Private Acts Page 11

  The bright colors of the peaches, mangos, and pineapples in the bowl reminded Miguel of Samirah. Everything reminded him of her. Sunshine, beaches, motorcycles, food. Everything. He couldn’t stop thinking about her, knowing they stayed in the same city, and he had no way of getting in touch.

  “I love him, you know,” Patricia said.

  Miguel struggled to remember what they had been talking about before his mind drifted to thoughts of Samirah. “Yes, I know.”

  “He loves me, too. It’s different this time.”

  It was always different “this time.” It had been different when she left him at the age of fifteen to fend for himself as she moved with her Colombian lover. It had been different with the Mexican, the Swede, the Canadian, the Englishman—he’d lost count of the men over the years. The only common denominator between them all was their wealth.

  “I know,” he said again, though he didn’t believe a word of it. In another year or so, she would be replaced by another woman, perhaps someone younger, and then she would take whatever parting gifts the German gave her until she could find another sponsor.

  Love was never a factor in the relationships between his mother and her lovers. All her relationships ended the same way, except for the one she had with Aarón’s father, a seventy-five-year-old man who married her when she became pregnant. He imagined his mother had expected that upon his death she would be left with a vast fortune.

  Unfortunately, the old man had been keeping secrets. When he died, his so-called wealth disappeared in back taxes and risky deals gone awry. He’d barely been staying afloat. The small settlement she received had been negligible, and she’d had to sell her jewelry and other gifts to maintain the type of lifestyle to which she’d become accustomed.

  Miguel had spent the last few days trying to convince his mother to let him have Aarón, yet she refused to give a definitive answer. He even pointed out how much easier her life would be if she didn’t have a child to worry about. The argument seemed to sway her somewhat, but still, she would not say yes.

  Patricia spoke again. “I know what you think of me.”

  His mouth set in a grim line. He was in no mood for theatrics. They needed to come to an agreed upon decision about Aarón.

  “Mother—”

  “I know, Miguel. I see it. You don’t have to deny it, because I know.” She picked up the bowl of fruit.

  Her stilettos clicked on the tile on her way to the sink. She always wore heels. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen her with anything else on her feet. Resting her hands on the sink, she said, “He’s my son.”

  He stared at the back of her head and the neat ponytail of midnight-colored hair. “He wants you, not your son. I can take care of Aarón, protect him.”

  “There is nothing to protect him from.”

  “You don’t believe that. You know the truth, even if you refuse to accept it. He’s your son. Doesn’t he deserve better?”

  She spun around, her eyes flashing angrily. “I can give him everything his heart desires. Look at all of this. Can you give him this, Miguel?”

  “No, but I can give him love, and I can give him stability. I can give you the same, but what I have to offer is not good enough for you.”

  He may not be as rich as this man, but he was wealthy in his own right. He could afford to live in more lavish surroundings, but he chose to live modestly because of how he’d grown up. He lived below his means, never wanting to be so desperate for money and status he’d do anything for it. Like his mother.

  Patricia swallowed, and her eyes filled with tears. He could see the struggle within her, and he knew the answer he wanted was soon forthcoming.

  “You always had so much rage inside of you, so much anger at the world—always fighting.”

  She had no idea it was all because of her, or she pretended not to. It was so hard to tell. Frustration at his situation and anger because of the things children said about her had fueled that rage, and he’d felt compelled to defend her honor, even though he understood what she did. She was still his mother.

  “I know you think I became pregnant on purpose, but I didn’t. It’s true I expected more after his father died, but…I didn’t want Aarón at first. Then I thought it might be a way for me to do everything over, since I’d failed you. Maybe this time I could…I don’t know…redeem myself. Prove to you and everyone else I’m more than just a rich man’s whore.”

  Her words triggered something in Miguel. Samirah. Had he treated her as such, ending the relationship even though he knew she had feelings for him and he for her? He accepted he had fallen in love with her, despite his best efforts to keep the relationship casual. Being in Miami under the current circumstances was bad enough, but missing Samirah made it one hundred times more difficult.

