Chapter Six

Anita slammed the taxi door shut and held out her arms. “Remington! Baby girl, come here.”

This was Anita’s element—taking control of any situation and giving her clients exactly what they needed. Today the role called for supportive best friend with a heavy dose of sympathy. This was the same Anita that Remy had called on during her medical issues. It was odd, though, not being the patient for once, but this was the energy that Remy needed redirected toward Jack.

As Remy fell into Anita’s embrace, she felt her autonomy disappear and mentally gave herself over to her friend. Finally, a person to give her directions and the chance to turn off her brain. It was just in time, too, seeing as Remy had gotten herself stuck in a guilt spiral in the parking lot. She couldn’t leave the hospital, but her feet wouldn’t let her go back inside.

Anita pulled away to grasp Remy by the shoulders. “First things first. How are you? You look terrible.”

“Yes,” Remy agreed. Autopilot was bliss.

“We won’t hash out the past month; now is not the time,” Anita said, and Remy nodded along mutely. “How is Jack doing?”

“He’s awake. Or was awake. The doctors told me at four o’clock this morning.”

“And you haven’t been in to see him?”

Remy just stared at her like a deer caught in the headlights. “All right, then.” Anita clapped her hands together once. “Baby steps. Let’s get you inside.” She looped her arm through Remy’s, and they started toward the building. “Oh shit, my bags!” The agent turned back toward the tower of color sitting on the black parking lot. “Any valets here, by chance? Oh well, there has to be some place inside I can stash them for a little while, right?” Anita flipped her hair and gathered her things. Knowing Anita, she’d recruit some poor young intern to guard them for her.

As if begging not to be left behind, Anita’s phone started ringing. She pulled it from her giant purse and hit “ignore.” “They can wait. It all can wait. I’m here for you, as long as you need,” she promised. “Now, who do I need to yell at so they take us to see Jack?”

If Anita found Remy’s silence disturbing, she didn’t show it. She was more than happy to fill the silence with whatever popped into her head. A stream of consciousness ran out of her mouth with no filter, bathing Remy with a pleasant numbness. When Anita instructed her to “Wait here,” Remy obliged, trying very hard not to think about the fact that she was inside the hospital again. At least she didn’t have to navigate on her own anymore.

“They’re letting us back now,” Anita said when she returned, appearing out of nowhere. That was enough to jump-start Remy’s emotions again, and numbness was replaced by terror.

“I can’t,” Remy whispered.

“I’m coming with you,” Anita said, and took Remy’s hand. “Thinking about it just makes it worse. It’s the anticipation, you know. You’ve built it up too much in your head. I don’t know if you know this, but you tend to do that.” Anita cocked an eyebrow at her, and Remy read the humor in her face. That was how Anita operated. She believed in jumping off a cliff and figuring out how to fly on the way down. Anything else was just a waste of time. Her motto was that life happened too quickly for hesitations. That was what made her such a good agent. Anita’s confidence had gotten her everywhere in life and was always the fool-proof way to open doors that were locked to everyone else. Anita had sold Remy’s first major painting with a similar strategy.

They were perfect for each other, really. An artist that nobody would take a chance on, and an agent who was looking for her first client at barely twenty-one years old. At first, no one took them seriously. But Anita charmed her way into a charity event auction and submitted one of Remy’s most unique pieces, one that had failed to find a home among traditional buyers in the previous months.

People didn’t necessarily want a painting entitled Dead Dog Living hanging up in their foyer. Remy’s brushstrokes and style were too wild and untamed, her use of color was too jarring, and the painting defied any genre category. A “childish nightmare” was how one critic described it.

People felt unsettled when viewing Remy’s early work. There just wasn’t a market for what Remy and Anita were trying to sell. It wasn’t political, it wasn’t a statement piece, and it wasn’t about technology or counter-culture. Nobody could connect with Remy’s art because they had no foundation for common ground. Remy painted with her own unique perspective on the universe. Of course, she saw things differently than other people did, considering she could alter her reality with just a simple sentence. The burden of maintaining the karmic balance fell squarely on Remy’s shoulders. That belief transferred over into her paintings and left those who viewed them feeling off-balance and deeply unsettled.

