Something else: Clearly, someone had chosen me as a personal project. Or a target. Had singled me out as the focus of a lot of deep digging and single-minded research. More troubling, that person necessarily had a first-rate intellect. They’d had to correctly reassemble a lot of convoluted links to find those files, and then unscramble or decode them.
Who?
Why?
Trying to maintain emotional composure, keeping my expression blank, I watched her draw a deep breath, struggling to get herself back under control. But then I winced as she said, “You’re not the good man I thought I cared for. How could you have done those things?”
In a whisper, I replied, “There was a war going on.”
“Yes, but it was our war. Not yours. Do you know what concerns me the most since I found out? That he calls you ‘Father. ’ If he believes your blood runs in his veins, will he try to emulate you? Already, he’s becoming more and more like you. At night, I go to sleep worrying about it. Will that part of you be in him? That gene, that kind of… of evil? Is there a killer inside of my child, waiting?”
I said, “There’s a difference between evil and carrying out orders.”
“So you tell yourself. It’s a way of rationalizing. You can’t see that? Or maybe you simply can’t admit it.”
“I’ve admitted more than most.”
“And you can still live with yourself?”
I said, “It was touch and go there for a while. Just because you don’t see the scars doesn’t mean they’re not there.”
I thought the honesty of that would leach some of the anger out of her. It didn’t.
“To open that folder, to see what was inside… I was in total shock.”
“Don’t be so sure that all the things you were told, the files you saw, were true.”
“Photographs don’t lie, Marion.”
“Oh, they can. Believe me, they can.”
Completely out of character, she then put her hands on hips, leaned toward me, and in a shrill whisper that became a whispered shriek, yelled, “I hope to God everything I read about you is true. I hope it’s all true. Because I need someone smart and ruthless to help me get my child back. I hope you are a vicious son-of-a-bitch and you find the people who’ve taken my son!”
Trauma changes us; fear can transform us. In that instant, I realized something. I realized that I no longer knew this person. Heartbreaking.
Staying composed, hoping my calm would help to calm her, I said, “At least now I know why you’ve come back to me. Now, at least, I know the truth.”
“Did you expect something more?”
There was still a filament of hysteria in her voice.
I don’t know why I said it. Maybe I wanted to hurt her because she’d hurt me. She’d certainly done that more than once over the years. Or maybe I really meant it when I replied, “I don’t know what I expected. But I can tell you what I hoped. I hoped you’d come to tell me that you wanted me back. Because I love you. I’ve always loved you. You can hate me, loathe me, whatever you want. But nothing is going to change the fact that I still think of you often. I’m not an overly emotional person. But that’s the way it’s been, Pilar, from the day we first met.”
When I stepped toward her now, she did not retreat. Her body went slack when I took her into my arms and pulled her face to my chest. She neither responded nor struggled to free herself as I squeezed her close and continued, “No matter what you’ve read or heard, I’m still the man you were in love with. I’m the same person. So you must still feel something for me.”
I felt her shudder-a prelude to tears, perhaps?-as I turned her face upward and pressed my mouth to hers. For several long seconds, she simply hung there, lips against mine, as if she were asleep, or numb. But then gradually, very gradually, her lips seemed to soften as her legs found a base beneath her. Then I felt her mouth move and open slightly as her hips lifted against mine… her arms tightening gradually around me, squeezing, losing herself in the moment…
More so than any woman I’ve met, Pilar is made up of two distinct and different physical, emotional beings. One is public. The other, she keeps locked away, caged deep-the sexual Pilar. To know the first, you would never, ever guess the existence of the second.
The sexual Pilar can emerge voluntarily or involuntarily, but when that woman appears, it’s like a creature set loose. The transformation may be gradual, but it is total, and there are no boundaries, no taboos. Once the transformation passes a certain point, there is no stopping her body, because Pilar’s body takes total, sensory control.
For a few powerful seconds, I sensed the creature trying to slip from its cage, its body seeking mine… but not for long. Her muscles seemed to spasm in sudden realization… then she stopped, frozen, before Pilar turned her face away and pushed me backward.
“No. I can’t. I won’t. ” Her voice was husky.
Her body, at least, remembered the way it had been between us.
I said, “I’m not perfect. But I’m no monster. You know that. And you still love me. That won’t change between us.”
Did I really believe that? Probably not. It was another way to repay the hurt she’d caused me.
I expected to hear Pilar reply. Instead, I was shocked to hear a second woman’s voice answer from nearby mangroves at the edge of the parking lot. It was a familiar voice, deeper, with a pure Midwestern accent. The woman was obviously, and for good reason, furious.
“What a sweet little scene for me to interrupt,” said the second woman. “Doc Ford with another woman. What an asshole thing for you to do, Ford-you were my best friend, damn you! This is the kind of trailer-trash bullshit I never would have expected.”
I looked up and got a glimpse of Dewey Nye-long legs, white tennis shorts and blouse, blond hair glimmering from beneath a dark sun visor.
I said, “Dewey?”
“Yeah, that’s right. It’s me, ol’ buddy. Surprise, surprise.”
“Dewey… whoa, wait, hold on. Something happened-”
She didn’t give me a chance to finish. Raising her voice to drown mine, she told Pilar, “A monster is just about exactly what he is, lady. Which shocks the hell out of me. He’s a damn Jekyll and Hyde, which, thanks to you, I just found out. So you can have him. Forever you can have him. I’m outta here for good.”
I got another quick glimpse of long legs and blond ponytail swinging before I heard her car door slam.
She’d sold her ’Vette and bought a new two-seater Lexus. I can never remember the model. The roadster showed impressive stability as she spun it around in the parking lot, kicking a wake of shells and dust as she accelerated away.
The encounter had sobered Pilar, and my hands were shaking as I combed fingers through hair in momentary shock, whispering to myself, “ Oh… that poor, dear girl. ”
After a long, long silence, mosquitoes screaming in my ears, Pilar said, “I’m sorry that happened. I truly am. Is she someone you care about?”
“Yeah. She is, very much. We’ve been together for a while.”
“I’ve seen her before. That time in Panama. I remember now. Very athletic and beautiful. Dewey? I’ve forgotten her last name.”
“That’s her.”
“I can never let you kiss me again, Marion. Ever. Or hold me. I’ll explain that to her if you want. That it meant nothing to me. I’ll tell her that, too, if you like.”
Looking closely at Pilar, I said, “Even if that’s true, I don’t think she’d believe it.”
SIX