Chapter Five (Michael POV)
I don't have time to do an about face and duck back into the crowd because Jane Villanueva has zeroed in on me like a hawk on fleeing prey. There is no way I'm making an escape and there's no point in trying to hide either. She's already seen me and is quickly closing the distance between us. The confrontation is happening whether I'm prepared for it or not. And I'm not, if that means anything to anyone.
But God apparently isn't in a listening mood today because, by the time I'm finished stuffing my change back into my pocket, she's already reached me. I stand there, probably looking like a deer caught in the headlights, one hand still shoved into my pocket and the other holding a wax paper wrapped sandwich. There's no way the moment can't be awkward and the fact that neither of us says a word for several seconds only makes it worse.
Finally, I stammer, "Uh, h-hi there."
I know the greeting is lame but I'm at a loss as to what else to say. She's doing that thing she does, that thing with her eyes, like she's looking at me and looking right into me at the same time. And if she can read my mind then she knows the power she has over me. She knows just how much she scares the hell out of me, this small, bossy Latina whose tossed my entire world upside down in less than three days. I suppose the reason Jane Villanueva terrifies me so is because she shakes up the carefully ordered control that I've come to pride myself on maintaining. Because, for some inexplicable reason, all of the power in our dynamic inevitably shifts to her whenever we're together. I actually have fight the impulse to squirm.
"Hey," she replies. She nods towards the Cubano food truck just beyond us. "Getting some lunch, huh?"
I'm thankful to use the brightly colored food truck as a distraction. "Yeah, I thought I'd give it a try."
She smiles at me then, the first time she's smiled since we met. It's a strange, knowing smile and I can't help but smile back at her even though I have no idea what we're smiling about. Maybe it's because I can't believe how the simple act of smiling transforms her entire face.
The last time I saw her she had been tearful and miserable and that had mostly been my fault. This afternoon, however, she is dappled in the bright, afternoon sun that pours through the prawns of the leaning palm trees above us, the glow of her smooth, brown skin on full display. Dressed in simple white shorts, a faded t-shirt and sandals she looks much more comfortable and in her element than she had the last time we were together. Her dark hair is pulled back from her face in haphazard ponytail which only serves to complement her fresh-faced appearance.
Yeah, I can admit it. Jane Villanueva is a beautiful women. But it's purely an objective recognition and certainly doesn't have the underlying meaning that Lorena thinks it does.
"So…" she drawls, apparently unwilling to end this painful exchange just yet, "are you planning to eat your lunch on one of the benches on the boardwalk?"
"I was thinking about it. Seems like a nice day to sit outside."
"Good. I'll come with you."
And just like that, without any further discussion or invitation really, Jane Villanueva and I are strolling down the boardwalk together side by side like it's the most normal thing in the world. I am hyperaware of her presence the entire time. But, oddly enough, it doesn't feel as strange as I would expect it to feel. Quite the opposite, falling into step beside her is completely natural to me, as if I've done it a million times before. It's possible I have but the memory of those times continues to elude me. But I'm not too bummed by the realization. Memories or not, this is the first time since I arrived in Miami that anything has felt remotely familiar to me at all and so I'm happy to go with it.
"Flying solo today, huh?" I observe casually as we walk.
She contemplates her painted toenails rather than meeting my eyes. "Yep."
I study her profile, noting the fine tendrils of hair to float against her cheek in the ocean breeze. There's an undercurrent of sadness in the voice which prompts me to ask, "Is that because of me?"
"Yep."
I wince at her brutal candor. "Wow, you don't sugarcoat, do you?"
"I had the impression the other night that you're not such a fan of sugarcoating," she replies quietly, "I'm not blaming you. Husbands returning from the dead tend to put a crimp in marriage plans."
I swivel to face her with a look of surprise. "You're getting married?" There are a dozen different thoughts that go tumbling through my mind right then and most of them involve Lorena. I wonder if she will feel differently about pushing me toward my long lost wife if she knew said long lost wife was getting married. I wonder if she will finally change her mind about us being together.
Jane blows out a despondent sigh. "I don't know what I'm doing."
