Meet Me in Barcelona (4 page)

Grace headed down the alley and took a right under an arched walkway. From there it was a short stroll down a second cobblestone alley to the entrance of their apartment building. Grace was thrilled with the location and the accommodations. Knowing how cheap the veterinarian group could be, she and Jake had been expecting a low-budget hotel, or even a hostel. So they were completely surprised that it was a furnished two-bedroom, two-bath apartment. A full-time tenant of the building had greeted them upon arrival with the key and basic instructions. When Grace walked into the lobby now, she found him sitting at the same desk as when they had arrived. It seemed he was the doorman. Who didn't open any doors.

Grace gave him a smile, but his expression remained neutral. He was a short man in his early thirties, not much older than Grace and Jake. He had beautifully tanned skin and spikey black hair. His eyebrows were bushy, and his teeth crooked. He was half-beauty, half-beast.

“Hola,”
Grace said with a smile. She wanted to ask him about the deranged stilt walker, and she was curious about who owned the apartment they were staying in, but the extent of her Spanish was saying “Hello” morning, noon, and night, and asking directions to restrooms, train stations, and libraries.

He openly stared at her. Just like the street performer. It was just cultural. She was a foreign object.
“Bona tarda,”
he said finally. God, everything about Spain was just so lazy and sexy. She loved it. She smiled and felt his eyes on her until she disappeared up the winding stairwell behind him. She opened the door quietly in case Jake was asleep. Instead, she found him pacing the living room, cell phone jammed in his ear. She couldn't catch what he was saying. He turned, saw her, and shoved the phone in his pocket.

“Hey,” he said, wrapping her in a hug. “I missed you.”

“I was only gone an hour.”

He kissed her. “A lifetime,” he said.

She flopped on the oversized sofa. The television was on in the background, tuned to the local news. She resisted the urge to lecture. They were in Spain and once again he was watching TV. But with all the other problems in Grace's life right now, she certainly didn't want to start a fight with Jake. Besides, at least it was foreign TV. It was always fascinating to watch the news in other countries. There was a beautiful female anchor in a red dress, and a handsome male co-anchor in a gray suit. They were smiling, so it must be the two-minute happy-news section of the program. The lull before the storm. That was the common denominator about news; it was usually bad.

“Who was that?” Grace asked. She propped her feet up on the coffee table. Jake took the seat next to the sofa, lifted her legs, and planted them in his lap.

“Dan,” he said. She was surprised. Dan had assured them he wouldn't be constantly calling Jake while he was on vacation. Grace could tell from the look on Jake's face that it wasn't good news.

“What's wrong? Is it Stella?”

“Stella's fine. At least I assume she is. I didn't even talk to Dan. I was just leaving him a message.”

“You called him?”

“I tried.”

“Why?”

Jake sighed, patted Grace's leg. “Do you mind if I don't want to bring this up right now?”

“Is there a surgery scheduled today that you're worried about?” Jake and Dan were both skilled in emergency surgery, and it kept them both on their toes. But Jake could hardly help from here.

“No, it's nothing like that.” Grace pulled her legs in and sat up straight. Jake was not the type to beat around the bush. “How was your adventure?” He was making an effort to sound upbeat.

“I drank Malbec in the middle of the street.”

“Yes.” He smiled and held out his fist. She bumped it.

“And was stalked by a shaggy mime on stilts. Or a deranged Wolverine-eagle.”

“Wolverine-eagle?” Jake perked up. Men.

“I wasn't really sure who he was supposed to be.”

“When in Spain.” He tried to smile; it didn't reach his eyes. Jake was such a handsome guy. He had ash-blond hair—but it was dark, like sand when you finally dig to the bottom—and big hazel eyes, and obnoxiously long eyelashes. His face was strong and suited his six-foot frame. She intimately knew all of his looks. He was definitely worried about something.

“Tell me,” Grace said.

Jake sighed, ran his hands through his hair. “I'm sure it's nothing. I really don't want to alarm you.”

“Oh God. You just alarmed me.” Was there another criticism about her in
Country Weekly
? Jake was almost more upset by that review than she was. She loved how protective he could be of her.

Jake strode over to a small desk against the wall, where his laptop was set up. “I shouldn't have read my e-mail.”

Grace couldn't sit still. She approached his laptop. “You were supposed to be reading your novel.”