But for Anita, who was determined to make a name for herself finding the next big thing, Remy’s style was a revelation; she just had to make other people see it. Anita loved the odd, empty feeling when she looked at Remy’s paintings, like she was being left out of a secret. Any assigned value was in the eye of the beholder, and Anita needed to make rich people see the value in being comfortable with the uncomfortable, and that included a painting of a dead dog. All Anita needed was the right audience to launch Remy into the New York art world. Go big or go home was the only strategy she had, and the agent bided her time until she found her opening at the annual charity auction for the New York Foundation of the Arts.

If there was any chance that Anita could sell Remy’s painting at top dollar, it was there. They just had to have one good sale and the rest would follow. Done correctly, the one foot in the door would be enough to pique the interest of the rest of the private collectors and make Remy’s paintings an exclusive commodity. Done incorrectly, Dead Dog Walking would sell for a few hundred dollars, just enough to raise a little money from a sympathetic person who wouldn’t even bother to take the painting home with them, forever creating a black mark next to Remy’s name.

Most artists wouldn’t put their faith in a newbie agent to have the connections to launch a career, especially one younger than the artist herself, but Remy was just happy to have someone else around who appreciated her work. It made her feel less crazy and alone, and Anita soon became Remy’s closest friend in an unforgiving industry.

Remy’s painting actually ended up being the most bid-on item of the night, thanks to a mysterious bidder in the back who kept upping the price. Once he started in on the offers, it seemed like everyone else in the audience wanted to get in on the action. Remy looked around the room in amazement as the auctioneer slammed his gavel on the final price—one hundred and seventy-five thousand dollars. Anita shrieked and threw her arms around Remy, causing more than a few stares their way, but neither woman cared. It was later that evening, during the cocktail hour, that Remy met Jack. The universe had decided to make a lot of things in her life collide that night.

And now, just as Remy had entrusted Anita to hold her hand while navigating her first big break, she trusted her best friend to keep her from falling apart as they approached the next scary hurdle in Remy’s life.

While they navigated the bustling hallways, Remy kept reminding herself that there was nothing to be afraid of because she had nothing to lose. She had already lost Jack as a partner and had insisted that he leave her alone. But seeing him so broken would be a new and raw experience. Squeezing Anita’s fingers like a lifeline, they entered the room.

He was asleep. Remy let out a sigh of relief and sagged against the door frame.

“What do you think? Should we wake him up? Let him know you’re here?” Anita asked, looking a bit let down that the dramatic moment between Jack and Remy had been postponed. She’d come thousands of miles to witness it, after all.

A thick gauze wrapped around Jack’s head, and purple bruises on his temples blossomed out from underneath the bandage. Small scratches raked bright against his pale face, but his expression remained serene. He didn’t appear to be in any pain, and Remy gave a silent thanks for morphine. Tubes connecting to IVs and monitors spiraled out from him in every direction. The rest of Jack’s body was covered by a blanket, though Remy could guess that damage to his legs was severe due to the bulky hints of what lay underneath.

“He needs to rest,” Remy said. He was safe here, and in good hands. She didn’t feel like the one who had to be solely responsible for keeping him alive anymore. Everything was under control. Anita was here, Jack was healing, and nothing truly disastrous had happened. Remy felt like she was finally waking up from her nightmare.

“He will be confused for a little while.” A voice behind Remy and Anita made them jump at the same time. “But hopefully within a few days, he will regain most or all of his cognition and memories. There was not any lasting damage that could be seen on the MRI, but concussions are still serious.”

Remy turned to face the doctor, the same one who had given her the good news at four in the morning. “Thank you—” she started to say, but the doctor barreled on, clearly in diagnostic mode.

“The damage to his head was what we were most concerned about, and he has a long road to recovery ahead, including physical therapy for his legs. His right leg was shattered from kneecap to ankle. He will require additional surgeries to regain full use of it. His left leg fared better, a clean break at the ankle, but there was some tendon damage—”

“How soon until he can travel?” Anita interrupted. “I mean, no offense, but it would probably be best for Jack to be seen by doctors in the U.S., right Remy?”

“I can’t think that far ahead now, Anita. Jack might not be comfortable with that. Look at him; he’s hardly even responsive.” Though Jack’s eyelids had flickered when the doctor had come into the room, they didn’t open. “He doesn’t even know we’re here right now.”

