Lessons in Pure Life Read online

  Diego kills the engine. My ears ring and body hums, still vibrating.

  “Look.”

  He points at the sky over the shallows, where pelicans hover high above the water and dive down like plummeting rockets. I’ve never seen anything like this in real life before, and my jaw drops.

  More than ever, I’m humbled to realize just how little of the world I’ve seen, and how little I’ll see even if I spend my whole life traveling because it’s all just so big. Beautifully and terribly sublime.

  “Dios mío!”

  “Yeah. It’s nice.” We both laugh at the understatement. “I’ll show you.”

  He drives us down the slope deftly, and we ride a barely there dirt road to a small parking lot about a hundred feet from the shore. We take our stuff and wander past an open-air cantina painted peachy-orange, with a large patio and massive umbrellas advertising Imperial beer. I follow Diego’s lead as we head toward a thicket of pink-blossom bushes.

  He holds a couple of branches back, and I peer in the direction he’s inviting me in. It doesn’t look penetrable. Diego could see over the branches, but not me. It’s a sort of live hallway, brown branches and papery, dappled leaves. Green like aloe vera.

  There’s a worn-out path where someone, maybe Diego, has plucked out some of the undergrowth to create a sort of tunnel-walk. I step forward into the thicket. All around me is green and moist. The air is deliciously clean, briny and herbal and energizing.

  “This is cool. Did you make this?” I’m giddy like an excited teenage Lia.

  “Me and Jose, yeah. Anyone can use it, but not many people know where it is. We keep it like that.”

  “Wow, I get special treatment?”

  “Of course. You’re my guest.”

  The canopy closes in until I’m crouching. I can see the ocean sparkling beyond the foliage like Swarovski fractals.

  I stop and turn back hesitatingly to Diego, like Are we supposed to crawl through here? He nods, eyes playful.

  “It’s worth it, gringa. Keep moving, I’m big in here.” He’s got a branch poking him in the neck and he has an expression like a dog forced to wear winter boots.

  I snicker and then he does too, the pair of us crawling around like playful pre-humans among the dirt and blooms and veins of roots. The fuchsia flowers give off a deep, dizzying perfume. The blossoms are like little feathered volcanoes or scaly, upside-down strawberries.

  Little branches and thorns scratch my limbs as I go, reminders that I’m still mortal, able to bleed, and not, in fact, a spirit who’s found paradise.

  Or maybe I am, but I’ve got to drag Lia Noble around with me. Gosh, this is a wild day.

  “Mierda! Gringa. Hold the branches so they don’t hit me in the face, please.”

  “Sorry.”

  I clamber out of the trail, holding a curtain of vine back with one hand while I marvel at the empty beauty of Diego’s beach.

  It’s long, with a narrow shoreline and a few lean palms that grow horizontally, reaching out over the water like in an illustrated travel ad. I drop my things in the dark sand.

  Salt wind sizzles around me, whipping my hair so it Medusa snakes across my face and into my mouth. I turn my hands into a hairband, smoothing them over my forehead and coiling the unruly strands into a bun that won’t hold. The sun beats down, but I’m shielded by the cool breeze that lifts the heat from my skin.

  It’s stunning. I glance back at Diego watching my reaction, and all I can do is shake my head.

  “Nice backyard,” I comment appreciatively.

  He approaches, stopping next to me so our arms are touching, side by side. Our mutual attraction is swallowed by the ocean, tantalizing both of us so we gaze outward at the only thing more sublime than requited romance.

  “I grew up here; me, Jose, some other guys you don’t know, we all learned to surf further down this beach where the waves are bigger,” he says dreamily. “This is where we always came to swim.”

  I think of the public pool at the sports complex of my suburban neighborhood, where I learned to swim and jump off the high board, the smell of indoor pool, my hair freezing in the car on the drive home during the winter. The idea of anything freezing seems hilariously impossible here.