“I know. I know.” Jake gestured to his screen. His e-mail was open. “It's from Dan. Read it.”

Grace leaned in as Jake enlarged the message.

“Surprise ambush?” Grace said.

“I knew there was something funny about that raffle. Didn't I say it? Didn't I say I couldn't believe those cheap bastards paid for a trip?”

“You did. Verbatim.”
And I couldn't believe Dan would be so generous,
Grace thought. There was no use throwing that in Jake's face right now.

“A surprise wedding. Can you believe it?”

It was hard to believe. Was this part of some elaborate proposal Jake was planning? Just last month, when they were at the mall, he had stopped at the window of a jewelry store. “Would you say you're more of a gold or a platinum girl?” he'd asked her.

“Are we talking records?” she teased. “Definitely platinum.”

He had laughed, and that was all that was said on that matter. Did he bring her here to marry him? In Spain? Grace felt a rush of excitement.

“Why are you smiling?” Jake said. He seemed so serious. If this was a surprise engagement, he was doing a good job of hiding it.

Yes, she thought. I'll marry you. Maybe outdoors? At Park Güell? She'd seen pictures, and it was gorgeous. Or the beach? Or in the middle of La Rambla? Could they get permission to get married at Sagrada Família? Probably not. They weren't even Catholic. And even if that didn't matter, the famous unfinished cathedral would probably cost them a fortune. Heck, just about anywhere in Barcelona would be special.

They could get married in front of a gelato shop for all Grace cared. They could get married on stilts. Stick their betrothed heads up from dinner tables and collect money for the honeymoon. This was kind of like the honeymoon already. Situate themselves near tango dancers so they could double as the entertainment. Grace could even put fake snakes in her hair or wear a dress made out of recycled bottles. Something to really remember the day. Would she change her name? Maybe Grace Sawyer wasn't country but Grace Hart was. It would be a brand-new start.

Would she get a wedding dress here? Wait. Would her mother be well enough to fly out here? Maybe a wedding would give her a burst of energy. Grace couldn't imagine getting married without her parents. “A surprise wedding,” Grace said. “Very exciting.”

“It doesn't make any sense. Who do you think it is?”

“I don't have a clue.” She hoped Dan would bring Stella. She could be the little ring bearer. Shoot up the aisle on her skateboard.

Jake opened his arms. “Is it wrong that I'm annoyed with this?”

“Oh,” Grace said. Jake wasn't
that
good of an actor. Thoughts of her surprise Spanish wedding evaporated. “What did you say in your message?”

“I just told him to call me back ASAP.”

“What time is it in the US?”

“I have no idea. I didn't even think before I called. It just—kind of freaked me out, you know?”

“Maybe it's a client.”

“You think?”

“Some woman at work who is madly in love with you?” Grace said.

“And so they invite me and my girlfriend to Spain?”

“Good point. Still—could be someone from work. Someone grateful that you saved Fido—”

Jake laughed, and Grace was relieved to hear it. She always referred to every dog he worked with as Fido and every cat Fluffy. She loved that he still laughed at it after all this time. See? In life, it was the little things.

“I can't think of any clients who are engaged,” Jake said.

“Maybe it's a canine wedding. That would be hilarious. Know any betrothed poodles?”

Jake wrapped his arms around her. Kissed the top of her head. “No, I don't know any betrothed poodles. Just a couple of lovesick beagles.” They both laughed. They kissed again before Jake moved away. He was so good to her. He loved her. And boy, did she love him. She trusted him more than any man she'd ever met. She couldn't marry him when he didn't know the truth about her childhood. And maybe he wasn't going to ask her in Spain, but they would get married someday. She should get a jump on things by opening up to him. She should tell him about Carrie Ann. She should have told him a long time ago. She wasn't sure why she hadn't. Of course she didn't want to be judged. She didn't want to be pitied either. Not that Jake would judge or pity her. What was it then? Maybe the part of her that still wanted to keep Carrie Ann to herself. And of course, there was the shame. Shame had a way of silencing people. She would definitely tell him about Carrie Ann during this trip. But not this very minute. He was way too distracted. He went to the window, parted the curtain, and glanced out, as if he might be able to spot whoever summoned them here. “Besides—even if someone I know is engaged,” Jake continued, “why would he or she pay all our expenses?”