“I’m just trying to do what’s best for you both,” Anita said. “And I think that would be getting the hell out of here and back to New York as fast as possible. They have the best physicians in the world. This is why you had me come out, right? To have your back?” Anita turned back to the doctor, who had kept his calm and professional composure while being interrogated, but now looked more than a little irritated.

He spoke again. “Recovery will be a slow process, like I said. Are you a family member?”

“I’m Remy’s sister.”

The doctor gave them a dubious once-over. “Jack should really only have one visitor at a time…”

“I’ll sit here with him while you talk to the doctor, Remy,” Anita announced, already crossing the room to Jack’s bedside. Remy was surprised but followed the doctor out into the hallway.

“Jack was very lucky you found him when you did,” the doctor said. “He lost a lot of blood. It was touch and go seeing if he would wake up—”

Remy’s heart started to pound, and her vision blurred. My fault. The guilt came back with a roaring vengeance. I shouldn’t be here. I need to stay away from Jack.

“I, uh, have to go to the bathroom,” Remy mumbled, and pushed past the doctor, trying her hardest not to sprint down the hall. It’s too hard to breathe in here. The walls were closing in on her. She needed to get some fresh air before she could tackle the logistics of Jack’s treatment.

But Remy’s feet had other ideas. They carried her at a run once she burst out of the hospital doors and pounded down the sidewalk. Have to get away, a voice whispered. It was all too much. Anita is there, he won’t wake up alone, her conscience reassured her. You did all you could.

When she started to think about turning around, her arm flew up on its own accord to hail a taxi. Only instead of telling the driver to take her back to the hospital, she gave him the address of the village.

“Ortigueira?” the driver asked. It would be a substantial fare.

“Sí,” Remy said, her mouth forming the words while the angel on her shoulder yelled at her to go back to check on Jack.

Home. Remy needed to know if the village would still feel like home after Jack’s accident. Her happy place had been tarnished, and she didn’t know if she could look at it the same way again. Would she ever be able to enter the main house? Would she feel jumpy and haunted as she tried to restore the village, waiting for another roof to cave in on her? The only way to know was to go back. Then, she would know if she had to return to New York with Jack and Anita.

As the taxi wove its way up her driveway, raindrops spattered the windshield. The sky grew overcast and gray, matching Remy’s somber mood. When she paid the driver and got out of the car, Remy waited a beat before turning around to take in the sight of her property.

It felt like it was weeping with the rain. Depressed and wet, the buildings had never looked drabber. Though it was the last place Remy wanted to go, she forced herself to approach the main house. The red door was still open, as if hopeful of her eventual return.

A thump followed by a muffled curse made every hair on Remy’s body stand up. Another trespasser? Doesn’t everyone know that this is my village now? For the time being, at least. Unless she decided to chicken out and flee to New York.

“Who’s there?” Remy demanded. “Being here is a good way to get yourself almost killed.”

“Remy?” The voice came from the same room as the accident. The last room in the world that Remy wanted to go investigate.

“Sebastian? What are you doing here?”

“I thought you would be at the hospital, Señora. I wanted to finish before you saw…” Sebastian’s voice grew louder as Remy approached the room. She rounded the corner to see a very dirty real estate agent, clutching a dripping mop.

He looked from Remy to a sudsy bucket and back to her face. His cheeks flushed red, and he explained, “You should not have had to clean this up. I did not want you to return to this horrible…” He couldn’t think of the right words to describe the immense pool of blood that had been left behind and tracked through the house on the EMT workers’ shoes. Remy vaguely remembered what it had looked like—a scene from a cheesy horror movie, with an overly enthusiastic director who loved fake blood. Only it hadn’t been cheesy, and you couldn’t fake the vomit-inducing metallic smell of the real thing.

“I can’t believe you did this for me, Sebastian.” Remy could only imagine how much of an ordeal it was for her friend. It was probably a bigger job than he had anticipated. Most of the blood had already been cleaned up, save for a few shoe prints in the corner that were Remy’s own.

“I was thinking you were at the hospital this morning. Is Jack awake?”

“He’s out of the woods for now. A pretty bad concussion and broken leg, as well as a broken ankle, but he’s getting better. No long-term damage.”

Sebastian’s face broke into a grin. “That is wonderful news! Did he speak to you? Did he say what happened?”

Shifting her weight back and forth on the balls of her feet while she hesitated, Remy finally answered. “No, not yet. He was asleep when I left. But the doctors told me he had woken up and would be okay.”

