The Story of You and Me (22 page)

“… her beautiful dairy queen face, the fact that she’s girlie but still thinks football is important and her sheer determination to get things done. So, no, I don’t care that she’s a shiksa. I also don’t care that she’s stubborn and that she’s probably going to test me even further once I get off the phone with you. Can you live with that, Bubby Sophie?”

“Yes,” Nana said. “You seem like a nice young man, and I greatly appreciate you letting me practice my foreign language skills with you.”

“You’re welcome.” Alejandro smiled at me.

“I must run or I’ll be late for the sing-along in the lobby. We’re performing a medley of Michael Jackson songs this week.”

“It’s my honor to have made your acquaintance,” Alejandro said.

“And you, Alejandro Maxwell Levine.”

I leaned into the phone. “I love you, Nana.”

“I love you back, my favorite granddaughter.”

“I’m your only granddaughter.”

“I know,” she said. “Which is number six on my top ten reasons why I love you the most.”
 

She paused for a moment and I heard her breathing, hard and raspy into the phone. “Nana? You okay?”

“Never better. Just promise me one thing?”

“What?” I asked.

“Life is full of mysteries, odd twists and turns. You think you’re traveling down one road only to discover you veered off and venturing down another. One that is completely unknown. And the new road has no fancy navigation system, no streetlights, or signs and you have no reception on your fancy phone. What do you do? Tell me, Sophie. What do you do?”

Alejandro squeezed my hand. He gazed into my eyes for a second. Smiled. Then turned his eyes back on the road. A lock of his black-brown hair escaped from behind his ear and fell onto his high, sharp cheekbone. He lifted my hand to his mouth and kissed it. Softly. Tenderly. I broke out in chills. Everywhere. “What should I do, Nana?”

“Be kind,” she said. “Just be kind to each other.”

“Okay,” I said.
 

But she’d already hung up.

* * *

It took us a while to cross the U.S.-Mexico border. Luckily, I’d brought my passport with me. When I left Wisconsin to travel to L.A., I had no idea if I’d need to hop a plane, a train or take a ferry, or even a cargo ship, to a foreign country to meet a healer at a moment’s notice. I was overly planning, but this is what I did best. Be stubborn. Be determined. And overly plan.
 

An hour after we crossed the border, Alejandro and I were in Rosarito, Mexico. It was a popular beach town filled with surfers, partiers, families and the occasional drug dealer. We were starving and grabbed a bite at a casual restaurant across from Rosarito Beach. People parked their surfboards next to their tables like most folks parked their bikes.

“I don’t understand why you don’t want to stay at my family’s place.” Alejandro said. “With the exception of the beach, it’s gated, has security guards and, no, I’m not going to try and seduce you or sneak into your bedroom at night.” He held up his hand in a Boy Scout salute. “Scout’s honor.”

“You were never a Scout, were you?” I asked.

He dropped his hand. “No, but it sounded good. Seriously, Sophie—you can trust me.”

“I know I can trust you. That’s not the point. The point is I rely on you to drive me. I’m not going to mooch off your family, or make your mom think you’re hanging out with the wrong kind of girl.”

“She likes you. She told me. She wouldn’t have sent us down here to meet with Señor Morales, the
curandero
, unless she believed you were the right kind of girl.”

“I’ve already got a reservation for a hotel room. I found a deal online. This is non-negotiable.”

* * *

I stood at the front desk of the La Mar Hacienda and Suites, a festive four-star beach hotel where I’d reserved a room. The lobby was packed with vacationers rolling their bags and clutching drinks. A uniformed male hotel clerk pounded away on his computer but shook his head. “I am so sorry,
Señorita
. There is no reservation under the name of Sophie Priebe. I would be happy to rent you a room, but La Mar is booked solid tonight.”

I stuck my paper printed with my reservation confirmation number in front of him. “Here’s my confirmation number. One person. One night. One queen bed. No oceanfront view.” Alex was suddenly at my side with my suitcase.

“Problems?” he asked.

I nodded and rolled my eyes.

The clerk entered my confirmation number into the computer. “The confirmation code is for a reservation in combination with a cruise ship discount. Which cruise ship are you vacationing on?”

