No Perfect Secret (31 page)

“Is it okay for you to swim, exercise?” She looked troubled and anxious, not as happy as she had one short hour ago.

“Sure. Swimming is great. No pushups. No martial arts
—not for another few weeks—or so the doc said.”

A
huge wave knocked them over and splashed against the lip of the pool. Anna came up sputtering. “I’m drowned.”

They stayed in the pool, swimming, splashing, touching
—but carefully—and briefly chatting with other guests until a gigantic wave brought in a two-foot baby shark. The pool emptied in two seconds flat, and there was a rush to queue up at the bar.

Anna leaned back into the shade of the cabana and sipped a frozen strawberry margarita. “I guess we’re not swimming in this pool anymore.”

Caburn laughed. “I sure as hell am not. This resort has more wild life than the Washington zoo.”

Anna reapplied sunscreen and handed the tube over to Caburn. “Our first day out
—we better keep it on thick.” From her tote she withdrew the resort’s activities brochure for the area. “We can go horseback riding on the beach in the morning.”

“Find something a little more tame.”

“Tame? Horses are tame. Don’t you use horses on a farm?”

“
Horse power
—as in plows, tractors, threshers.”

“Well, I can ride a horse on the beach by myself while you eat and sleep.”

“How many horses have you ridden?”

Tight-lipped, Anna perused the brochure once again. “Here’s something. We can go with a group to Cambalache one evening. That’s an
Argentinean Steak House.”

“Sure, we can sign up for that.”

“Okay. If we wanted to, we could combine that with Coco Bongo, Show and Disco. That’s a Las Vegas type floor show—topless dancers; Elvis impersonators. That sounds like fun. We could make a night of it.”

Caburn lifted his sun glasses. “What’s the difference between topless dancers and topless Tai Chi?”

“Distance. We’re not going to run into topless showgirls at breakfast. What about Christmas Day? We could do a sail to
Isla Mujeres
. That means the Island of Women. Open bar, buffet lunch...”

She left out the part about snorkeling and shopping. Caburn’s comfort zone was food, drink, and sleep.

“What kind of women?”

“Saints, probably.”

Caburn stoppered the sunscreen. “I love the dichotomy—topless dancers Christmas Eve, and saints on Christmas Day.”

“What about having a librarian in between
—just to balance things out?”

His eyebrows came together. “Behave.”

A couple strolled by in front of them holding hands. The woman was tall, tanned and wearing a black maillot, she had an exquisite asymmetrical haircut that the breeze shaped and reshaped to envious perfection. Her companion was also tall, his graying hair pulled back into a ponytail. He wore a thong that left his buttocks bare and all of his tinker toys bunched in front.

Anna cut her eyes toward Caburn. “You would look so cute i
f you let your hair grow and wore it in a ponytail.”

“Let’s go get dressed for dinner.”

“It’s too early. I’m just going to close my eyes and soak up the sun for a bit.”

“Good. Keep ‘em closed.” He got up and walked in the opposite direction
to the couple, heading toward the end of the pool to stand amidst a group of men and giggly children who were watching hotel staff try to corral the little shark.

Anna yawned. The sun, the swim, the tequila, were telling on her. Not to mention she’d been up since three in the morning to catch their flight. The adrenalin rush of arriving in the tropics was wearing off.

Caburn woke her as a silvery dusk was descending. Overhead the sky was the color of ripe peaches, streaked with soft reds and mellow purples as the sun moved westward. Or, as the earth rotated, Anna knew, since the sun was anchored in the universe, and didn’t move at all.

“Dibs on the shower,” she called as they entered their suite. Having packed efficiently she gathered up what she needed from her suitcase and disappeared into the bathroom. She made a guttural sound that had Caburn looking up from his unpacking.

The bathroom door slammed shut. Frank’s jeans and shirt were on the tub, his boxer shorts—white, printed with little brown puppies—were on the floor of the shower; socks and loafers under the sink. His shaving kit, deodorant, tooth brush and toothpaste scattered over the marble counter. She rearranged his things to the left side of the marble counter—hers to the right. A used towel had been kicked into a corner. Smoldering, she picked up his clothes, folded them into a neat stack and put them on the tub surround. She caught her image in the mirror over the sink. Her expression was that of a long-suffering harridan. Oh, God. She blinked hard.

Sinking down on the tub edge, she realized the disarray in the bathroom had instantly reminded her of Kevin. She had spent years picking up after him. Crap. Crap. Crap. Emotional baggage was such a slippery slope. Just when she thought she had it under control it came out of nowhere to knock her backwards. This stuff was like quicksand, sucking her under. What was happening to her resolve? Her eyes began to burn with frustration and tears. She looked again at herself in the mirror.
You can’t allow this to happen
, she whispered.
You are on an all-expenses paid vacation compliments of the United States State Department with a man who is the absolute antithesis of the man you were married to for ten years. Not married. Lived with.

Not only that, Frank was a bachelor. He didn’t leave his clothes lying around because there were women to clean up after him. She thought about the bruises on his back. It dawned on her that Frank had been the easier target, standing with his back to the dining room. Had
Clara-Alice managed to get past him—she would be the one with the stab wound, the purple bruise, and the scar it would leave. Moreover, Frank had not complained. Compare that to Kevin who whined for a week if he had a hangnail.

Okay, she thought satisfied. She had a handle on the baggage now.

After the assault on her psyche, in addition to all the salt and sun, the shower felt like watered silk. Ten minutes later, after she was thoroughly soaped, shampooed and rinsed with water as cold as she could bear, she again stood in front of the bathroom mirror posturing this way and that. Her tan was coming along just fine, thank you. Perhaps her nose was just a bit rosy, but a swipe of face powder took care of it. She brushed her hair back into a red scrunchie, and hung gold and pearl drop earrings from her lobes. Something was missing besides her clothes. She whisked on a bit of smoky gray eye shadow, smudging it until her eyes looked sultry. She wondered what Frank would do if she walked out of the bathroom naked. Probably go all red in the face, dive under the bed, or head for Pluto.

