Strangers in the villa, p.10
Strangers in the Villa, page 10
Her passengers are quiet as she navigates the twisting road toward town. There are gas stations along the major artery, but Sydney’s still adjusting to the car’s manual transmission, is uncomfortable pulling off the busy road at high speed. She’s familiar with the small station on the outskirts of Cadaqués, even if it adds some time to their journey.
She pulls up to the pump without stalling: a small victory. Syd turns off the ignition and climbs out of the car. As she moves around to the hose, Damian clambers out of the back seat. Syd’s capable of pumping her own fuel, obviously, but she appreciates his chivalry.
“Bianca and I are going to head to the grocery store and get some snacks for the road,” Damian says, opening the passenger door. “Come on, B.”
“Good thinking,” Syd says to cover her surprise. “I’ll pick you up out front.”
“Thanks,” Bianca calls over her shoulder as the pair hurries away.
Syd swipes her credit card and inserts the hose into the car. As the fuel chugs into the tank, she watches her guests in the distance. They’re walking briskly, hand in hand, headed to the main grocery store where she and Curtis shop. Well, Curtis does most of the shopping on his own, but sometimes Sydney tags along. She knows where to collect them.
When the tank is full, Syd gets in and drives down the narrow street, grateful for their tiny European car. The Range Rover was so huge and unwieldy, even on Manhattan’s wider avenues. She does a loop of the block, slowly passing the storefront, but her passengers haven’t emerged. She does a second and then a third loop. It must be busy inside the store. On her fourth trip around the block, she wonders if she’s missed them somehow, until she spots Bianca standing alone on the sidewalk, hugging a bag of groceries. When she spies the Citroën, her face lights up. She smiles and waves.
“It’s going to be a girls’ trip,” Bianca says, climbing into the front seat.
“Where’s Damian?”
“He met this guy in the grocery line who does fishing charters. He had a cancellation on his next trip and invited Damian to go.”
“Really?” Syd tentatively eases back into traffic. “This all happened in the grocery line?”
“You know how friendly Damian is. The guy heard him speaking English and they started chatting.”
Syd shifts into second. “That’ll be fun for him.”
“And for us,” Bianca says. “We deserve a break from all the testosterone flying around at the house.”
Syd smiles over at her. “Yeah, we do.”
The beach at Aiguablava is breathtaking, and Bianca is suitably impressed. She marvels at the turquoise waters, the fine golden sand, and the pine-covered cliffs. Though Bianca lives near the world’s most beautiful beaches (according to Damian), she’s full of accolades for this spectacular cove. Syd appreciates the enthusiasm. It validates her decision to give up everything and start over in this beautiful country.
Dropping their beach bags and their clothes, the women run into the waves. Despite Syd’s affinity for a cold plunge, she’s grateful for the ease of the warm waters. The pair swim out—it’s nearly effortless in the buoyant ocean—and Syd savors the feeling of stretching her limbs and engaging her muscles. When they’re a fair distance from shore, they pause, turn back to take in the golden beach dotted with sunbathers and brightly colored umbrellas.
As Bianca treads water beside her, Syd lies back, feeling suspended, almost cradled by the waters. For a moment, she’s like a fetus: without thought, or care, or jealousy. Her worries about her husband, her marriage, and Bianca wash away with the gentle current. But the meditative state doesn’t last long.
“Shit,” Bianca mutters next to her. “I’ve got a cramp in my calf. I’d better head back.”
“I’ll be in soon,” Syd says. She wants to extend this carefree moment, drifting in the amniotic suspension, but the spell is broken. Thoughts and concerns soon meander their way into her mind. She rights herself and swims back to shore, where Bianca sits on a beach towel, massaging her calf.
“How’s your leg?” Syd asks, patting herself dry with the striped towel Bianca passes to her.
“It’s okay. I should probably eat a banana.”
“I’m not sure they serve bananas at the restaurant.” Syd lays her towel on the sand, lowers herself onto it. “Banana daquiri maybe?”