Her response leaves me feeling deflated. That answers that question. Nope. As long as there's any ambiguity concerning me and my long lost wife, I seriously doubt Lorena will change her mind about a romance between us. My unhappiness over that must be easily readable on my face because Jane asks, "Does that disappoint you?"
"You're not the only one with someone in your life, Jane," I tell her, "My problem is, she doesn't want to move forward with me until I put my past to rest first."
"And is that why you agreed to come here?" she asks rather glumly, "Because you want to put your past to rest for her?"
"I can't really give her a future if I don't know where I come from."
She glances away quickly when I say that but not before I see the hurt flash across her face. I am immediately filled with a mixture of guilt, confusion and mild irritation to see it. Guilt because I know I've hurt her feelings again even though that's the last thing I want. Confusion because she has someone else and I want someone else and we have no relationship whatsoever but yet somehow it all feels weirdly wrong. And finally I'm irritated that there is some part of me that does feel like I'm doing something wrong. It makes me eager to end the conversation with her because I don't want to deal with the conflicting emotions she stirs up inside of me.
"So listen, I was thinking…with you moving on with your life and me moving on with my life, maybe we should leave well enough alone."
She stops and suddenly rounds on me with panicked disbelief. I have no choice but to stop too. "What are you saying right now? That you don't want your memories back after all?"
"It seems like it might complicate things even more," I reason lamely.
"So what?" she challenges, "I refuse to believe that you want your life to be summed up by the last six months! You'll never convince me of that, Michael!"
She's right, though I will die before I admit that to her. The truth is, the longer I'm here in Miami, the more I want to know about the man I once was. But the caveat is, the more I learn about him, the more I learn about her and that scares me because I can sense that when that happens everything I know, everything that has been a constant for me these last six months, will change. I tell her so.
"I understand being scared. I'm scared too. And you're right. It will change things. It's already has between me and Raf but this is something you know you have to do, right?"
I jerk a nod. "I know."
"If it makes you feel better, you're not alone," she reassures me softly, "I'm here for you. I'm happy just to be your friend. No expectations whatsoever."
I level her with a crooked smirk of disbelief. "Really?"
"Well, no expectations beyond reason," she amends with a glimmer of a smile, "Let me be your friend, Michael."
There's something about the playful wheedling in her expression that I'm unable to resist. "I guess that's not too unreasonable."
"Admit it," she prompts as we fall back into our stroll down the boardwalk, "You like me. Just a little bit."
"Maybe a little bit," I admit with a defeated sigh, "How did you even find me today? You must have the senses of a bloodhound."
"How do you know we didn't just meet by chance? Maybe I came out here to take a stroll on the beach. Not everything is about you, Michael Cordero."
I give her a wry side-eye. "Is that what happened?"
She ducks her head with a small smile and replies, "No. I spoke to your friend Lorena and she told me you'd be here."
"You spoke to Lorie? How?" She shares her method with a measure of shame but truthfully I'm pretty impressed by her resourcefulness. I'm also proud that I'm able to maintain my cool as she recounts to me exactly how it all went down. "So that's how you found me today. I should have known Lorena would sing like a canary."
"She just provided the clue. Believe me, the execution was not as easy as it sounds. I spent an hour looking for you before I actually found you."
"Why would you go through so much trouble?"
"It's you, Michael. I don't think you're trouble." She slants a playful glower in my direction. "Not that you deserve my attention in the least. You don't call. You don't write. What's a girl to do?"
Although she is teasing me I can detect a note of censure in her tone as well. She's hurt that I didn't call. She doesn't say so but I can tell. And she has a valid reason to be upset. I told her I would be in touch and then I didn't call. I don't even know why that is because that's not like me. I mean what I say and I do what I say. But there is something about this girl that unnerves me, that leaves me vulnerable in a way that makes me uncomfortable. There's that and the realization that I feel guilty knowing I've disappointed her…this woman I've known less than a week. I don't know why I care but I do care.
"You're right. We made an agreement and I haven't lived up to my end," I acknowledge with earnest sincerity, "I should have called you and I didn't but, in my defense, this whole situation kind of freaks me out."
"Yeah, me too. I don't get a lot of people in my life rising from the dead."
"I bet it would get annoying if you did," I wisecrack, "Especially when you think of all the money you could have saved on coffins."
