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Chapter Thirteen
"Another burrito, Susan?" Rodrigo offered.
"Gracias, no. I can eat no more," Susan replied, pushing away from the table.
"Then I'll wrap some up for you to take home for later," Sandrine said, picking up the dish and taking it into the kitchen.
"But you need it for the children..."
"I won't take 'no' for an answer," she called back.
"It's not wise to insult my wife's cooking," Rodrigo said with a wink, then went into the living room. "Oye! Todos ninos y ninas! Vayase usted a la cama!"
"Si, Papa," "Pero no soy sonoliento!" and "Sigue siendo temprano!" came the answers, but Rodrigo shooed them into the other room. He picked up the youngest, Nomar, and tucked him under his arm, where he squirmed and giggled as he was carried into the bedroom.
Sandrine emerged from the kitchen with three cups of coffee and handed one to Susan. "So how are you holding up?" she asked, between sips.
"I'm doing well enough," she replied with a wan smile. But Sandrine saw through it. "Dinner was very good."
"Don't change the subject. This is me you're talking to. You've been so quiet at work since... it happened."
"Maybe I don't want to talk about it," she said, and took a sip of the coffee.
"But you know I'm worried about you. You look so tired all the time. And you've cut off all that beautiful hair..."
"It was getting in the way," she snapped. The saucer clinked as she put the cup down with trembling hands.
Sandrine watched her sympathetically. "All right," she said.
Things quieted down in the back room and Rodrigo emerged, picking up his cup. "Aaah, perfecto," he sighed, sitting down. He put his feet up on another chair, but Sandrine shoved them off. He sat up and sipped his coffee with his elbows on the table. Sandrine just rolled her eyes as he winked at her.
"So, Susan, we've missed seeing you lately," he said. "How is the house coming along? You must be pretty high up on the list now."
"Oh, yes, I'm very hopeful," she smiled bravely. "They tell me it should be no more than... another month or two." She took another sip to hide the disappointment in her face.
"That's good, that's good news. So where are you staying now?" Sandrine shot her husband a look, but he didn't notice.
"Oh, I'm staying with some friends. You don't have to worry about me."
"You can always come stay with us, you know," Sandrine offered, patting Susan on the shoulder. "You'd be closer to work..."
"We've had this discussion. I couldn't possibly get in your way, not with all the children to take care of."
"It would be no imposition. Honestly," Rodrigo added.
"I've told you before. I don't need your charity," Susan insisted, putting the coffee cup down with a clank.
"It's not charity, Susan. We're your friends, and we want to help you, because it pains us to see you like this."
"Like what?!" Susan cried, standing up. "I'm doing just fine. So my husband died. It's not like I was married to him long enough to have children, or even really get to know him. Soon as I get back in a house of my own, I should be able to put the whole thing behind me, right?"
"Susan, please, we didn't say that. Don't take this the wrong way."
She gathered up her things, and after a moment's hesitation, picked up the wrapped leftovers from dinner. "It was a lovely evening, and a wonderful dinner. If you'll excuse me, I have a long walk home." She dashed out the front door.
"I don't think she's even mourned for him yet. She just refuses to face her sorrow," Sandrine observed.
"I fear there is more sorrow ahead for that one," Rodrigo agreed.
Susan turned a corner next to the construction office, out of sight of Sandrine's house. She put her helmet and clipboard and the package of burritos into the wheelbarrow there, along with the rest of her possessions, and pushed it back out onto the street.
I can't stay in the same barn three nights in a row, she thought. Maybe the archaeological site tonight.
As she trudged through the darkening streets of the tourist district, it began to sprinkle. She spied the scenic overlook where she and Rich had gazed out at the sunrise after their first night together, and ducked inside for shelter.
Susan sat down on one of the benches, and gazed out as raindrops began to spatter the surface of the sea. Slowly, softly, for the first time since Rich's death, tears began to fall.
"Susan?" came a voice. "Esta usted?"
"Quien?" Susan lifted her head. Rogelio stood there, dressed in a tourist attraction attendant's uniform. "Rogelio!"
"I got a new job," he said, sitting next to her and accepting her embrace. "I work here now. Where have you been? We've missed you. I missed you."
"I've missed you too, Rogelio," she sobbed, holding him tight. "Oh, it's been so hard..."
"It's okay. It's okay. Let it out, mi amor," he said.
She pulled back and gazed into his eyes. "You said you...?"
"Yes," he whispered. "Since I've known you."
Their lips met. Susan closed her eyes and drowned in the kiss, clutching Rogelio as if her life depended on it. Oblivious to the thunder crashing around them, they devoured each other with the frenzy of the starving.
Finally, slowly, their mouths separated.
"Rogelio," she breathed, "make love to me."
To Be Continued
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