She tugged on one of the two sundresses she’d
snagged in a tiny shop in Paris which had survived Clara-Alice’s manic destruction only because her summer clothes had been packed away in the guest bedroom. The Parisian shop was hardly larger than a walk-in closet. The owner told her the dresses were failed couture designs that never made the runways. They had been created by a lowly assistant whose job it was to cut fabric—without aspiring to anything loftier. The dress she slipped on was a taupe-colored, cotton-silk blend that never wrinkled; it was cut on the bias so that it flowed when the wearer moved, hinting at curves, but never actually revealing them. The lowly assistant had done something practical, which was to double the fabric covering the front so no bra was needed. It had clever, crocheted string straps. It was—step into a pair of panties, fling the dress on, and go. Anna hoped that by now the lowly assistant had overcome the envy and backstabbing rampant in that industry and was at the top of the couture ladder because this dress was awesome. If it didn’t knock Frank’s socks off, she’d stuff one in his mouth.

He was laying out his clothes on his bed when she emerged from the bathroom.

“I’m going to put my swimsuit on the patio to dry,” she said, more to get his attention, than to alert him he could take his turn in the bathroom.

“Good idea.” He glanced her way. “Wow.”

Wow? That’s it?
Why wasn’t he sweeping her into his arms? Murmuring how irresistible he found her? She had deliberately not applied lipstick for just this reason.

In a state of very specific dissatisfaction, Anna moved past him onto the patio and draped her swimsuit over the wooden railing. It was full dark now
—a beautiful and clear night. Overhead, flickering stars were millions upon millions of tiny lights against a vast black sky. She could hear the soft susurrus of the ocean as waves rolled up the beach. The canoe tied below the patio rocked gently. The gauzy white curtains billowed in the soft breeze crossing the surface of the estuary. She wondered if the little shark was feeling happy to be back in the ocean and not trapped in the pool.
I’m not trapped anymore either
, she thought, and almost burst into happy tears.

Inside the suite, she heard the shower running full bore
—and all of Frank’s clothes were still laid out on his bed—including his boxer shorts. Well. This might get interesting. Meanwhile, she occupied herself by completing her own unpacking and wondering if she had misjudged everything that had happened between herself and Frank Caburn.

Recalling the
night, when they had hugged she had felt him rise against her. She wasn’t mistaken about that—was she? At Vincenzo’s when she said that if she came on this trip they’d probably end up sleeping together, it had seemed to her his protest was overdone. There had been that intense look of desire in dark gray eyes that made them seem as black as coal. Had she misread that? Yet, here they were in this Eden, and they had not so much as held hands. It even seemed as though he had pulled back from flirting and sexual innuendo. Oh, he was still charming and engaging. But that was just Frank. She wondered if she were so overcome by her attraction to him that she was not seeing things clearly.

Perhaps he was having second thoughts about her. The horrid situation with Kevin wasn’t over by a long shot. Her life was going to continue to be complicated until Kevin was buried, his estate was settled, and all the legal issues decided. It was part of Frank’s job to be involved with all of that in a professional way. He had a better idea of what she had yet to face than she did.

Maybe all Frank saw was a pitiful thirty-four-year-old non-widow who hadn’t the sense of a head of cabbage when it came to her life. What man in his right mind wanted to get hooked up with a woman like that?

There was a pall in her heart as she moved her clothes from suitcase to drawer, only to discover Frank had finished his unpacking while she was in the shower. His folded clothes
—underwear, shorts, pajamas, and tees neatly put away in the top two drawers. His slacks and polo shirts hung in the closet next to the shelf that held the little room safe. It was no larger than a milk crate. The door was open. In it, Frank had stacked his passport, his wallet, his cell phone, and his car keys. There were a couple of packages of bills in the back, still in the bank’s binder. She lifted one out and riffled it, discovering at least a thousand dollars in fifties. Dear God in heaven. Didn’t the man believe in credit cards? Travel checks?

She was immeasurably glad that she had not kicked up a fuss about the messy bathroom, because the drawers and closet proved he was usually neat and orderly. She put her emptied suitcase in a far corner of the closet, removed a book from her beach tote and sat at the little round table.

The bathroom door swung open and Caburn stuck his head out. “Hey. Close your eyes, okay? I gotta get my clothes.”

“No, I’m not closing my eyes. I’m reading.” She held up the book.

“Well, would you hand me my clothes?”

Only his arm and head protruded from around the door. But his image was reflected in the mirror on the wall over the sink with eye-popping clarity. Anna stared exactly where decorum dictated a lady should not. Oh. My. Goodness.

She averted her eyes at the last second, and that gave her away. Caburn had one second of confusion before realization struck. He grabbed his clothes out of her hand and slammed the bathroom door.

She pressed her face to the door. “Did you want your belt?”

“Not unless you want me to use it on your fanny!”

She laughed. “Really? Have you been taking notes from Clarence?”

There was absolute silence on the other side of the door. Anna laughed and went back to her book.

Caburn came out of the bathroom and finished dressing without a single comment to her. He slid his belt into the loops of his new slacks, slid his feet into his leather Clarks, took money out of the safe, folded it and put it in his front pocket.

“You look very
GQ
with your clothes on,” Anna told him.

That drew from him a hint of a smile, which went nicely with the miniscule shake of his head. “Get your passport. Let’s put it in the safe.”

Another couple about their own age was emerging from their room across the courtyard as Caburn and Anna were exiting their own suite. Caburn struck up a conversation as the couples strolled to the tram stop.