  He’d been afraid he’d lose Samirah the same way he’d lost his mother all those years ago, but Samirah was nothing like her. Samirah had a kind and generous heart. She made everyone smile. She played with the neighborhood children and helped people with their English. Money, the single most important thing in his mother’s life—more important than her own children—didn’t matter to Samirah. She told him herself she would travel to other countries and stay until the money ran out.

  What had he done?

  He gripped the counter as a trembling shook his entire body. He’d sent her away and now he had no idea how to get in touch with her. He had to find her and tell her he’d made a terrible mistake.

  “Miguel, are you listening to me?” He resurfaced into the present. “What’s wrong with you? You look pale. You’ve been acting strangely ever since you arrived.”

  “Nothing. What did you say?”

  Sadness crossed his mother’s features. “I said I won’t force Aarón to come with me to Germany. You can take him back to Ecuador with you.”

  * * * *

  Samirah walked into the kitchen to find her sister at the stove pouring coconut milk into a pot of Caribbean pelau, a dish their mother had taught them to make at a young age. It was Monday afternoon. After hearing her oldest nephew ask in the hallway outside the bedroom if Aunt Samirah was sick, she realized she was not being a good guest and should stop wallowing in self-pity by hiding out in the spare bedroom.

  Rebekah looked up from stirring the pot. “Hi hon, how are you feeling?”

  Samirah shrugged. “I’ve been better.”

  Her sister covered the pot and smiled sympathetically at her. There were only three years between them, but Rebekah had always been so much more mature and responsible. Except when she eloped with Rafael Lopez at the age of eighteen. How she’d envied her sister her freedom and escape from being under their father’s strict rule. But then Rebekah had moved back home after her marriage fell apart, and almost ten years passed before she and Rafael reconciled.

  “You know, I just realized you owe me,” Samirah said to lighten the mood.

  “Oh, really?” Rebekah placed one hand on her hip, wider now because she was almost eight months pregnant with her fourth child. Outside, Samirah could see her brother-in-law, Rafael, her twelve-year-old nephew, and the two-year-old twins in the pool.

  “Yep. Considering after you eloped, Dad turned into a prison warden who monitored my every move and made my life a living hell.”

  She picked a piece of lettuce from the bowl of salad her sister had prepared and munched on it.

  “Yeah, sorry about that. But you do realize if I’d never run off, you wouldn’t have had an incentive to leave home and see the world. You should be thanking me.”

  “Really? That’s what you’re going with?”

  Rebekah nodded and they both laughed.

  “Have you decided to find out what you’re having yet?” Samirah asked. She was avoiding the inevitable conversation. “You look like you’re carrying twins again.”

  Her sister had said she was tired of all the testosterone in the house and wanted a girl, but she refused to find out if she carried a girl or a boy.
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br />   “Thanks, but I’m not,” Rebekah said dryly. “I’m a little offended by your remark. I’m not that big.”

  “Mhmm. You guys are going to need a bigger place soon. You’re already almost out of space with all these kids.”

  “Why does everybody keep saying ‘all these kids’? I have three. Only three.”

  “It seems like a lot, though. Maybe because they’re all boys and they’re always so loud. Huh. Yeah, you only have three.”

  “Well, four, if you count their father,” Rebekah said.

  A faint smile came to her lips as she watched her husband roar and jump into the water. The two youngest yelled and clapped excitedly, their little legs kicking frantically as they swam toward him with the floatation devices around their waists. Meanwhile, Ricardo, the oldest boy, came up from behind and jumped on his father’s back.

  “I’m still hoping it’s a girl, but according to him—” She lowered her voice and affected a Spanish accent. “Lopez men only make boys.”

  Samirah grinned at her sister’s imitation of her husband’s voice. “He might be right. There are a lot of men in his family.”