Because they know we're broke?
Grace's only paying job was bartending, and, even though Jake and Dan were doing well, most of the money went back into keeping their business going. “Maybe they're filthy rich.”

“Well, that eliminates our clients, all family members, and my friends,” Jake said.

“It's definitely weird,” Grace said.

“So—what? We just wait around until we hear from this mysterious couple?” Jake said.

“No,” Grace said. “It's their responsibility to get in touch. This is still our holiday, and I don't want to waste a second of it. Let's just go about it as we initially planned, and wait for the happy couple to reveal themselves. If it's someone we like, we'll go to the wedding.”

“And if it's someone we don't like?”

“We'll disappear. This is Barcelona, baby. Plenty of places to run and hide.” Run and hide. Just like she'd been doing most of her adult life. Just like Marsh Everett thought she was doing with her songs.

Jake rubbed his hands. “So much for our day of doing nothing. I'm energized now.”

“Me too,” Grace said.

Jake took Grace in his arms again. “I think we've no choice,” he said. “Plan B. We're just going to have to go out and do something.”

“Such a heavy burden,” Grace said. “Gaudí, Miró, or Dalí?”

“How about the beach?” Jake said. “I want to see you in your bikini.”

“Can we drink wine on the beach?” Grace said.

After a lifetime of dreaming of tango dancers, and tapenades, and trendy shops, and sexy Spanish men on every corner turning to give her bedroom eyes, here she was, in the thick of it, and unable to enjoy any of it. Instead, Carrie Ann was virtually a prisoner in this flat. She couldn't even dream of doing anything until she saw Grace. She'd been pacing the flat, fanning herself with whatever was handy.

Spain was hot. Sticky hot. Heavy hot. Irritatingly hot. Coming in July was a definite error in judgment. Too late.
You made your bed, girls.
Jody Sawyer used to say that all the time. Was Grace going around saying it now? Carrie Ann hoped not. She would find out soon enough.

At least Rafael had a decent apartment spitting distance to La Rambla. Now that was cool. Not a bad place to disappear, now was it?

She went to the bedroom and changed into her bikini. She wasn't trying to get Rafael all riled up, but it was just too hot to wear anything else. Besides. She had paid dearly for tanning, and Pilates, and said bikini. Why do all that just to cover up? But mostly it was because of the heat. Even her sundresses were too hot. How in the world could they call that swampy thing in the corner an air conditioner? It gurgled so much she was tempted to give it Pepto Bismol. It was probably a joke they played on the American tourists. She hadn't stopped sweating since she had arrived. If she had it to do over she would have picked Rome, or Paris. She'd always imagined herself as a Left Bank kind of girl. Less than a week away from her thirtieth birthday with Grace. What an adventure this was going to be. But had she gone too far?

No. Definitely not. All was fair in love and war, right? Besides, it was going to work. Carrie Ann was going to heal the rift between them if it killed her. Because Grace was family, and surely Grace wanted Carrie Ann back in her life; she was just too stubborn (as usual) to do anything about it. So Carrie Ann was going to step up, and she was going to give Grace a chance to redeem herself. And after that nasty review in
Country Weekly,
she was sure Grace needed redeeming. Nothing was more important in life than the ones you loved. Than family. It was because of Grace that Carrie Ann understood what it even meant to have a family. Even if Jody and Jim hated her, Grace made up for all of that.

“Don't let me down,” she said, softly, aloud. Carrie Ann reached for her purse, took out the worn picture, and stared at it. Two Raggedy Anns and one Andy. Grace, Carrie Ann, and Stan. She and Grace looked pretty much the same. But boy, it was mind-blowing to look at Stan. He had been so unlucky as a kid. All that weight, and the acne, and the braces. Those greasy black bangs hanging in his face. Just one big pile of misery. He was lucky he had made it through that time without being on the evening news for going berserk. Carrie Ann liked to think that he had her to thank for that. She had done a good thing bringing him into the fold. Maybe even saved innocent lives.

But Grace. Oh, how she loved Grace. How long had it been since she'd seen her? (Not counting Facebook or from afar.) Too long. Way, way too long. She was flabbergasted that Grace had never reached out to her. Not once in all these years. Then again, Carrie Ann wouldn't have been easy to find. She never lived anywhere longer than a year. She didn't tweet, or Facebook, or put herself in the limelight. Maybe Grace had looked for her, but couldn't find her. Maybe Carrie Ann hadn't wanted to be found. But it was time. And it was the perfect time.