  I’m glad I tucked a bottle of waterproof Australian Gold into my beach bag because I intend to swim and sun-dry and swim and sun-dry until Diego drags me away. My skin is thirsty and I long for the water, to be a saltwater mermaid, a surfer girl, a beach baby.

  “We can put our stuff out of the sun here, gringa. Do you need to change?”

  “Yeah, I do.”

  I scan either direction, but there’s no Archie-comic cabana or anything.

  “You can go there.” He points to a patch of sand mostly obscured by tall beach grass. I look at him like Seriously?

  “I won’t look,” he promises, grinning down at his feet and wandering away.

  Digging through the rainbow canvas bag I got years ago at a Toronto Pride parade, I pull out my bikini and the giant towel Katherine gave me as part of my welcome gift. It’s got a big black-and-white panda bear holding a surf board, the word “Cherry” written across it in red block letters. Katherine and I have a policy of getting each other weird gifts whenever we travel. Funny now that we’re in the same place.

  I look for Diego, but he’s disappeared. Guess he’s changing too. So strange and wonderful to think we’re both getting naked together but apart. Things are starting to go my way.

  Glancing around to ensure my privacy, I slip off my underwear, pull my swim bottoms on, and then shimmy under my dress to stay quasi-covered while I put the triangle top on. Once I’m confident that nips, vag, and ass are covered, I take my dress off. My habits are so prudish compared to my swimsuit, which is a red string bikini with gold plastic beads strung along the ties.

  I see Diego walking back toward me in gray-and-black-striped board shorts, tying up the string of the fly. I ache to stop him. The beauty of a man is strengthened when he doesn’t know he’s being watched.

  And now I feel creepy.

  “Lia? You ready?”

  I feel shy for him to react to my bareness. Why is a bathing suit supposed to feel normal? When we stood around in our underwear, I at least felt obligated to acknowledge the faux pas. I drape my towel casually around my neck, loosely covering most of my upper half but trying to act casual about it.

  “Come on,” he says, giving me a quick look over his shoulder, then jogging off to the water’s edge.

  Seinfeld moment. Is it possible I’m not as attractive as I think I am?

  I step out of the shade, and the dark sand is piping hot. Holy Christmas. I jog toward him, each step a sizzling coal on my way to relief.

  When I reach the wet sand, it’s heaven-cool, and the water rushes over my feet and ankles. Diego’s waded up to his knees, squinting back at me into the sun.

  Self-consciousness dissolves as I remember my love for salt-water swimming, and I chuck my towel away from me with a burst of joy. The wind blows in the opposite direction and the towel lands about two feet from me. Poor cherry panda, facedown in the water.

  “Whoops!” I grab for it way too late. Diego’s laughing at me.

  “You’re such a tourist.”

  “Yeah, well!”

  “Forget about it. You can use mine. We can dry yours on the tree.”

  He grabs the sopping towel, heavy with water, and wrings it out, chuckling, then runs it up to one of the lazy, drooping palms and slings it over wetly. Before running back in, he takes something out of his bag and launches it high up into the air.

  I squint up in bewilderment, scanning the brilliant sky. A bright red ball lands about ten feet away with a plop. I wade over to grab it, and it’s light and squishy in my hand. Pushing my thighs forward through the resistance of the water, I go out until I’m up to just below my bikini top, then turn back toward Diego, tossing the ball as high as I can throw it.

  His eyes follow it with the confidence o
f an athlete, and as it falls he picks up speed and dives to catch it, landing with a big, sloppy splash.

  He surfaces and stands waist-deep, stunning me into a mini-trance as he slicks his hair back and wipes water off his brow. I love his moves and the look he’s giving me now: surprised, intrigued.

  He lobs the ball back to me quickly, and I jump for it but it slips past my fingers. I swallow my pride and swim after it. With a flick of my wrist, I aim at a spot in the water just in front of where his head bobs. It skims to a stop in his face with a spray.

  “Ooh!” I hold my arms over my head in victory.

  He wipes his eyes, then looks at me all charged up, challenged.

  “You don’t know what you’ve started, gringa,” he threatens.