  Rebekah heaved a sigh. “I know. But I’m not giving up hope.” She rubbed her belly and gave Samirah a questioning look. “Are you ready to talk about it?”

  “Sure. You start. Go ahead. Say it.”

  “Say what?”

  “I told you so.”

  “I wasn’t going to say I told you so.” Her sister’s eyes filled with sympathy.

  “Don’t. I don’t want you to feel sorry for me. You should be chewing me out, considering we had a deal I wouldn’t get involved with anyone while in Ecuador. I was supposed to be taking a break and getting my head together. I need you to yell at me and make me feel bad.”

  “What for? I’m sure you already feel bad enough as it is.”

  Just then, Rafael entered the kitchen. He had a towel slung around his neck, which he’d obviously used to pat himself dry before coming into the house. “Samirah, you’re alive. I was beginning to doubt you were really here.”

  “Don’t tease her, she’s not feeling well.”

  “I’m fine. Don’t listen to her.”

  Rafael shrugged, as if he didn’t understand the strange conversations of women. “How long before dinner’s ready?” he asked. He moved to stand beside Rebekah. He towered over her, a big, beefy man who didn’t seem to have lost much of the muscle he had packed on before he retired from professional wrestling years ago.

  “Thirty-five to forty minutes.”

  “Okay, I’ll get the boys out of the pool.” He bent his head to her belly. “Hello mijo, how are you doing? Dinner is soon served.”

  “Rafe, stop, it’s a girl. Say my daughter.”

  He chuckled, a very masculine laugh. “She’s so cute when she’s in denial, isn’t she?” he said to Samirah. “If it’s a boy, we’ll keep trying until you get your girl, okay, mi amor?” He dropped a light kiss on her mouth and then pinched her bottom.

  “Rafe!”

  He chuckled again on his way back out the door and called for the boys to get out of the pool.

  “Make sure they dry off before coming inside,” Rebekah yelled after him. She took Samirah by the arm. “Come on, let’s go in the living room where we can talk. In a minute you’re about to hear something like the sound of stampeding buffalo running through the house.”

  They sat on the sofa and Samirah told her sister the entire story, from the time she met Miguel to the day they said goodbye.

  At one point, Rebekah interrupted her. “On top of a car in the middle of a parking lot outside of a fundraiser? Weren’t you worried you’d get caught?”

  “It crossed my mind, but it wasn’t my biggest concern at the time.”

  “Apparently not. Continue.”

  At the end, Samirah heaved a heavy sigh. “Being with Miguel was the first time since I left Mom and Dad’s that I felt I had a home. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve had a lot of fun traveling around the world, but with him, I got so comfortable. It felt good. It felt right.”

  “I don’t think you could’ve done anything different, hon. You have to give it time.”

  Samirah looked into her sister’s eyes. “Does the pain ever go away?”

  Rebekah pursed her lips. “You know how it was after Rafe and I broke up. I have to be honest, it never goes away.” She took Samirah’s hand. “But it does get easier.”

  “I wish he’d asked me to stay,” Samirah whispered brokenly. “I would have stayed, Bekah. If he’d asked me to.”

  * * * *

  Later in the evening, they were all in the media room watching a movie on the pull-down screen. The twins and Ricardo sprawled on the floor with bowls of popcorn. Rebekah sat curled into Rafael’s body on one end of the sofa, with his hand resting protectively on her stomach. Samirah sat on the other end of the sofa with her feet under her.

  The phone rang and Rafael reached for it on the side table. Looking at the Caller I.D., he said, “It’s your brother.”

  “Hey, Adam,” Samirah heard her sister say.

  She returned her eyes to the screen. The movie was something about a family and talking zoo animals. She stifled a yawn.

  “Adam, wait a minute, calm down. She’s right here.” Rebekah sat up from Rafael and her gaze met Samirah’s. “Wait, what did you say? Miguel?”

  Samirah’s heart leapt in her chest. She crawled across the sofa and pressed her ear to the phone so she could hear.