Bianca forces a chuckle, stops her massage. “I have to tell you something.”
Syd swallows a small sense of dread. “Okay.”
“Damian didn’t go fishing. We got into a fight in the store.”
“Oh no,” Syd says, but she’s perversely pleased. Her houseguests’ harmonious relationship has been a constant reminder that her own marriage is cracked and broken. Curtis had overheard the other couple arguing, but Sydney had dismissed it as normal tension and bickering. Perhaps things are not so peachy between the Aussies after all. This shouldn’t buoy her, but it does.
“Do you want to talk about it?” she asks gently. Syd’s eager for more details. She can’t help herself.
“I don’t want to upset you.”
Syd sits up. “Upset me?”
Bianca twists her body to face Syd. “I told you how Curtis has been acting toward me. The energy he’s been giving off.”
There’s a bitter taste in Syd’s mouth. “Yeah.”
“Damian noticed it, too. He accused me of enjoying it. Encouraging it, even.”
A bubble of sick lodges in Sydney’s throat, and she struggles to swallow. She’d dismissed Bianca’s vague accusations, at least doubted them. But if Damian sensed Curtis’s intentions too, then it must be real. How had Sydney been so blind? So trusting?
“I don’t enjoy it, Syd,” Bianca says. “I would never encourage him, I promise.”
Sydney believes her. Because she has no reason not to trust Bianca. And every reason not to trust her own husband. There’s a dull, ugly pressure on her sternum, making it hard to breathe, but she pushes out the words.
“Curtis cheated on me. That’s why we’re in Spain.”
“Oh my God.” Bianca reaches for Sydney’s hand, grips it. “I’m so sorry.”
“We went to therapy last year. I thought I could forgive him. We were going to rebuild our relationship, but… I don’t know if I can.”
“You don’t have to, Sydney. You deserve to be cherished, not betrayed. Not made a fool of.”
A fool. That’s what Sydney’s been. “I’ve given up everything: my career, my friends, my apartment. I made a commitment to this marriage. To Curtis.”
“You can rebuild a better life,” Bianca says. “Start over somewhere else. Do you have your own money?”
“Some,” Syd says. While she and Curtis have a joint account for mortgage payments and bills, she still has her inheritance. Most of it. It wasn’t substantial to begin with, so Curtis had promised not to touch it. But when the renovations had gone over budget, she’d offered. There was no other choice.
“When we get our van fixed, we’ll drive you wherever you want to go,” Bianca says. “And Curtis doesn’t have to know. You can just… disappear.”
Sydney considers the possibility of a new life alone. Where would she go? Home to New York? Or would she stay in Spain? Find herself a small apartment in Valencia or Seville. She could start life over as a single woman. But would that make her happy?
She’s spent fifteen years with Curtis, her best friend, her lover. In all that time, he’s made only one mistake, and then he fell on his sword, begged her forgiveness. Curtis had pleaded with her to rebuild their marriage, had agreed to go to counseling, had even left his job to make her feel more secure. Would Syd really leave him for flirting with Bianca? Are she and Damian blowing Curtis’s behavior out of proportion? Or is it just a matter of time until Curtis finds another opportunity to cheat on his wife? And this time, she’d be alone in Spain, with no family, no friends, no support system. A deep choking sob erupts inside her.
“Oh, babe,” Bianca says, leaning forward and gathering Sydney into her arms. Syd melts into the hug, tears slipping from her eyes, mixing with the seawater in Bianca’s hair. It’s been so long since Syd’s felt comforted, cared for, and held. Since before her mother died, she thinks, which makes the tears come harder. She’s vaguely aware of Bianca’s hand running over her back, cupping her head, an effort to soothe her. Their faces are pressed together, and Sydney can smell their mingled feminine scents: sunscreen, a touch of makeup, Bianca’s almond shampoo. Gradually, a feeling other than comfort stirs inside her. It’s a connection. Or is it something more?