  His grin, I want to bottle it. What he’s offering I want to take.

  He swims toward me, fast and graceful. In one motion he scoops an arm around my waist and stands up, flipping me over his shoulder gently.

  “Ahh! Put me down!” I wail.

  We’re flirting like seventeen-year-olds, and I’m as thrilled as a seventeen-year-old would be.

  “Que? Who said that?” He turns in either direction, pretending to look for me.

  “Diego!”

  I’m in heaven, I’m in hell – where’s my string bikini in all this?

  I hope I haven’t come awkwardly undone like that time I came down the twisty slide at a waterpark in Florida, out of breath and dazed. I hadn’t realized my bikini top was undone and flopping around my waist uselessly like a couple of sad, wet pizza slices. The teenager on duty pointed it out. Awkward.

  Diego puts me back down gently, and I dunk myself under, rising up again to smooth my hair back and face him. I don’t know if our game is over, but he’s floating there in front of me, not going away.

  I think he’s going to get shy again, but that intense, lips-parted, eyes-roving look comes over him, like on the weekend. Like he’s been watching a target and finally that thing he wants is there in the crosshairs, and it gives him a kinky satisfaction. His ego is infused with his sexuality, and that brutish rude boy I first met is showing new appeal.

  I’m staring and it feels good.

  “Lia—” he starts, then cuts himself off, eyes focusing beyond me to the shore. “What the hell?”

  “I’m not falling for that.” I put my hands on my hips and look at him, like Yeah, right.

  “Seriously, gringa, get down.” He’s completely serious, so I duck down into the water so that only my head is sticking out, the same way he’s done.

  “What’s going on?” I whisper loudly, scanning the shore.

  Diego’s cursing quietly, and I see a tall, thin girl with long, straight black hair walking toward the bushes we entered by, disappearing into them.

  I look back at Diego indignantly. “What the fuck? Who was that and why am I hiding?”

  He’s pissed off. I’m pissed off. Buzzkill.

  “I’m sorry. It was nothing. I thought it was my sister, but it’s Maria’s daughter.”

  “Who’s Maria?”

  “She owns the cantina.”

  “Okay. And why would I be ducking out of sight?”

  “Lo siento, lo siento. I made a mistake.”

  “What mistake?”

  Now there’s a Maria’s daughter who looks like a sister? I’m falling deeper and deeper into this telenovela.

  “It was an instinct. I was trying to protect you.”

  “From your sister?”

  “My family is… complicated.”

  “Diego, you just warned me to hide myself when some girl showed up. We just figured out the Elsa thing, but now I’m as confused as before.”

  “This isn’t about me wanting anyone but you.”

  This holds me over, but I’m still bubbling near the surface. I cross my arms protectively.

  “Maybe some things are getting lost in translation.”

  He looks at me apologetically but doesn’t say anything. He’s thinking something over.

  My patience is short, but I want to give him the chance to explain with the right words. God knows I’d need all the patience in the world if I had to explain my family dynamic in Spanish.

  “I want to explain. It’s just a long story.”

  “Let’s dry off. You can think about how you’re going to help me understand what’s going on.”

  I’ve switched into teacher mode. I’m seeing that it’s easier to take the reins than to follow along.

  He nods, marble eyes looking at nothing. “Okay.”

  We wade to shore, me ahead of him. I walk faster when I’m upset. Not caring anymore about bikini slip-ups, I let him follow in my wake.

  Didn’t expect him to come with so much baggage, but then again, he doesn’t know the first thing about all of mine. How quickly the weather can change.

  Super Sun has dried my towel most of the way, and I spread it out on the sand and flop down. The sun bakes down on me, sucking tiny water molecules away from my skin. My eyes close, and the scent of seaweed is almost something I can see, dark green-brown tentacles strewn on the black shore like unspooled ribbons.

  I feel fluttering air on my face, and it’s Diego’s towel landing on the sand next to me. He flops himself down with an uh as the air is pushed out of his stomach. I roll over onto my side and prop my head up on my hand to face him.