I'm taken by surprise when she suddenly stops in her tracks for the second time which prompts me to stop walking as well. At first, I think maybe she's dropped something but when I glance up I discover her staring at me with a stricken expression, her eyes wide and luminous and suddenly glistening with tears. I mentally kick myself for, once again, putting my foot in my mouth.
"Did I offend you just now?" I ask, at a loss to discern her inexplicable expression, "Please ignore me. It's like I have Tourette's. My friends always tell me I have a 'unique' sense of humor but Lorie says it's code for 'jackass.' Takes some getting used to."
"Yeah, I know…"
"I'll be on my best behavior from now on."
"No. It's okay."
But she doesn't look like it's okay. She looks like she wants to burst into tears and that alarms me. I don't know whether I should ask her what's bothering her or excuse myself so she can have a moment to regain her composure. In the end, she takes the decision out of my hands and resumes walking down the boardwalk. I fall into step beside her. I have to squelch the urge question her about the sudden shift in her mood because I know something is wrong but I don't feel like it's my place to pry. I figure if she wants to talk about it then she will and so I try to leave it at that.
I preparing to continue the remainder of our walk in relative silence when she asks, "Why did you disappear after the other night? Was it because of me? Did I put too much pressure on you?"
"Not you exactly. It was a lot to take in all at once. I just…needed some space."
"I get that." Her body language tells a different story. She's biting her lip right now to mask its trembling. Her shoulders are tense and she is wringing her hands. I also don't miss the fact that she can't meet my eyes. When she speaks again I get a clearer picture of the reason why.
"I don't want to pressure you, Michael," she reassures me in a rather disarming way, "That's the last thing I want to do but can you please not disappear on me like that again because my mind goes to terrible places and I-,"
My steps falter as the inadvertent pain I've caused to her dawns on me. She doesn't need to explain any further. I never imagined that she would think the worst when she didn't hear from me. I keep forgetting that, while I don't have any memory of her, she has plenty of memories about me. She's invested…connected to me in a fundamental way and if I disappear into the ether she's not going to forget about me. She's going to hurt. In a way, Jane Villanueva is the first real tie that I've made here in Miami and I don't want to break it.
"Oh my God, Jane, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry! I didn't even think about that."
"No. No. Don't apologize anymore," she admonishes me with a teary laugh, "Just do better next time."
I'm so relieved that she's willing to put it behind her that I smile and offer her a snappy salute. "I will. But I really am sorry. Sometimes, I'm a real dick." Although she smiles in response to that, she also starts to sniffle, her tears flowing freely. I helplessly offer her one of the napkins that came with my sandwich so she can wipe her face.
"What is it? What did I say this time?"
She blows her nose noisily. "It's nothing…nothing," she denies thickly, "It's just you. I've really missed you, Michael."
"Really? I can't tell because every time we're together you start to cry. You're going to give me a complex if you keep breaking down like this." She giggles at that and, for some unexplainable reason, the sound makes me smile. Thankfully, that seems to be the end of her crying jag. After her tears are dried and she returns from throwing her soiled napkin in a nearby trash receptacle I ask, "Better now?"
"Much better."
"Listen, maybe you and I should start over. From the beginning. Clean slate."
She squints at me in confusion. "What do you mean?"
"Well, you said you wanted to be my friend and I'd like that too but… Every time we talk it feels like there's this baggage between us," I tell her, "and we're dragging it everywhere we go and that kind of sucks. So why don't we put down the cargo for a minute and try to get to know each other, no strings attached?"
"When you say 'we' you really mean me, don't you?"
"Yes."
"Fine," she chuckles in agreement, "We'll start over." I'm surprised when she suddenly extends a handshake to me. "I'm Jane Villanueva. Nice to meet you."
I'm laughing as I shake her hand. "And I'm Michael Cordero, formerly John Ditch."
"Really? That was your name?"
"It's way more original than 'John Doe,'" I preen, "I came up with it myself, you know because I was found in a ditch. Get it?"
She rolls her eyes at me, thoroughly unimpressed. "Uh no. That's just morbid. I definitely like Michael Cordero better."