  “I don’t know who the hell this Miguel guy is,” Adam was saying, “but he insists he knows Sam. The clients she worked for in Ecuador gave him the name and address of my firm. He came into my offices and scared the hell out of my secretary while I was out to lunch, demanding to know Sam’s whereabouts. Then he came back again this afternoon, and we got into a shouting match. What did she do down there? She was supposed to be working.”

  “She was working.”

  Samirah took the phone. Her palms were so sweaty she thought it might slip from her fingers. “Adam, what exactly did he say?” she asked breathlessly.

  She rose from the sofa and helped her sister up.

  “Sam, is that you? What’s going on? Is this guy bothering you? Do I need to get a couple of my frat brothers together to have a talk with him?”

  They hurried into the living room and Rebekah picked up the extension in there.

  “No, Adam, no. Tell me what he said.”

  “He said he’s coming back tomorrow, that’s what he said. This is the first chance I’ve had to call you, but I can tell you, I’m still pretty pissed by this Miguel guy. He acts as if he owns you or something. Damn, Sam, can’t you stay out of trouble for two minutes? What happened down there? You were supposed to be working.”

  “I did work, Adam. I made your clients very happy.”

  “Darn it, Adam, tell her the rest of it!”

  “Calm down, pregnant lady.” Rebekah rolled her eyes and Samirah bit back a laugh. “He started talking about how much he loves you and he made a mistake letting you go and he needed to know where he could find you. I tried to explain to him we can’t divulge employee personal information, but he wouldn’t listen. He said he’s coming back tomorrow and somebody’s going to tell him where you are because he’s not leaving Miami without you. I didn’t like those comments. What’s he planning to do, kidnap you?”

  “He said that?” Samirah whispered, clutching the phone. “He said he wouldn’t leave without me?”

  “Yes, those are his words. What the hell did you do to this guy—or do I need to ask?”

  “He said he loves me?” Samirah said in the same soft voice. She looked across the room at her sister.

  A few seconds of silence before her brother replied. “Yeah, he said he loves you.” Quiet again. “Sam, what do you want me to do?”

  She was shaking. “Adam, let me call you back, okay?”

  “All right. I’ll be up for awhile.”

  Samirah set the phone on the
table. She couldn’t move on her shaky legs. “Bekah?” She didn’t know what she was asking. She’d wanted to hear those words, but she was so afraid to reach for what he offered.

  Rebekah rushed across the room and clasped her sister’s hands between her own. “Do you remember what you told me when I said Rafe and I were going to try to work things out?” Samirah shook her head. At the moment, she could barely remember the day of the week. “You said I should do what makes me happy. So I’m giving you the same advice. If the two of you love each other, don’t waste a lot of years apart like Rafe and I did. Do what makes you happy.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Miguel stood on the crowded sidewalk outside the restaurant where he and Samirah had agreed to meet two days ago. South Beach night life was full of pedestrian traffic and cars crept along, creating a traffic jam as their drivers showed off their shiny rides and watched the passersby.

  Only seven days had passed since he last saw her, but it felt like an eternity. He couldn’t wait. But how did she feel? She hadn’t revealed much when they talked on the phone, and nervous energy coursed through him. Their brief phone conversation had been used only to inform him that the man he’d yelled at in the placement agency was her brother and to set up this meeting. He worried that even though she agreed to see him, she still might not forgive him.

  He swallowed down the fear. There was never a time in his life when he wanted anything so much. Before her, he’d simply been existing, but with her, he’d started to live. She’d brought color and excitement into his world, and there was no way he could go back to Ecuador without her.

  From a distance he saw her cross the street before she saw him, dressed in two tank tops layered over each other and a long skirt that billowed around her ankles. With so many people milling about, she appeared then disappeared in between them. She must have done her hair in cornrows again and let it out because it flowed down her back in the same wavy pattern as the last day he’d seen her. Large gold hoops dangled in her ears and her wrists were filled with bangles.