So it was decided. She would be the bigger person. She would make the first move. And she would do it with her usual flair. How far would she actually take things? Well, that would depend on Grace. But so far, if she did say so herself, she was nailing it.

She slipped the picture back in her purse. What would Carrie Ann do if her plan failed? She had to at least brace herself for the possibility that Grace would turn her back on her. Again. That couldn't happen. It just couldn't.

The front door suddenly swung open, and there stood Rafael in full costume. He slammed the door shut and glided across the floor as he slipped off his feathers. My God, how much did those things weigh? They were huge, black beasts, which looked capable of flight. After partially undressing, he turned and grinned at her with a face concealed under hideous white paint. He was also still wearing the eye mask. He continued to grin and balled his hands into fists. A swooshing sound cut through the air, and then the knives popped out. The silver gleamed as if he had just polished them, and he probably had. The freak.

“Are those real?” Carrie Ann asked. She took a step forward.

“I'll never tell,” Rafael said. He thrust his hands up in the air.

“Weirdo,” Carrie Ann said. More than once she had had second thoughts about involving him. But since it was too late to kick him off the team now, she was certainly glad he was on their side. She imagined he could be pretty scary under the best of circumstances.

Rafael arched his eyebrows and then took off the contraptions. He ambled over to his kitchen counter where he kept his stash and began to roll a joint. He lit it and rested it in the corner of his mouth. The place soon filled with the cloying scent of marijuana. He carried his stilts to a corner of the room, where he deposited them. Then, he threw himself on the sofa. Carrie Ann had just enough time to move her legs before he crushed them. The joint remained sealed between his lips. He reached Carrie Ann's legs and tried to put them over his lap. She pulled away and scooted to her corner of the sofa. He exhaled a gray cloud, and his eyes ran over her body.

“Are we going to the beach?” he said.

“No,” Carrie Ann said.

“Come on. It is right at the end of the street. You are wearing the bikini. I am allowed to take you anywhere. This is Barcelona, baby.”

Allowed to take her. What a misogynist
. He offered her the joint. She shook her head no as she'd done each and every time he tried to get her to take it. Pot made her horny. Horny made her stupid. She was not hooking up with Rafael. “What are you going to do? Lie around all day like a dead fish?” Rafael said.

“Maybe.” And maybe she'd slip out and do some exploring on her own. It had to cool down after dark. She'd always been more of a night owl anyway.

“You did not ask me about my morning work,” Rafael said. “My Zero Zero Seven.”

Double-O-Seven, you moron
. “You're right. I didn't.” Rafael was just too easy to bait, so she couldn't resist doing it.

“She's here.”

So soon? Was he telling the truth? Carrie Ann sat up. It was everything she could do not to leap off the sofa and run down to their room. Grace was here. Just one floor below. Carrie Ann had to breathe. She had to take it slow. An ambush would only backfire. Despite herself, she could feel excitement thrumming in her, just at the thought of seeing Grace again. She needed her. She missed her. “Oh my God. Are you sure?”

“I don't like her,” Rafael said.

Who cares if you like her, you egomaniac?
Although it was an interesting statement. Everybody always liked Grace. Except maybe that guy who had slammed her in
Country Weekly
. Carrie Ann couldn't figure out what had possessed Grace to post that review on her own Facebook page. Why would you want people reading your bad reviews? Like those people who send annual anti-Christmas-cheer newsletters.
I have cancer. Steven is in rehab and we pray this will be the year he kicks cocaine
.
Happy Holidays, sorry I haven't been in touch since the tornado.
“You weren't supposed to talk to her. Did you talk to her?”

“I did not talk to her. But I was very near her. And she did not come up to take picture or tip me.”

Why would she? You look deranged. Charles Manson would've steered clear of you.
“You're sure it was her?”

Rafael set the joint on the edge of the coffee table and reached into his jeans. How could he wear jeans in this heat? Why didn't he have ashtrays? He pulled his iPhone out of his pocket, scrolled through it, and held the screen out to Carrie Ann. She took the phone and brought the screen in close. And there she was.