“I’m not vacationing on a cruise ship. I’ve never been on a cruise ship because I’m a sucky swimmer and water scares me. Why in God’s creation would my confirmation number be connected to a cruise ship?”

“I do not know,
Señorita
. But if you give me the name of your cruise ship? We can probably figure this out,
muy pronto
.”

I turned away from the clerk, looked at Alex and sliced my finger across my throat.

He hacked and clamped his hand across his mouth for a moment. “
Señor,
hablo español
,” he said. “Can I help?”

“Yes,” the clerk said. ‘Do you know the name of the cruise ship your friend is vacationing on?”

* * *

Alex and I stood in front of a smaller motel desk with a blinking, ancient, multi-colored neon sign on the wall behind the receptionist’s counter. No one was in the lobby except for a short, round, older Latina woman behind the counter. Fine by me. “That will be sixty-two American dollars for a single room with a double bed.”

I smiled. “Perfect! You take credit cards?”

“Of course. But we have to charge you ten dollars extra for credit card. Management policy. Seventy-two American dollars.”

I thought about it. Looked around the lobby. It was kitschy, but clean. Dated, but sweet. And it was only ten more dollars. “Okay.” I dug in my purse for my wallet.
 

“You share a bathroom. It is right down the hall.”

I frowned. “There’s no bathroom in my room?”

“It is practically across the hallway from your room.”

A sunburnt young couple that looked stoned stumbled through the lobby past us. “You have the key,” the emaciated woman said to her male companion.
 

“No. You have the key.” The skin and bones man rubbed his scruffy beard.
 

I half-expected insects or tiny marijuana plants to erupt from his facial hair. I backed away from them.

“What is it with you and keys!” the woman hissed. “I can’t trust you with anything. What did you do with the stuff?”
 

“What stuff?”

She rolled her hazy eyes in her hollow eye sockets. “You know. The reason we came here.
The stuff
?”

“Oh,” he scratched his greasy head. “The last time I saw the stuff was in the bathroom. Next to the spoon.”

I gazed at the woman behind the counter, slack-jawed. “I’d be sharing a bathroom…” I lowered my voice. “…with them?”

“Yes,” she said.
 

“Sophie. We’re not seeing the
curandero
until tomorrow. You could stay at my family’s place,” Alejandro said. “There’s plenty of room.”

* * *

Alex and I exited his Jeep and stood in the parking lot of a little motel next to a small truck stop and diner. There was a Vacancy sign lit up in the front window. In the distance the sun started to make its way toward the horizon.
 

“Third time’s the charm,” I said. “This place is kind of cute. It’s called Margarita Villa. Look—there’s a van parked with a ‘Child on Board’ sign. What could possibly be wrong with this place?”
 

A man and woman burst out of the motel’s entrance dragging suitcases as well as their two screaming kids. They raced toward the older Chevy van parked just yards away from us, scratching their heads, arms and ankles. The woman looked terrified. “Don’t freaking do it! Lice. We are the walking dead. Save yourselves!”

“Thanks!” I hollered as Alex and I popped back in his Jeep and sped off.

Chapter Twenty

Alejandro and I laid back on cushy recliners on a patio that faced the Pacific Ocean, about one hundred yards away. He was still in boardshorts and a T-shirt. I had changed into my new slightly-revealing swimsuit with my V-neck, tangerine colored, beach cover-up. We sipped lemonades and watched the beginnings of another glorious sunset. I swiveled my neck and gazed back at the house attached to the patio.
 

His family’s vacation home was a single story Spanish styled hacienda. The abode was simple, rustic, immaculate and on the freaking beach. It was all I could do not to grab my phone, snap a pic and send it to Triple M in Oconomowoc.

“So, on a scale of one to ten, how traumatized are you from your hotel experiences in Rosarito?” Alex asked.

“Six,” I said and gazed at the small sailboats making their way back into Rosarito’s harbor toward their slips. “You knew, didn’t you?”

“Knew what?” He slurped his lemonade and tried to hide a smile.

“You suspected that these hotels would be a bit of a nightmare.” I kicked his bare shin with my foot.
 

He laughed. “Guilty.” So I kicked his shin again. But this time he caught my ankle, held it between his hands, and pulled me and my beach chair toward him while I squirmed and kicked at him with my other foot.

