Slipping out the side door, I impulsively decide to visit Tomás. I still haven't given him Rosanna's book I've been carrying around in my backpack ever since Devon turned it over. The moment seemed never right, but tonight might be a good opportunity. Besides, given the state of his marriage, Shauna might actually be relieved to have some company.

I give the soldier Tomás's address and after a couple of wrong turns, the Jeep ends up in front of his house. For a moment, I lean back in the seat, studying the small two-story structure and the little garden that is partially lit by the headlights of the car. Behind the windows is absolute darkness. Maybe they aren't even home.

Nevertheless, I decide to try my luck and get out of the Jeep. "Esperas aquí."

In response to my request to wait, the young soldier pulls out a pack of cigarettes. Judging from the bored expression on his face, he didn't have any other plans tonight. At least I'm not keeping him from his family.

Reaching Tomás's front door, I hesitate before mustering up enough courage to knock. Silence. I knock again and prick my ears, but there's no sound behind the door. My shoulders slump. No one is home.

I'm about to return to the Jeep when I notice a dim light illuminating the tree behind the house. It's right outside Tomás's study, so he must be there. My knocks turn into bangs. Rosanna's book burns a hole in my backpack and I'm suddenly eager to get rid of it.

After what seems an eternity, the door is torn open. "Dios mío—" The rest of the words are stuck in Tomás's throat. "Stacy, is everything all right?"

"Here, I brought you something." I hold up the little book. "Merry Christmas."

With puckered brows, he regards me calmly. "Where did you get it?"

My smile is crooked. The slight hostility in his voice has caught me off guard. "Where do you think? Pearson gave it to me."

Tomás's eyes narrow. "And why would he do that? What did you promise him?"

His gaze cuts into me in such a way that I'm paralyzed once again with fear. My lips move, but no sound other than hot air escapes. This is not going according to plan. He was supposed to be happy.

He taps his foot while he waits for an answer.

"He owed me a favor." I finally breathe. "The day Miguel died, Pearson came to the compound with the boys to get a few laptops. Miguel wanted to turn them into soldiers, but I convinced him not to." It's only partially true, but since my husband is dead, he cannot contradict my statement.

"And why would you call in a favor for me? You don't owe me anything."

This time, I think on my feet. "Oh yes, I do. You covered for me with Emilien." I push the book against his chest. "This is my way of repaying you. Now we are even. Just take it."

He continues to stare at me with his head tilted, his eyes searching. It takes all my effort to stand still, although I want to twist like a worm. Pushing my thumbnail into the side of my finger seems the only safe thing to do to keep my nerves in check.

Finally, he smiles. "Why, thank you." He opens the door wider. "Do you want to come in?"

A little doll in the hallway comes into focus. "Is it okay with Shauna? It's late and I don't want to wake up the baby."

"It's fine. They aren't home. My sister is having a little Christmas get-together since her older kids are visiting from Ecuador. Shauna took Aoife Maria for a sleepover with her cousins."

"And you didn't want to go?"

"I'm not really in a festive mood this year."

"Well."

I'm still pondering whether to decline his offer to come in when he makes the decision for me. Spinning on his heel, he heads toward the study. Unless I want to toss the book after him, I have no choice but to follow. With my heel, I push the door closed and force myself to tiptoe forward. Without Shauna in the house, the situation feels awkward, like we are sneaking around behind her back.

The study has been tidied up, a fire crackling in the fireplace. Papers are scattered on the desk with Tomás's laptop open. He must've been working when I interrupted him. My gaze shifts to the violin resting on a stand by the door. I run my fingers over the smooth, polished wood. It looks well-kept and very old.

"It's beautiful."

"Yeah, it cost me a bundle."

I remember the day he played with the street musicians in Colombia. "You are very talented, so it was probably a good investment."

"That type of talent doesn't get you far in Malaguay."

I turn my head to look at him. "But that never made you give up on your music."

"Sometimes, I enjoy playing. It's relaxing."

I wish he would play for me, but he seems frozen in place. A rare sadness in his eyes draws me in, as if his stare is holding me hostage. The thought of looking away is painful. Like a puppet drawn by a string, I walk over to the desk and place the little book on top. My fingers trace the patterns in the leather in an attempt to focus on something else, wondering how often Rosanna had done the same.

"You would've liked her. She was a lot like you."

A smile tugs at the corners of my lips, my gaze still glued to the book. I'm afraid if I look at him, my feelings will betray me. The longing for his lips on mine is overwhelming, even though I have no doubt that he is even more poisonous than Miguel. Maybe it's this exact danger that draws me to him, or the few times where I caught a glimpse of his shattered soul. Whatever it is, his paradoxical personality is fascinating. It's as if there's something deeply broken inside him I want to fix.

I finally raise my head and meet his eyes. "Did you love her?"

"I believe that's obvious." A shadow crosses his handsome face. "She was my Achilles's heel, the one thing in my life that made me weak."

I click my tongue. "Love is not a weakness, Tomás, but a strength."

"Well, I disagree."

With our eyes locked, we stare at each other. Neither of us moves. I know I should go, but my legs are not under my command. A mix of emotions beats down on me—I want to run just as much as I want to hold him in my arms.

He is the one who finally pulls me toward him and wraps me in a tight embrace. When his lips brush my forehead, I tilt my head back, my heart beating so hard that I'm sure he can feel it under his fingertips. A spark from the fireplace would light the tension in the air.

He runs his thumb along my jawline. His lips edge closer and his warm breath fans my face. When he leans in, I turn my head at the last second. His mouth lands on the side of my cheek.

"I can't do this. Not with Shauna in the picture."

He frowns. "Shauna?"

"She's your wife, Tomás. You have a child together."

The air slowly escapes through tight lips. He drops his arms. "That was an arranged marriage, Stacy. Shauna and I hate each other's guts. There's nothing we have in common whatsoever."

"If that's the case, you have to let her go. I know she misses her family, and Aoife Maria will be better off being raised in a country without war and where she doesn't have to witness how her father yells at her mother all the time." I try to recapture his gaze, but his focus is on Rosanna's book on the desk. What is going through his head?

"Okay, I'll think about it." With a quick sidestep, he is out of my reach. "It's getting late and you should go home." His body language is stiff, his voice filled with coldness.

I close my eyes, kicking myself for missing the opportunity to get closer to him. "That might be for the best." When he stays frozen in place, I add, "I can see myself out."

At the door, I glance at him, but he's not paying attention to me. His fingers trace the engraving on Rosanna's book, the way mine did earlier. I can't see his face, but I doubt it would give anything away.

I'm about to pull the front door closed behind me when music fills the empty space. It's a soft violin tune resonating in my soul. The melancholic strains flood my body like a bitter medicine. I hold my breath, crouching to the ground. With my back against the wall, I indulge in the painful but soothing melody; it's beautiful and stirs the longing in my heart.

Tears are in my eyes before I know it and silently fall as Tomás coaxes the most tender timbres from the strings of the instrument. Like a thief, I soak up the harmonious sounds before I quietly steal myself away, knowing that his song was never meant for me but for the woman who will hold his heart for eternity.

~~~~

© Sal Mason 2016

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