“Ah.” Sebastian looked confused, but too polite to pry further. Remy could tell he was wondering what she was doing back at the village. “I can drive you back to the hospital,” he offered. “I am almost done in here.”

“My friend from New York flew in overnight. She is with Jack at the hospital now. He isn’t alone or anything,” Remy rushed to explain.

Sebastian held up a hand. “No need. I am just a phone call away if you decide that you need anything else.”

“You’ve already done so much,” she assured him. “Really, it was more than I could have asked for. Thank you for thinking of this.” She gestured to the damp floor. “I honestly don’t know what I would have done about it on my own.”

Now that the visceral reminder of the accident had disappeared, it didn’t seem as terrifying being in the main house as she would have thought.

Already Remy could feel her memories restructuring themselves in order to protect her from the pain. It had been the same with her miscarriages. A blur of blood, pain, cramping, and screaming as that potential little life met an undignified end in the bathroom. The details always became hazier as time went on, until months later she would decide that she should risk it all again because what if this time it works out? And in trying again, she would block out everything that had traumatized her the previous times.

So out of habit, she didn’t try to fight the numbing calm as it took over. She embraced the comfort that it gave her and accepted that the worst was over. Remy recalled an article she read about how the best time to travel was immediately after a terrorist attack. Cities and airports were the safest then, because citizens were on such high alert. The worst time to get on a plane was when everyone was lulled into a false sense of security. Remy’s security had been stripped from her, but the debt had been paid. Whatever karmic balance she owed, it would be quite a while before anything bad like that happened again. The village would be safe for a while, at least, if it adhered to this bizarre logic. Evidence to the contrary screamed at her, but the longer she spent in the village, the quieter the screams became, until they were just little whispers in her mind.

Sebastian peered at her, witnessing the change that dropped over Remy’s face. “Do you still want to stay here?” he asked, point blank. “My wife has offered the spare room in our house—”

The words left her mouth of their own accord. “Yes. I will stay in the cottage, though. This house isn’t safe yet, as we all now know.” Her heart spoke, overruling the last of the fear and apprehension in her brain. I don’t belong anywhere else.

“Are you sure that you will not be frightened? And it is a long way from the hospital.”

“It won’t be an issue,” she said, refusing to explain further. “I’ll meet you back outside. I have some of the camping gear you loaned me.” Giving the room one last cursory glance, almost disinterested now, Remy exited the house.

The pile of supplies was exactly where she had left it while packing the day before. She had dropped the camping gear right beside the wheelbarrow due to her crisis en-route to the cottage. It was soaking wet from the rain. Thankfully, the tent had been on top, and had deflected much of the water from the gear underneath. Remy took it up onto the sheltered front porch and shook out the light canvas. While organizing the stack, Remy realized that she had left some very important books that were not waterproof on the ground.

“Shit!” Looking closer, she was relieved to find that they were only a little damp and the pages were slightly wrinkled, so she set them standing up to air out. The historical scrapbook one, however, looked like it had received the brunt of the damage. Remy groaned, wondering how much trouble she was going to get in with the cranky librarian when she tried to return it. Somehow, she didn’t think that “My ex-husband almost died” was going to fly as an excuse with him.

Cautious fingers turned the pages, and a few of the letters peeled off. Some of the ink ran, but most of the book was still legible. Or it would be, if I could read Spanish.

Sebastian joined her out on the porch, mop and bucket in hand. “You are sure you want me to take this back?” he asked, gesturing at the soggy pile. “You can borrow the tent for as long as you need. I think it would be better.”

“No, staying in the cottage will give me the incentive to fix it up faster,” Remy said. And distract me from Jack, but she didn’t say that out loud. Anything to avoid going back to the hospital for a while. It used to be that she would paint to distract herself, and let the hours and days pass in the blink of an eye. Now, she needed a different way to become immersed in a reality other than this one, and translating a Spanish architecture book and pounding nails might be her only way to do it.

She held up her books to Sebastian. “I’ve got everything I need right here,” she said. “If I have any translation questions, though, I’ll call you,” she promised.

Sebastian’s eyes skimmed the titles. “I don’t mean to offend, but I do not believe that a book about the Camino de Santiago is going to help you rebuild your cottage.”

