?”

“Fifty euros, a credit card, the key to the room, and my passport,” Grace said. Jake looked around. The beach was crowded, and they were situated in the middle, about ten feet from the ocean.

“Tuck it under your towel. Then we'll pile our sandals and clothes on top. I'll keep an eye on it and run like hell if anyone goes near it.”

“My hero,” Grace said.

“You shouldn't carry your passport around. And maybe we'll get a little waterproof pouch so you can carry your money in here.” He took his finger and slowly outlined her bikini top.

“You're going to drive me crazy if you keep doing that,” Grace said.

“Good,” Jake said. “You know how I like to drive.” Grace swatted him away, then hid her purse under the towel and piled all of their things on top of it. Jake was right; she needed a better system.
Don't leave it,
her little voice told her.
Take turns swimming
. But she wanted to hold on to Jake in the ocean, feel the waves crash over their bodies, kiss in the Mediterranean. It would be fine, she told herself. Next time she'd have a better plan.

The water was warm and soft, like a relaxing bath. Grace spread her arms wide and paddled her legs in a lazy circular motion. After just a few minutes she felt lighter than she had in years. Jake wrapped his arms around her and scooped his hands under her legs, joyfully lifting her up in the water. She wrapped her arms around his neck, and they kissed. How long since they'd done this? The two of them working nonstop. Jake worked mostly days; Grace evenings and weekends.
Remember this. Take a snapshot in your mind; hold on to it when things get crazy again.

“What are you thinking?” Jake said. His voice was a bedtime whisper.

“I don't care who gave us this trip. I'm just glad that they did.”

“Me too.” They kissed again. “Unless they want something in return,” Jake added.

“Way to ruin it, Romeo.” Grace wanted to get back to heaven. She dove into the waves and swam.

 

Grace ran for the towels, but Jake beat her to them. “It's still here,” he whispered, holding up her purse with a dripping wet hand.

“Perfecto,”
Grace said, taking the purse.

“Will you remember to pick up some kind of fanny pack?” Jake said.

Grace swatted him in the butt. “For this fanny?” she said.

He reached around and grabbed her rear end. “I prefer this one.”

“In Europe ‘fanny' means something entirely different,” Grace said.

“What?” Jake said with a smile that suggested he already knew.

“Let's go back to the room, and I'll show you,” Grace said. They picked up their towels, wrapped them around their waists, and slid on their sandals. When they reached the street, a couple was coming toward them, their arms full with beach things. Grace and Jake parted so they could go through. The young woman lost her footing and bumped into Grace.

“Sorry,” she said. Her voice was barely above a whisper. Her hair was tucked into a large, floppy hat, and she wore huge sunglasses. But her body was beach ready and tan. Grace felt a tiny bit jealous. Was Jake checking her out? That would be normal. The man she was with was tall, with dark skin. And a lot of hair. Grace wanted to buy him a razor. Just another slight cultural difference.

“No problem,” Grace sang out. Grace continued on, but stopped a few feet later and turned around again. The woman had stopped too, and was watching Grace and Jake leave.

Grace slipped her hand into Jake's and whispered in his ear. “I think she likes you.”

Jake squeezed her hand. “Or maybe she likes you,” he said in a tone that suggested it wouldn't bother him in the least.

 

Carrie Ann couldn't believe someone could actually stomp through the sand, but when she announced she wasn't staying after all, Rafael sure managed to pull it off.

“They'll probably be back,” he said. “We should stay.”

“They won't be back.”

“But we just got here.”

“You can stay.”

“I wanted to lie next to you on the beach.”

No, you just wanted everyone to see you lying next to me.
“We wouldn't have missed them if you hadn't spent so much time shaving your back.”

“I wasn't shaving my back.”

“I saw you.”

“You are spying on me?” Rafael grabbed her wrist, and when she whirled around, she saw a huge grin plastered on his face. Carrie Ann glared at him, and he dropped her wrist. He stumbled back, ran his hand through his thick hair. He had hair everywhere. Another reason Carrie Ann wasn't attracted to him. “Why didn't you just talk to her? Why bump into her and then say nothing?”