Her Grace. She looked just like she did on her Facebook fan page. Her sister. SBC. Sisters By Choice. She could still see the ten-year-old girl in the picture. And the eleven-, twelve-, and thirteen-year-old girl. She could see the two of them, sitting in Grace's tree house, pouring out their secrets in low, hot whispers.
I missed you, Gracie. I missed you so much
. She ran her finger over Grace's face.
My sister. I forgive you. Will you be happy to see me? Have you missed me at all? Will you be sorry when I suddenly disappear? Will you come looking for me?

Rafael held his hand out for his phone.

Carrie Ann kept holding it. “Did she see you taking this?”

“Not even a tiny, tiny chance.”

“She's here,” Carrie Ann repeated. The first hurdle had been cleared. She thought she'd made a mistake recruiting that Dan guy. He had been so paranoid about the whole thing. And she had to be nice or he would've pulled out of it altogether. God, how he had gone on and on.
Why don't you just tell them you won a trip? He'll never believe the vet group is raffling off a trip. What are the odds of winning a trip? What if we're scheduled for surgery on those days? I don't know if I can get a replacement with this short a notice. I don't even know how many vacation days Jake has left.
On and on until Carrie Ann wanted to strangle him. At least she had finally gotten him to do it.
It's a free trip, and I'm practically family,
she had said.

Then why not go through Grace? Or her parents—

Because then Grace might figure it out. Carrie Ann didn't tell him the real reason—that Jody Sawyer had lost her mind. Actually, it was kind of nice to see her. Especially since Jody didn't remember how much she hated her. Carrie Ann didn't stay long enough to talk to Jim. When she realized how sick Jody was, she realized she couldn't drag them into this—not even unknowingly. So Dan was her only other option. But he just wouldn't quit.

A surprise wedding, huh? Does the groom even know?

They were here. Grace and Jake. Carrie Ann felt that familiar tug of jealousy that she felt when she saw all the pictures of the two of them. So in love. Laughing in almost every single picture. Nobody laughed like that all the time—did they? And there was some fat, drooling dog in almost every picture too. Grace was a cat person. Always had been. She'd loved that fat orange cat named Brady like it was her own child. “Our thirtieth in Spain. Just like we always said,” Carrie Ann whispered to the picture. “It's going to be a doozy.”

Rafael's phone rang. Carrie Ann jumped. He snatched it out of her hands, then picked up the joint and took a drag before answering. He spoke in rapid Spanish. When he hung up, he was grinning.

“What?” Carrie Ann said.

“Want to go to the beach?” he said.

“I said no,” Carrie Ann said.

“That was Stefano. He said Grace and her
amigo
are off to the beach.”

“Who is Stefano?”

“
Mi amigo,
he who sits in the lobby.”

“Right.”
He who sits in the lobby
. Who would she be?
She who lies on the sofa?
Rafael:
He who plays with knives
. “He's like the doorman or something?”

“It is the time of summer. When all the young foreign girls to come and stay.” Rafael wiggled his eyebrows. Carrie Ann stood. She raced to the window and glanced out. As usual, La Rambla was a mass of writhing bodies. She couldn't spot Grace or Jake.

“How does he know it's her?” Carrie Ann asked.

“I showed him the picture.”

“How does he know they're going to the beach? Did he talk to them?”

“Why are you so worried about everyone talking to them? He says they come down, and they are carrying towels, and wearing swimming suits, and he says, ‘Hola,' and they say, ‘Hola.' And he says,
‘Donde está,'
because all tourists understand
‘Donde está,'
and they say, ‘We are going to the beach,' in English, because they only know how to say ‘where is library' in Spanish.”

Sarcastic Spaniard.

Rafael took a last pull on the joint. He had smoked it down to the nub. When he looked up at her and smiled, even Carrie Ann had to concede there was something about his oddball personality that was a tiny bit sexy. Or she was getting a contact high? She'd have to watch herself. Another entanglement was the last thing she needed. “Would you like to go to the beach?” he said. “I wash my face and away we go?”

“Sí,”
Carrie Ann said.
“Me gustaría ir a la playa.”

Rafael clapped his hands like she was a seal who had just delighted him with a trick. She wanted to throw her head back, open her mouth, and bark for a fish. “Your Spanish is good. You are so surprising me.”

“Yes,” Carrie Ann said. “So is your English.”

“You think?”

“Oh yes. You are so surprising me.”