“Bastard! Release my leg immediately!” I said. “What are you doing?”

“Moving you closer to me. Where you need to be. It’s Mexico, Bonita. Mexico is beautiful and amazing and magical. But if you hit the wrong place at the wrong time, you could be a name in one of the news stories about twenty bodies without heads they found in a dump ten miles from here. That said? My family’s had this place for years. We love it. And for the most part, it’s safe. Except if you are taken prisoner.” He tickled my foot.

“Stop it!” I squirmed. “Let me go!”
 

He wouldn’t and even had the audacity to laugh. “Hah! You’re mine! I’m in charge of this pretty foot with the flower on the big toe. I get to say when and where it will go. I will squeeze your toes better than any Chinese foot reflexologist ever could.” He massaged my foot, pulling my toes.

“Ouch! Competitive much?” I shook my head. “You’re the biggest dork I’ve ever met.”

Alejandro laughed. “You’re the biggest dork I’ve ever met. The biggest, cutest, funniest, Cheesehead dork.”
 

I started laughing.
 

He dropped my foot. “Race you to the water. Whoever gets there first wins.” He stood up and strode toward the ocean.

“What do I win?”

He turned and stared at me. “What do you mean, what do you win?”

“Well, if I have to go to all this effort, at least I should get something pretty spectacular if I win.”

He grinned, stripped off his T-shirt and tossed it onto the sand. The sun glimmered like a mirage across his half-naked body: his built shoulders, tanned muscular, wide chest with just the right amount of dark chest hair. His abdomen was ripped and the hair narrowed into a thin line, a tiny V below his belly button and disappeared beneath the waistband of his boardshorts.
 

Dear God, kill me now.
 

The sun on the waves reflected onto his smile and caught the sparkle in his hazel eyes. “If you win? You get to kiss me.” He winked, then turned and jogged toward the surf.

“Go ahead!” I yelled. “I don’t swim, remember?” I frowned and tapped my foot on the tiled floors.

“Who said anything about swimming?” He swiveled, faced me and jogged in place. “Don’t you want to kiss me, Bonita?” He threw his arms out. “Like seriously, you’re hurting my manly feelings.”

“Fine.” I stood up and strode out onto the beach toward him. The sand was soft and squished under my feet and between my toes, slowing me down.
 

“Nice acceleration. I’d estimate you’re moving about two miles an hour. You’re never going to win that kiss,” he said. “And, I’m not bragging or anything, but it’s a really good kiss. Because I like you something fierce. You’re beautiful inside and out and you make me laugh, and that is so rare in my world. Seriously, you’d be missing out on something pretty darn great.” He jogged toward the ocean.

I was too far away from him and completely
out of the running on winning our current bet. Unless….

I put my two fingers to my mouth and whistled sharply. “Alejandro Maxell Levine!”

He whipped turned and regarded me, curious.
 

“If this was football, technically, you are offsides. I call a flag on the play. Ten yard penalty.” I walked toward him, widening my strides. “Come on.” I beckoned to him with my index finger. “You need to give me back those ten yards. What’s fair is fair.”
 

His eyes widened for a second and, shocker, he actually stopped in his tracks and then walked ten yards back toward me. I applauded and he looked surprised.

Game on, Alpha Boy.
 

I jogged toward him until we stood next to each other—still for a moment. He smiled down at me: full lips, white teeth, high cheekbones, a cleft in his chin and those freaking crazy-beautiful hazel eyes. He reached out, caught the waist of my beach cover-up and pulled me flush against him. My breath caught in my throat and my heart bounced around in my chest.
 

“Screw who gets to the ocean first. I’m kissing you now.” He leaned down toward me. The second before his lips touched mine I ducked, tickled his waist and wiggled out of his grasp.

I raced toward the ocean, my legs pumping like a wide receiver headed toward the goal line. I stuck my feet in an inch of surf and jumped up and down on the sand. “I win!” I thrust one fist up in the air. “I win this one!” He strolled toward me. “I won.” I repeated, breathless.

“I know. Thank God for football.” He drew me toward him, wrapped one hand around my waist and the other hand behind my head. And he kissed me. The surf that lapped over my feet was cold. His breath against my lips and face was warm. He tasted sweet.