“Aren’t you the one who told me that the miracles in the village are tied to the Camino?” Remy reminded him. “I’m going to need some miracle help to fix up my cottage, and the rest of the buildings.”

“But the accident…I do not think that was a miracle from the village.” Sebastian shuddered. “After all of this, maybe I was wrong about this place.”

“I’ll hire a crew for the structural stuff,” Remy conceded. “But statistically, there shouldn’t be another accident like that.” Sebastian didn’t argue with her but looked skeptical. “If you’ll excuse me, I really need to organize some stuff. You know, before I have to go back to the hospital to see Jack,” Remy lied, but Sebastian nodded in understanding.

“Do you want me to wait while you pack your bag?” he asked. “Then you won’t have to drive your moped in the rain.”

“Ah, no. Really, it’s okay. I need to call Anita and see what she wants me to bring back for her, too. I might be a while.” Just leave, she thought. She had done a good job of blocking the memories out, and Sebastian insisted on reminding her all over again. She didn’t want to keep up the ruse of handling it all like an adult. Her growing irritation toward him was unfair, but impossible to stop. Forcing a small smile to her lips, she said, “Thank you again for cleaning up. It was very kind of you. You’ve done too much to help already.”

The urgent need for Sebastian to leave began to overwhelm her, and she basically pushed him to his car with arms full of wet camping gear. “I’ll call you later,” she promised, “with an update about Jack.”

Once Sebastian left, the rain immediately stopped. Remy breathed in the smell of damp earth and stared up at the clouds, transfixed at their movement as the wind picked up and carried them away. The sun broke through suddenly, blinding Remy with a flash. “Ouch!” Broken from her trance, Remy squeezed her eyelids shut and felt the sting of salty tears on her cheeks. Rubbing her eyes to clear the spots that kaleidoscoped across her vision, Remy waited for the pain to dissipate.

When she was able to see again, she looked across her village to see, of all things, a horse and rider plodding along through town square.

“Hey!” she yelled from the driveway. The rider didn’t appear to hear her at all, so she started speed-walking in his direction. “I said hey!”

Though the rider didn’t react, the horse clearly heard her shouts. The plodding hooves started dancing and its ears flattened to its head. The rider grabbed onto the reins and spun the animal around.

“Bieito?” Remy asked. That caused the rider to snap to attention.

“Hello? Do I know you?” he called.

Remy jogged closer so that he could clearly see her face. “Remy!” he said, and a joyful smile broke out on his features.

“What are you doing?” she asked, confused.

“Taking Blanco back to the barn,” Bieito said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“My barn?”

“I do not understand what you mean,” he said politely. “But I have been searching for you on the beach these past days. I have been hoping to see you again. You left rather suddenly during our first encounter. And now you are here! Right in my family’s village. I am very glad you have found me.”

Remy felt a little flutter in her chest when she heard that Bieito had been searching for her, but as he continued talking, she felt her heart sink. He was a nice man, but obviously confused. Just my luck, I always crush on the crazy ones. Regardless, she could not let this unstable man stable a horse in her ramshackle barn. After what happened to Jack, Remy wasn’t going to let anyone wander around her property.

“Where did you get that horse, Bieito?”

“He is mine. I raised him from a foal, when his mother rejected him. I ride him to the port when my father does not need him on our little farm. Would you like to say hello? I will make the introductions.” In one fluid movement, Bieito dismounted. Running his hands along the horse’s velvet nose, Bieito whispered into the animal’s ear.

“Really, I think you’d better get him home—oh!” The horse bowed his head low in Remy’s direction, making a graceful curtsy to the ground. Then with a snort, the horse tossed his head high and trotted off down the hill.

“Your horse is running away!”

“Señora Remy, do not worry. He is just following your instructions. You told him to go home!” Bieito gave her a teasing wink and offered his hand to her. Remy held it out, surprised when Bieito bowed much like his horse had, and his lips grazed the back of her hand. “I might have told him to leave us alone,” he confessed. “Have you been thinking of me as often as I have thought of you? You are a hard woman to find.”

Don’t get flustered, Remy told herself. Stay on track. Find out where this guy actually lives. “I haven’t been down to the beach of late, unfortunately. I’ve been busy with…out of town visitors.”

“More Americans?” Bieito asked excitedly. “I told my brother and father that I had met an American painter on the beach. They had heard of no such woman, though, and teased me mercilessly for my fantasy. Just wait until they meet you!”