Tentatively, her fingers trace the length of Bianca’s back, her skin soft and hot from the sun. They tangle into her long damp hair, move up under the veil toward her neck. Syd can hear her own breath pressed against Bianca’s cheek getting heavier. She’s aroused. There’s no denying the pull she feels toward this beautiful woman. Could she explore this attraction to Bianca? Forget about her husband and all the pain he’s caused her?
Bianca pulls back gently, wipes Sydney’s tears with a thumb. Their faces are close, eyes connected. The beachgoers surrounding them fade away, and there is nothing but this moment. Is Bianca going to kiss her? Is Sydney ready for what this could mean?
But then the Australian girl speaks.
“I think we could both use a good strong drink.”
She gets up, leaving Sydney breathless and confused in the sand.
Sydney Cleary and Curtis Lowe, Couples’ Counseling Session
Ellen Dwyer, Psychologist, PsyD
July 15
TRANSCRIPT 4.
Ellen:
Curtis, tell me about your parents. What was their marriage like?
Curtis:
It was toxic. They stayed married until my dad passed away a few years ago, but they were never happy. My mom was a hard woman.
Ellen:
Hard in what way?
Curtis:
She was extremely devout. She was very judgmental and basically impossible to please.
Ellen:
How did your father deal with that?
Curtis:
He went along with whatever she wanted. But he kept a stack of porno mags and a beer fridge hidden in the back shed.
Ellen:
So he hid his true self for the sake of harmony with your mom. What about your relationship with her?
Curtis:
I played the perfect son, but I got up to plenty. I just never got caught… That’s why I had to be honest with Sydney. I don’t want our marriage to be based on lies like theirs was.
Ellen:
And, Sydney? What was your parents’ marriage like?
Sydney:
They were mostly happy, I think, but my dad died when I was young. In a car accident. My mom dated a bit, but she never remarried.
Ellen:
That’s a devastating loss for a child. I wouldn’t be surprised if it made you feel fearful of loss in other relationships, too.
Sydney:
Yes. And Curtis’s infidelity hurt more because I know my parents didn’t choose to abandon me. Curtis did.
Curtis:
I didn’t abandon you, Syd. I chose you. I came clean to save our marriage. To save us.
Sydney:
My whole life, I’ve been guarded in relationships. I’ve always protected my heart. But when I married you, Curtis, I gave you everything. I let my walls down and I opened up to you. And you broke me.
Curtis:
I never wanted to hurt you. And I never will again. I promise, Sydney.
Sydney:
I’m trying to believe you. But it’s really fucking hard.
22
Curtis clears his throat as he holds the phone to his ear. Even with the help of Google Translate, he’s not confident in his word choice or pronunciation. What he’s trying to express is not simple, even in English.
“Did my friend come in about a week ago and try to order a fuel pump for his van? Or is he a liar and a fake?”
A man answers on the fourth ring, his Spanish so quick and fluid that Curtis doesn’t even recognize the name of the garage. It’s the second place he’s called. The first mechanic had no memory of an Aussie trying to order a part—or at least that’s what it sounded like to Curtis. Maybe the man didn’t understand Curtis’s convoluted query? Or his terrible accent? It’s possible that the mechanic he spoke to wasn’t working that day, that someone else assisted Damian. Or maybe Damian was never there. Because his van is perfectly fine.
“Hola,” Curtis begins. “Tengo una pregunta…” I have a question. Curtis reads the translation he’d jotted down on the pad of paper resting on the kitchen counter. He’s not confident in the Catalonian translation, so he uses basic Spanish, enunciates carefully. “Hizo mi amigo Australiano…” Did my Australian friend…
The mechanic cuts him off in his rapid language, sounding frustrated, even annoyed. He calls out in Spanish, hopefully summoning someone who speaks English. Curtis waits, listening to the banter in the background. He strains to recognize a single word in their discourse, but he gets nothing. They could have forgotten he’s on hold, could be discussing what they’re having for lunch for all he knows. And then he hears a noise outside.