“It's none of your business.” Carrie Ann picked up the pace. She wished Rafael would just go back to the beach. Why was he following her home?

“If it's none of my business then why am I helping you?”

You're not helping me; you're helping him.
“I don't know. Why are you?”

Rafael grabbed her hand and squeezed it. Carrie Ann pulled away. “Maybe it is because you are so beautiful. And feisty. I like feisty.”

“And maybe it's because you are getting paid. To keep your eyes on me. Not your paws.”

“I won't tell if you won't tell,” Rafael said.

“Oh, I'd tell all right. So don't even think about it.”

“How do you know this Grace?”

“You're not paid to ask questions.”

“It is not much money, this pay. And you are staying in my home. So are your friends.”

“And I appreciate it, Rafael. Thank you.”

“Why don't we just take her right now?”

Carrie Ann felt a little jolt. Was he not on the same page? Ignorance was dangerous. “Take her? What do you mean, take her?”

“That is the plan.”

She wanted to throttle him. His stupidity was going to cost her everything. “No.” She didn't want to shout at him, but she had to set things straight. “We are going to take me. Not her. Me. That is the plan.” God, he was dense! They never should have enlisted him.

“I don't understand what is the plan.”

Carrie Ann squared her shoulders and stepped closer to Rafael. “You're not to talk to her. Or even look at her anymore. Got it? That's the plan. Stick to it.”

“It's all right if that means I get to stick to you.”

“Gross,” Carrie Ann muttered under her breath. But she was glad he was dropping the subject of Grace so quickly.

“If I were your boyfriend, I wouldn't let you out of my sight for one single second.”

“That would make you a kidnapper.”

“Ah, but I would be so nice to my captive. I would feed you wine and cheese. You would love it.” He grabbed her hand again and tried to bring it up to his lips.

“Let go or I'll scream.”

“Scream? Why do you say such things?”

“I do not like your hanging all over me.”

“You are not any fun. You are—how do they say—party pooping.”

“You're on your own, Wolfman,” Carrie Ann said. She thrust the pile of beach things at him, and Rafael stumbled back as he tried to juggle them all.

“No, no, no,” Rafael said. “Where I go, you go—remember?”

“It's supposed to be ‘Where I go, you go,' and I am not going to the beach.”

“You are upset about your friend.”

Maybe he wasn't as shallow as she had first thought. Maybe she'd have to be a little more careful what she said and did around him. “Maybe a little.”

“Do you want me to talk to her?”

“No. A hundred billion times no. Promise me you won't.” He'd probably already freaked Grace out with that ridiculous costume. The last thing Carrie Ann needed was Rafael inserting himself on the scene.

“I promise if you come back to the beach.”

Carrie Ann tried to smile. It wasn't easy. She just wanted to get rid of Grace's boyfriend and take her hands and jump and shout, “It's me! I'm here!”

Jake was even better looking than Carrie Ann had expected. From the looks of things they were headed back to have vacation sex. So strange. Little Grace. Having sex. Holding hands with a boy even. Singing country songs. She even had her own little following. She wasn't a child anymore. Walked right by Carrie Ann without recognizing her.

“Are you sure the microphones are in place?” Carrie Ann asked.

“
Sí, sí.
We will be able to hear everything they say.”

“Okay, good.”

“And do,” he said, raising his eyebrows.

Pervert. She wasn't going to let him listen to any of it. “Thirty minutes, no more. I don't want wrinkles,” Carrie Ann said.

“Deal.” Rafael shouted it at the sky, as if he'd just made a bargain with God himself. Carrie Ann couldn't help but laugh. Hairy, yes, but still somewhat charming for a psycho. This time when Rafael forged ahead looking for the perfect spot, Carrie Ann followed.