“And when can I expect to meet your family?” Remy asked, getting caught up in his enthusiasm despite herself. Bieito had a way about him that made everything else in the world fall away. Nothing seemed as important, and Remy found it harder and harder to question the logistics or reality of her situation the longer she was in his presence.

Talking to him made her want to throw caution to the wind and not over-analyze, so she found herself playing along that this was his home, rather than her own. Remy became lost in his face as he grinned and chatted, and the main square became a blur as they walked. He took her elbow and guided her over the ruts in the street, flattering Remy with his gentlemanly attentions. He was just as courteous to her as he had been on the beach, and Remy no longer questioned if he talked to her out of politeness rather than interest. His delight at running into her seemed genuine, and that in and of itself gave Remy a boost of confidence.

When he halted in front of the cottage, Remy squeezed her eyes shut. No, no, no, she thought, internally screaming. When she regained feeling in her diaphragm to gasp for air, she said, “What? How?”

“Are you feeling all right, Remy?” Bieito asked, brow furrowed. “It is nothing special. Just my home.”

Am I on drugs? she wondered. “Pinch me,” she ordered Bieito.

“I could do no such thing!”

Much to Bieito’s dismay, Remy pinched herself, hard. Hard enough to leave half-moons of red blood on the back of her hand. “Are you feeling faint? Come inside and sit down. You are very pale.”

I’ll bet, Remy thought, and allowed herself to be led inside without protest. The cozy cottage looked almost exactly how Remy planned to renovate it. The biggest deviation from Remy’s open concept design was the fact that this version of the cottage was divided into three small, but tidy, spaces. It was simple but functional, with all of the old-world charm she could have hoped for. With the rustic exposed beams, the antique wood-burning stove, and the farmer’s sink underneath the window, it looked like a page straight out of a Homes and Gardens magazine. Farmer chic. The kitchen had a thick wood table situated right in front of the fireplace. A door opened up to one of the bedrooms off to the side, which housed two twin beds and a wardrobe.

“It is not much, but it is home,” Bieito said, as he watched Remy take it all in.

“This is your home? You live here?” Remy whispered, hardly daring to speak aloud. As if by startling the cottage, she could make it all disappear. “How long?”

“I’ve always lived here,” Bieito said. “My father and brother should be home soon. Would you stay for dinner?” Bieito’s eyes pleaded with her to say yes.

“All right,” Remy agreed, silencing the part of her that told her to run. Her cottage didn’t—couldn’t—look like this in real life. But if Bieito was actually the sane one, what did that make her? Not ready to face that possibility, Remy decided that staying for a hot meal was better than questioning her mental state. Plus, she could get some great ideas on how to restore the cottage. Her version of the cottage? Bieito’s cottage? She didn’t know.

When Bieito motioned for her to sit and poured her a glass of wine to “restore her color” as he delicately put it, Remy gulped it down without tasting it. As the wine tingled in her stomach and through her limbs, Remy relaxed into the moment.

Wait a minute. Remy sniffed her glass and did a double take at the bottle Bieito had poured from. It couldn’t be, could it? Tilting the glass up to her lips again, she swallowed the last drop, and the flavor exploded on her tongue. My mystery bottle!

“Bieito, where on earth did you buy this? I’ve been searching for it for weeks! What is the brand name?”

“Name?” Bieito shrugged. “It is local wine from the vineyard. Last year’s harvest.”

“It is incredible.” Sticking her nose in, she inhaled deeply. “Truly amazing.”

Bieito chuckled and handed Remy the bottle. “I was nervous to cook for you, but since you are so excitable about our wine, I do not think I need to worry about our simple fare.”

“You’d better cook a lot if your food is as good as this wine,” Remy said, pouring herself another glass and savoring it this time. After tasting it again, she recalled drinking all those other wines during her quest for this one. Not even the most expensive bottles had come close. “I need to stock up on this.” Try as she might to pace herself, Remy found herself staring at the bottom of her empty glass yet again and reached to pour a third. It was addicting, and she couldn’t help it. Don’t look like a lush in front of Bieito, she reminded herself. But her host didn’t seem to mind or comment as she sipped and watched him work.

As Bieito moved around the kitchen with ease, Remy wondered if all Spanish men knew how to cook, or if it was just because there wasn’t a female presence in the house. “What are you making?” Remy asked, face glowing and warm.

