She was sleeping on her stomach, having slid down off her pillow, her hair a neat half circle against her cheek. The image of peacefulness. And then her eyes were open, and she wiped her mouth and rustled up. She tilted her head for me to come in, and I crossed on unsteady legs and stood a few feet from the bed, the jewelry box hard in my sweating hand and low by my side, hidden. She was leaning back, resting her elbows on the clutch of pillows behind her, her eyes dark and serious, her shiny hair spilled forward on her shoulders, the strokes of her collarbone pronounced beneath that velvet skin.
I said, "There's no part of you I don't find magical."
I wanted to get it all out, because I knew if I stopped, I wouldn't be able to pick up again. "I know I blew it before. With us. But everything that's happened has cracked my life open. And I got to see it for what it was. And what it isn't. I'd do anything to be with you again, and I'm ready for it to be different."
The sound of her shifting, and then she was sitting upright. She said, "Nick," and I heard it in her tone and felt my insides crumble. My mouth was dry, and I thought I might need to sit down, but I couldn't, so I stood there on the cold floorboards to take what was coming next.
She said, "I'll always love you, Nick, but I'm not where I was. Life doesn't wait. You don't just get to pick up where you left off."
Far away, in one of the neighboring houses, I could hear canned laughter from a too-loud TV. My voice was hoarse. "No, but maybe sometimes you get a second chance."
"Look, I know you're raw right now, and that you believe everything you're saying, but how do I know this is where you'll stay? How do you know? You've got so much to put back together, Nick."
I half turned, pushed that jewelry box into my pocket. Breathed. "How do I do that? Put it back together?"
"You show up," she said. "Day after day."
My face felt heavy, tugging my gaze to the floor. "I want you to know," I said. "You were worth it. You were worth everything. I just couldn't figure out how to do it right."
Emotion flickered across her face-sadness, but something else there, too, something she'd been waiting to feel.
I took a moment to soak in the bedroom I'd once felt at home in. The three-wick candle, taller than the nightstand. The facing bathroom's burnt-caramel walls, matching the towels thrown over the lip of the claw-foot tub we used to dip into before succumbing to an exhausted, entangled slumber.
And then I turned and walked out, my steps heavy down the stairs. In the bathroom off the entry, I shoveled cold water over my face, tried to catch my breath.
Through the wall I heard the creak of the front door.
Quietly I unbuckled my belt and slid it free, wrapping either end around my fists.
Muted footsteps. Approaching.
I put my back to the wall behind the bathroom door. The handle dipped, and the door opened. I was about to lunge when I saw Alejandro's reflection in the mirror.
I stepped out, lowering my hands. "What are you doing here?"
"Shouldn't I ask you that?" He paused to acknowledge my makeshift garrote, then started digging through the medicine cabinet. "Nice advice you give me. On the date. It's a joke to you, but now we fighting."
"Handro, listen. You can't-you shouldn't have seen me. You can't tell anyone that I was here. It could be really dangerous."
"You Ethan Hunt now, eh?" He started humming the theme from Mission Impossible.
I said, "I'm not fucking around. This could wind up getting us killed."
His smile vanished, replaced by something like a scowl, and I was surprised by the steel in his dark gaze. "Nick, I grew up in Boyaca. When I was a kid, Colombia had the highest murder rate in the world. Cartel, DEA-it was ugly time. People point the fingers. People disappear. You heard about the necktie, no?" He made a cutting gesture beneath his chin and mimed pulling his tongue through the slit. "Usually they don't bother with this. They just machete off the head."
"Okay," I said. "I get it."
"On my way to school, I pass trucks and workers. I keep my eyes straight ahead. I careful not to see anything." He was looking through the drawers under the sink, a bit anxiously, not finding whatever he was searching for. "I got to school every day. Some of my friends didn't. Some nights I have to help look for them. Sometime we find a body. Sometime we find a head." He finished with the last drawer and stood, exasperated.
"What are you looking for?" I asked.
"My pills."
I reached for the towel I'd just used to dry my face. There was an orange bottle beneath it. I made out the pharmacy lettering-IN E VENT OF PANIC ATTACK-just before Alejandro grabbed the bottle and jammed it into a pocket. Again I saw something in his face I'd never seen before, and I thought about his happy-go-lucky demeanor and wondered how hard he'd had to fight to get comfortable in the world.