Curtis pulls the phone away from his ear and listens. It’s quiet now, but it was there, he’s sure of it. A scuffling on the gravel, a rock displaced. It could have been an animal; they’ve seen deer in the area and have heard there are mountain goats. There are smaller creatures too, like marmots. It’s nothing to worry about. He returns to the call, the distant debating in Spanish.
“¡Hola!” he calls into the device, hoping to recapture some attention.
“Hola.” The response comes from inside the house.
Curtis bursts from the kitchen, heading for the front door. Damian stands in the hallway drenched in sweat. His smile is bright but cold, and Curtis’s chest tightens. His eyes dart to the big man’s hands for the machete, but they’re empty. If Damian is armed, he’s hiding it well.
“What are you doing back here?” Curtis’s voice is high-pitched. He tries to act cool, but his hand trembles as he hangs up the call, shoves the phone into his pocket.
“I was worried about you,” Damian says, moving into the living room. “How are you feeling?”
“I’m fine. Better. Where are the girls?”
“They went swimming.” Damian flops on the sofa, puts his feet on the ottoman. “Who were you talking to?”
“No one. A friend back home.” He changes the subject. “How did you get here?”
“I hiked up the trail from town. It’s a bloody workout. I could use a beer.”
“Sure.” Curtis moves into the kitchen, grabs two bottles and removes the caps. He returns, hands his guest a beer, then perches on the ottoman facing him.
Damian takes a long swallow before he speaks. “I lied to you,” he says. “About the farmer.”
“Oh?”
“He’d never seen the machete or gloves before. I just didn’t want the girls to freak out.”
Curtis raises his eyebrows in feigned surprise. He can’t let on that he’s been peering inside the van, that he spotted the handle under the stack of bins. He takes a drink. The liquid is bitter but cold. “That’s strange.” His voice sounds almost normal now. “I wonder who they belong to?”
“I don’t know.” Damian shrugs his muscled shoulders. “I wouldn’t worry about it, though. I hid the machete in the van.”
Curtis nods tightly. The weapon in Damian’s possession does not put him at ease.
“If someone’s after you, mate, they’ll never get through both of us.”
“After me?” Curtis scoffs, but his face feels hot, and he drinks more beer. “Why would someone be after me?”
Damian ignores the question, his eyes penetrating. “I came back here because you and I need to talk.”
Curtis grew up keeping secrets from a cold, punishing mother. He knows that responding could lead to self-incrimination, so he says nothing. He presses his molars together, keeps his expression placid, and waits.
“I’m sure you’ve noticed there’s something brewing between the women.”
“Brewing?”
“Bianca and Sydney are getting closer. I think there are some real feelings developing there.” Damian picks at the label on his bottle. “Romantic feelings.”
Curtis is bemused. “Sydney isn’t gay. She’s not bi either.”
“Bianca has a way of opening a girl’s mind.” He sounds almost proud. “I’ve seen it in action.”
“What do you care? I thought you two had an open relationship?”
“We do. But this feels different. More serious.”
“Are you worried they’re going to run off together?” Curtis laughs, but it rings hollow.
“I hope not.” Damian drains his bottle. “I can’t believe you haven’t noticed.”
Curtis had been concerned about the chemistry between Syd and Damian. He’d been intent on not appearing to flirt with Bianca. Had he been blind to what was building between the two women? Is Bianca the reason Sydney cringes from his touch?
“I need another beer,” Damian says, dragging himself up off the sofa. “Want one?”
“Why not?” Curtis still has half a bottle, but he suddenly craves the release of the alcohol. He takes a big drink, hoping the booze will ease the anxious feeling brought on by Damian’s suggestion. His marriage hasn’t felt solid since his infidelity. But could he really lose Sydney to a woman who lives in a van?
The Aussie returns moments later with two cold bottles in one hand. In the other, the notepad Curtis had left on the counter.
Fuck.
“What does this say?” Damian asks.
“I was checking on the lumber delivery,” Curtis says smoothly. “Making sure it’s still arriving tomorrow.”
“It says ‘Australiano’ here,” Damian presses. “Were you talking about me?”