“A surprise for you,” he said, giving her a grin. “I like watching you enjoy yourself. You seem much more content than during our first meeting. Relaxed. You have settled into life in Galicia, then?”

Through her slight intoxication, Remy tried to remember what she had been so stressed about. Jack. I was upset about my ex-husband. But instead of remembering Jack’s accident, Remy could only focus on those memories of her and Bieito at the beach. Drawing in the sand, watching the sun go down, feeling the waves lap against her feet…There is no reason to be tense. Being here, totally comfortable in Bieito’s home, was the only thing that mattered at the moment.

“All of my worries are so far away,” Remy answered honestly, and tried not to slur. Her eyelids felt heavy as she watched Bieito light the wood stove. Such a simple life, so full of content. This was what was important, not whatever was happening out in the real world. “Galicia is a happy place.”

“For the moment,” Bieito said, and opened his mouth to continue, but the front door slammed open.

A straight-haired, younger version of Bieito walked in, taking long strides and shouting back over his shoulder at a barrel-chested, graying man who followed behind him. They appeared to be mid-argument, talking so fast that Remy couldn’t follow. Both were gesturing wildly with their arms, the younger man holding a loaf of fresh bread that looked dangerously close to being thrown across the room.

Then she saw that they were both smiling, and what she mistook for anger was actually good-natured bantering. Without glancing in Remy’s direction, the pair clapped Bieito on the back and started unloading their rucksacks.

“It was about time you two came home. I thought you had gotten lost on the way. Not that I would have minded if you had,” Bieito said, and began pulling fresh produce out of the old man’s bag.

“What’s that now?” the old man demanded.

“Turn around, Father.”

Remy shifted in her seat and sat up a little straighter. “Hello,” she said.

The old man’s eyes widened, and he hit Bieito on the shoulder. “A special guest?” he asked.

“Father, meet Remy. Remy, meet my father, Afonso, and my brother, Lino.”

Both men were starting at her with naked appraisal, until Lino remembered his manners when Bieito nudged him. Remy stood as the young man approached, and he leaned over and kissed both her cheeks. “A pleasure,” he said. “You are the American that has captivated my brother so.”

Remy laughed. “I’m not sure ‘captivated’ is the right word. I think rather ‘stunned’ or ‘confused’ might be more appropriate. Either way, it is nice to meet you. Bieito has spoken very fondly of you and your father.”

“When did you arrive in our village?” Lino asked with rapt attention. He gazed at Remy as though he didn’t believe she was real.

“I came to Spain about a month ago.”

“We thought that Bieito was telling tales when he came back from the beach,” Bieito’s father confessed.

“You thought I made up a fantasy girl because I didn’t want to go to the wedding with Isabella!” Bieito interjected.

Lino shook his head at his brother. “You’ve spun crazier stories before.”

“I did see that smoking ship out in the bay!”

“Yes, yes, and it was the size of the entire village. And it had no sails. And it was as high as the cliffs. We’ve heard it before.”

A cruise ship? Remy thought. Why don’t they believe Bieito saw a cruise ship? Are they that rare in the bay? They must get big shipments into the port all the time.

By the time Remy opened her mouth to speak, the conversation had moved on. “You are staying for the wedding, yes?” Afonso asked.

“What wedding?”

“My wedding!” Lino said, blushing with pride.

Bieito laughed. “He finally convinced María to marry him. After asking, and asking, and asking again.”

“I would have proposed a hundred times to win her over. She is the most beautiful woman in the world, the light of my life. I would not go on living without her.”

“Always the romantic one in the family,” their father said. “A wedding brings such joy and celebration. My wife and I had hoped for years that Bieito would marry, and never thought that Lino would be first, but…” He shrugged, and a flicker of sadness passed over his face. “I will live to see one of my boys marry and find happiness. That is more than I could ask for.”

Remy turned to Bieito and was surprised to find that he wouldn’t meet her eyes. He appeared deep in thought, staring at the kitchen counter as he continued chopping vegetables. “An eternal bachelor, then?” she asked.

But it was Lino who answered, “Only because his face frightens women!” That earned him a slap on the side of his head from his father. Still, he possessed a boyish enthusiasm that would not be snuffed out. “Remy, you must come to the wedding. Bieito will escort you.”