There it is again, that easy familiarity that makes me feel like I'm finally home. It's like the world has fallen away from around us as we stand there together, our hands still clasped while grinning stupidly at one another. But when I become aware of just how long I've had her hand loosely clasped in mine, I'm quick to drop it. Her smile falters when I do and a little part of me regrets the loss.
After we begin walking yet again, I say, "I know I might have given you the impression the other night that I don't like you but I want to reassure you that's not how I feel."
"I didn't get that impression," she replies, "I think you're scared, Michael, and that's understandable given the circumstances. I also think the other night was weird with Rafael there."
"A little bit. It's hard to be in the middle of a discussion about yourself when you have no point of reference for anything that's being said."
"This is better though…just me and you like this? Right?"
"Yeah," I whisper, my smile forming yet again, "This is better."
"Even though you wanted to hide from me earlier."
I duck my head in chagrin. "You picked up on that, did you?"
"The desperate way your eyes were searching for an exit as I was approaching kinda gave it away," she laughs only to sober a split second later when she adds, "You don't have to be afraid of me, Michael, or go out of your way to avoid me. If I'm crowding you, just tell me straight out and I'll back off."
"Somehow, I doubt that."
"I mean it," she insists, "I want you to tell me."
"Okay. I will."
We walk a little while longer in companionable silence until we find an unoccupied bench. After we're situated, I politely offer her half of my sandwich and she politely accepts. We toast the two halves together and begin to munch quietly while the ocean waves crash and break behind us, filling the air with a cool, salty mist.
"So, how are you enjoying the sandwich?" she asks when I only have a few bites left.
"I love it. This might be my new food obsession."
A strange expression settles on her face as she regards me. "Yeah?"
"Yeah. In Texas it's about the barbecue. But here? I'm going to have to have one of these daily."
She picks at the remains of her half while I polish off the rest of mine. "I know how you feel. I couldn't get enough of Cubanos when I was pregnant with Mateo," she confesses, "I could eat them morning, noon and night."
"So…about your son," I begin in a neutral tone, "Did that happen before or after we were together?"
"After."
I grimace at the revelation. "So what? You cheated on me?"
"No!" she flares with such vehemence that I choke out a stunned laugh, "Never. I have never cheated on you!"
"Did…did I cheat on you?"
"No. You didn't cheat on me either. That's not the kind of relationship we had."
"What kind of relationship did we have?" I ask her softly.
"You were my first real love, Michael. My first lover, my husband, my very best friend."
"But Mateo is Rafael's son? Am I right about that?"
I see the surprise on her face before her dark gaze skitters aside at the question. "Yes, you're right." And then she looks at me with an expression full of entreaty, as if she's begging my forgiveness and understanding. "It's a really long and complicated story."
"Well, I don't have anywhere to be."
Despite my reassurance, she still looks reluctant to share. "I don't want to scare you off," she says, "I thought you didn't want to deal with any baggage."
"It's a part of my past and you said I had to deal with it so… I need to know. Right?"
"Right."
"So then tell me this 'really long and complicated story.'"
Her mouth turns in a faint smile. "Just remember you asked."
Forty minutes later my head is pounding with all of the information. I'm having a hard time getting a grasp on it all. Accidental, artificial insemination. Virgins being pregnant. Destiny. Engagements and break-ups. Kidnappings. A criminal mastermind who can change her face. Reconciliations, marriage, talk of babies and untimely death. Funerals, sadness and faith and finally…finding joy again. By the time she's done speaking, I have a much deeper understanding of Jane Villanueva and what defines her. I also know and understand how unique her relationship with Rafael Solano is as well. It's comparable to the relationship I have with Lorena.
"So you're telling me you saw me in the casket," I press in disbelief, " and you buried me…that there was a funeral and pallbearers and everything?" Jane confirms with a small nod. "That's crazy! So does that mean I'm not me?"
"Don't worry. You're definitely you," she reassures me, smiling.
"How can you be so sure? You just told me you buried me. Maybe that me is me and I just think I'm me but I'm not me."
She blinks at me rapidly as she tries to follow my convoluted logic. "Michael, that wasn't you in the casket. I suspect it was just someone made to look like you," she tells me, "And, according to Rafael, there's no doubt."
"What about according to you? Do you believe I'm me?"