She did, however, keep looking over her shoulder, wondering step for step where Grace was now. She was so near. Walked by Carrie Ann without so much as a second glance. Carrie Ann had expected more. Hell, she deserved more. She had always thought there was some kind of unbreakable bond between them. She would have bet her life on it. No matter how many years had passed, they should know each other like they knew their own shadows. If the roles had been reversed, Carrie Ann knew she would have recognized Grace. She would have
felt
her. God. Carrie Ann had really thought her foster-sister—slash blood-sister—would have recognized her. But Grace didn't even blink. Not one little flick of an eyelash. Huh. Carrie Ann was surprised at how much that hurt. Maybe Grace did recognize her and didn't want to see her. No, that wasn't possible. Grace was just too enamored with lover boy. It wasn't right. That wasn't the way it was supposed to be. Lovers were temporary. But sisters—how did the old saying go?
Sisters were sisters from cradle to grave.
Somebody, Carrie Ann thought, should have remembered that.

Grace followed up their day of sloth by rising before the sun. She made coffee, retrieved her Barcelona guidebook, and sat at the counter with a highlighter. “Oh no,” she heard Jake say. “Not the guidebook.” Priceless given that he was in the other room. How long had he been lying there waiting to say it? Grace laughed. He'd appreciate her organizational skills when they started hitting the sites.

“You had your lazy day, animal man,” Grace called out. “We're sightseeing today.”

“But not until noon, right? Spain comes to life at night, babe. Right after a long siesta. Don't forget to pencil in our siesta.”

“I was thinking Casa Batlló,” Grace said. Antoni Gaudí's house was high on her list. She loved all the pictures of the modernist façade. Balconies with masked faces, endless curved walls, glittering mosaic tiles, spirals, and mini-domes stretching above an expansive rooftop terrace. The back of the house was supposed to be patterned after a dragon's spine. Located along Passeig de Gràcia, Grace's first pick wasn't far from La Rambla. There were also plenty of shops nearby, so they could sneak in some of that as well. Even though he'd never admit it, Jake loved clothes shopping almost as much as she did. Then, after touring the house they could stop in at La Boqueria, pick up some tasty morsels for lunch, and head back to the apartment. Siesta, then dinner, and maybe even a little dancing. It sure was generous of someone to pay for their flights and living expenses.
Unless he or she wants something
.

Jake's words came back to her as she poured two cups of coffee. He was right. Most people they knew could barely afford their own vacations, let alone pay for someone else's. And why hadn't the “surprise” been revealed yet? They should have been informed the minute they checked into the apartment. It wasn't fair to keep people waiting until the very last second. What if Grace and Jake missed the wedding because they were off sightseeing?

They were going to have to stick with their earlier conviction. It was hardly their problem. Grace didn't mean to sound ungrateful, but they were here and they were going to sightsee. If an invitation was coming, it had better come soon. Grace figured tomorrow they would go to the Dalí and Miró museums, and if Jake was up to it, Park Güell. The next day would be reserved for the Sagrada Família. And music. Grace wanted to check out the little jazz clubs and tango places she'd read about. Even though she sang country, Grace loved all kinds of music. She never understood why so many people limited themselves. It was as if it were against the law to like country, and classical, and jazz, and hip-hop, and rock and roll. She loved it all. Too bad she was done playing and singing it herself. Every time she even thought of playing she broke out in a cold sweat.

She brought Jake's coffee cup to his bedside and set it on the little table. He was already back asleep and lightly snoring. Grace loved that sound. She wanted to kiss his head, but she didn't want to wake him. The coffee might be cold by the time he woke up, but he'd appreciate the gesture nonetheless. There were no clocks in the apartment. He had all the shades down. It was seven a.m. The Gaudí house opened at nine. La Boqueria, nine-thirty. Some of the cafés might be open, but then again, maybe not just yet. Jake was right. She was starting too early. But she was wide-awake, dressed, and showered. Maybe she'd take her cup of coffee outside and wander around. That's it; she'd go back to the town square. She could relax there, enjoy her coffee, watch pigeons. She'd probably be back before Jake woke up again.

It was odd to see the lobby empty of the non-door-opening doorman. Did she expect he'd be sleeping there? She was just about to exit when she noticed a book lying on the desk. Curiosity drove her to go near it. She always had to know what people were reading, or listening to. She hadn't pegged the desk guy as a reader. Of course someone else could have left it. She reached for it before she even registered the title.