“Oh, I don’t know—”

“I will talk to María, and she will insist that you come. You cannot refuse the bride!”

Remy was torn. She had just met these people, and already they were inviting her to attend such an intimate event. She didn’t know if Bieito even wanted her there, much less as his date. It would be completely understandable if he refused such a pathetic attempt at a set up. Hesitating, she waited for Bieito to jump in one way or another and let her gracefully accept or decline. “Well,” she said, stalling. “That would be quite the honor. Tell me about your beautiful wife-to-be.”

Lino launched into his tale of the woman who captured his heart down in Ortigueira, and how he couldn’t wait to move her into the village so they could finally live together. He was apparently hard at work saving enough money for them to build their own little cottage next door.

“All three of you work as fishermen in the port, right?”

“I have been a fisherman for forty years,” the father said, pounding his finger into his chest. “And I will one day die a fisherman, for the sea has half my soul. My late wife Catarina, God rest her, has the other half.”

“And you say I’m the romantic one!” Lino said. “The obsession with the sea, you and Bieito both. I prefer to take my opportunities and set down roots on land.”

“Bah! There is salt water in your veins. Less than your brother, maybe, but it is there all the same.”

“I haven’t been down to the port yet,” Remy said, interrupting their blossoming argument. “I was planning to drive down soon.” And stalk Bieito, but whatever. “It seems like such a fascinating cultural piece of Ortigueira.”

“Por favor, no Señora. It is no place for a lady. There are many rough men and it is very unsafe,” Lino said. “There are many travelers that come through looking for work. It is also a good place for people to disappear. Not like our village, where everyone looks out for their neighbors. It would be wiser to stay here instead.”

Remy scoffed. “It can’t be that bad. I can take care of myself.”

“Now is not a good time, Remy,” Bieito said quietly. “There is talk among the men, of discontent—”

“As there should be!” Lino said. “The idea that proud Galicians should be ruled by—”

“That’s enough!” Afonso silenced his sons in one sharp phrase. “There will be no talk of such things in this house. You know it is dangerous to even think of the changes that they want to bring about. I will not have my children involved in it. You will work hard, settle down, and live happy lives. Or I will stay alive forever to ensure it,” he threatened.

“Yes, Father.”

“Sorry, Father.”

What the hell was that about? Remy wondered. She made a mental note to ask Bieito more about it later. She had to know whatever it was that struck such fear into this grizzled old man’s heart.

“Supper is ready,” Bieito said, serving up heaping mounds of steaming rice onto chipped ceramic dishes. To each plate, he added a seasoned whole fish and steamed green vegetables. Remy scooted her chair back to rise and help him, but Lino gestured for her to stay put. He took the plates from Bieito and brought them over to the table while Remy tried to get over the head rush that standing up had induced. No more wine for me, she thought.

Unfortunately, the boys’ father had taken it upon himself to pour them all a generous amount of wine from an additional bottle that seemed to appear out of nowhere. Well, I can’t be rude, Remy thought, and giggled out loud.

Who were these people, this entire family, who said they lived in her village? She sat among them as she would any neighbors, eating and drinking, and speaking Spanish of all things, though she wasn’t quite sure about that last part. She wasn’t sure how it all worked and how she was communicating with them, but she just relaxed and let it happen. I should be more concerned, more worried about…something? Questioning the logistics of it all? It was impossible to remember.

It felt like she belonged here, with these men, sharing their supper. There was no time or place outside the little cottage. The welcoming spirit inside this dwelling was strong.

It was unclear how long they all sat around the table, eating and drinking and laughing. Once the sun went down, Bieito lit a merry fire in the fireplace and they all continued where they had left off. Nobody seemed in any hurry to end the evening and go to bed, least of all Remy herself. Empty dishes were left on the table and there was no discussion about work the next day. Everyone was simply content to live in the moment and make it last as long as possible.

The flickering firelight wrapped around Remy like a hug, and her eyelids grew heavy. Just before she began to drift off, she wondered if there would ever be a time when she actually slept in a bed again. The only sleep I’ve gotten in the past few days has been in a chair, she realized. But why is that, again? Her brain was turning itself off, and she couldn’t outrun the alcohol. Sleep washed over her, and the last thing she heard was Bieito’s rumbling voice asking her a question, but it was too late.