There's that look again, that wistful expression that has shadowed her face more than once this afternoon. She reaches over to touch my scruffy cheek and the moment she does I can feel my breath catch in my throat. I experience a flash of recollection, a moment where I can clearly see her face and feel the love and affection in her touch and then, just as Jane lets her hand drop back to her lap, it's gone so quickly I'm not even sure if I had an actual memory. And, no matter how hard I try, I can't get it back.
I almost don't hear her when she says, "I don't have a single doubt that you're you, Michael."
For a second, I debate with myself about telling her what just happened. On the one hand, I have to believe what just happened had to be a memory and it is the closest I've come to having one in six months. On the other hand, however, it was so fleeting, so vague I would be unable to offer her any real detail on what I saw. The most enduring impression I have is the love that had been shining in her eyes. It finally helps me to understand the puzzling look she often gets when she's with me. It is the same expression she had in that flash. I realize it's the way Jane has always looked at me…because she loves me.
Reeling a little, I lean back into the bench and expel a heavy sigh. "Oh…wow…"
"Are you okay?" she frets, probably alarmed by my appearance because I'm sure that every drop of color has drained from my face, "You look like you're going to pass out."
I make the impulsive decision not to tell her what just happened, mostly because I'm too overwhelmed to deal with it right then. "I'm fine," I reply, forcing a smile, "This is just a lot to take in all at once."
"I told you it was complicated. Was it too much?"
"No. I'm just…I'm still processing."
"Are you going to run?" she asks timidly, as if she's afraid to hear my answer.
"No, I'm not going to run," I reassure with short laugh, "I guess I want to know where do you and I go from here?"
"Where do you want to go?" she asks me.
"I don't know. I wish I could remember you…and us."
"Me too. We just have to give it time, I guess."
"Yeah…"
"In the meantime, maybe it would help you if you spent some time with your family."
I groan aloud at the suggestion, still shaky from what just happened and not too eager to pile more on. "My family? What family are you talking about?"
"Your parents specifically. I told your mother and father that you're alive," she reveals reluctantly. I groan again, longer and louder this time as Jane scrambles to justify her actions. "They want to see you, Michael! I couldn't let them suffer any longer thinking you were dead!"
"Oh God why…"
"Don't panic. It will be okay."
"Will it? Will it be okay, Jane, because it doesn't feel like it will be okay! I know they're going to want their son back and that's not me. It's too much pressure."
"Michael, you can do this. Look at us. Look how far we've come just today."
"That's different."
"How?"
"When I'm with you, I don't feel like you're expecting me to be your husband," I explain to her, "You're trying to know me…the me I am right now. It won't be like that for them. They're going to see their son and they're going to want their son and they're going to get me instead. It's like we're setting them up for disappointment and that's not a great feeling, Jane."
"You're not so different from before, Michael." I roll my eyes in disbelief which only makes her more determined to convince me. "I mean it. You're still the same kind, funny, intuitive man you were before this whole thing happened to you."
"Really?"
She nods. "But you're right. It will hurt them to be so close to you and not have that connection with you," she says, "I know how that feels but I think it would be worse if I didn't get the chance to see you at all. This time that I'm having with you right now…it means the world to me, Michael. I know it will mean the world to them too."
I throw back my head with a long-suffering grunt before regarding her with a defeated sigh. "Are you always like this?"
"Like what?"
"A pushy know-it-all."
"Am I being too pushy right now?" she wonders timidly.
I think about making her squirm just a little but decide to let her off the hook instead. "No," I reply, "You're being just pushy enough and I guess I need that." But even though I know she's right, the prospect of meeting my parents and spending time with them fills me with apprehension. "I don't know if I can handle meeting them on my own," I mumble, more to myself than to Jane, "It's going to be so uncomfortable." Jane responds to my musing like I spoke directly to her nonetheless.
"I could go with you."
The look I give her right then is one of pure gratitude and relief. "Would you?"
"Of course I will. Although, I don't know how comforting it is to have a stranger with you while you're visiting other strangers."
"You're not a stranger. You're my friend. Remember?"
"You really mean that? You want to be friends with me, Michael?"
"Yeah," I reply as an inexplicable lump of emotion suddenly forms in my throat, "I really do."