  His eyes run along the sloping curve of my hip, smiling guiltily upon seeing me watch him. His playful smile is back, and he runs his hand through his silky black hair.

  “It’s hard to be around you sometimes.” He’s drawing circles in the sand.

  “You’re throwing me off, man.”

  “What I mean is, I think you’re so beautiful, Lia. I can’t think straight when you’re in front of me looking so sexy.”

  He’s so close now, I can almost feel his heavy body against mine. That drugged, euphoric feeling fogs up my brain, and all I see are the lines of his lips, the pink skin, the hollow above the center of his top lip.

  But wait – I can’t get distracted. Like pulling myself out of a deep sleep, I struggle back to reality.

  “Diego, wait. What’s the deal with your sister? Did you think it was Asuncion?”

  He sighs and nods, lying down flat on his back with hands behind his head. “She doesn’t deal with anything very well. She’s impulsive and emotional.”

  “She’s still hurting.”

  “Yes. She always has strong reactions, since she was a child. My mother always knew how to deal with her, but of course she can’t help her through this. Asuncion’s very angry and sad. It’s bad for her but also for my father. They feed off each other.” A look of distaste.

  “So it would upset her to see you with me?”

  “Not so much upset her as give her something to get involved in. She’s nosy and rude, and she’s hurting more badly than she ever has. She’s possessive and defensive, and I don’t want her anywhere near you, because she will be jealous and she will act out. Let’s just say the Valverde family isn’t great with foreigners.”

  “No kidding.”

  “Sorry. There’s way too much drama.”

  “It’s not your fault. Um, Diego? Can I ask you something?”

  “Si.”

  “Do you hook up with a lot of foreign girls?”

  “Not anymore. Especially not now,” he adds wryly.

  “Ha.”

  “No, I used to meet girls. I worked as a bartender at the Four Seasons for a few years.”

  “Ah.”

  I feel foolish as comprehension sets in. Of course he’s been hit on a thousand times. Diego the gorgeous bartender to rich tourists. I can just see him, young and dangerously handsome in crisp whites, mixing drinks for pretty girls, being all Dirty Dancing.

  “Then I left for school.”

  “Okay…”

  He sighs, wincing. “I dated this girl from California, a research student.”

  “Okay. What was she like?”

  “
She was really attractive. The kind of girl you see on American TV. She was nice, studying marine biology. Smart.”

  “So she was your girlfriend?”

  “Uh,” he considers, not particularly happy to think about it. “She told me we were in a relationship, and that was enough for her, for a while. I guess I was unfair to her. I could have been clearer. I thought we had an understanding.”

  “It’s never that simple, is it?”

  “Nope.”

  “What happened?”

  “Different values, different backgrounds. Different ways of living. There wasn’t very much between us after only a few weeks, but it kept going on. She wanted me to stay, and I was already planning to go back home. I didn’t like living there. Then my mother got sick.”

  “So you went home.”

  “As soon as I could. I didn’t finish the semester.”

  “And your California girl?”

  “Taylor. She was really nice about it at first. I thought she was letting me go. Maybe it was just easier for me to see it that way.”

  “Hmm,” I consider.

  “The more time passed, she said I was using my mother as an excuse to get out of the relationship. But to me there was no relationship to get out of. I don’t think we ever shared anything. And Mama got worse. Taylor’s accusations pissed me off. It was rude, and it was the last thing I needed.”

  “I can imagine.”

  I’m squeezing my stomach because any minute now he could call her crazy – the other C-word. Not that I know this other girl, not that she sounds particularly interesting, but I’m so damn sick of girls being called crazy. Especially when they aren’t able to tell their side of the story.

  “Like a month after I came home, she called to say she’d got an internship that would pay for a research trip to the coast, studying leatherback turtles.”

  “Really? That’s pretty cool, actually.”

  “That’s what I thought. She sounded so happy with herself I thought it was fine to meet up. No strings.”

  “No strings,” I scoff. “There are always some strings.”

  He sighs with a smile. “It’s true.”