“Did it work?”

I shook my head. “No. And you want to hear something funny?”

“Yes.”

“In all my life, my work, my travels, my attempts not to work, in all my going and doing, I’ve never felt more ‘clean’ than when covered in volcanic mud, hanging from Paulo’s rope in the bottom of that dark, damp well.”

Unlike at the hotel in León, she didn’t press me but just sat with me. Enjoying the view. After several minutes, she offered, “Thank you for today. It was special. Especially to Isabella.”

I smiled. “You would do well not to take advice from me, but if I might—you should think about wearing a bathing suit more often. It suits you.”

A chuckle. “It’s been a long time.”

“Doing so would really spice things up in Valle Cruces. Spend about thirty minutes walking around in that, and you’d have more men knocking down your door than Paulo could keep away.”

“That’s not the kind of man I’m looking for.”

“You mind if I turn the tables and ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“You’ve been a widow more than a decade, and you don’t seem to be trying to change that. You’re beautiful, you laugh with an easiness I don’t think I’ve ever known, you bend over backward to serve folks, you are constantly pouring out, so—”

She interrupted me again. “What’s wrong with me?”

“Yes.” I laughed. “For the life of me, I can’t find anything wrong with you.”

“I have my moments.”

“Well”—I scratched my head—“I have yet to notice any. Seriously, what kind of man are you looking for?”

“Not the kind who is solely attracted to me because of how I look in a bathing suit.”

“I hate to break it to you, but…you do look good in a bathing suit and I’m not apologizing for recognizing that.”

More easy laughter. “I guess that’s some relief. It’s been so long since I’ve tried to get noticed.”

“So, without getting overly personal, have you dated?”

“There have been guys.”

“That’s not an answer to my question.”

She smirked. “You’re perceptive.”

“Don’t let the flip-flops fool you.”

“I’m beginning to see that.”

“You’re stalling. What kind of guys?”

“The kind that never call when they find out I have a daughter.”

“Okay, let’s say you could script the perfect guy. Order à la carte.”

She considered this. “Seriously?”

“Yes.”

“The kind I can walk beside, lock arm-in-arm with, who’s not afraid to pull teeth, drop down into a well, work with Paulo, hold hands with my daughter and it not be weird, who doesn’t complain about a bucket shower, who would stand up to the neighborhood bully and then give back more money than I’ve made in most of my adult life and”—she held a finger in the air and grinned with a wide smile—“one who can definitely ride a motorcycle. For starters, a guy like that.”

“And how many guys do you know like that?”

She turned away. “A couple.”

“Oh, really. What are their names?”

“Well, okay, maybe it’s just one, but I don’t know him very well and something about him tells me there’s a whole lot I don’t know.”

I didn’t hesitate before this flirting went much further. “And you’d be right.”

“So maybe we should just leave it right there before we uncover the truth and you disappoint me.”

“How do you know the truth of me would disappoint you?”

“Your face tells me every time I look at you.”

If I’d ever had a gift when it came to poker, at bluffing, at not showing my hand to another, it was gone. Talking with her on the deck overlooking the ocean was when I knew I’d never play cards again. The other players would read my face and take everything I held dear.

She sat back, crossed her legs and her arms, and stared out across the water. “I’m just guessing, but I’d say you’ve lived most of your life acting as though you don’t care. As though you don’t concern yourself too much with matters of the heart. But I wonder if you don’t feel them more deeply than others.”

We were starting to get a little close to home. Where I’d always been rather good at reading people’s weakness, Paulina was good at reading people’s pain. The difference between the two of us was glaring.

*  *  *

We spent all the next morning on the ATVs. We rode miles up the coast, returning through the trees and then out onto the beach and up and down the dunes. Paulo had never ridden an ATV, but he took to it quickly and with great fervor. And while Paulo feared no hill, Paulina—prodded by Isabella—was the speed demon.

We returned for lunch, a dip in the pool, and then I took them out on the Bertram for an afternoon on the Pacific. The seas were glass, and we stayed well within sight of the coastline, which kept their dizziness at bay. I threw the cast net and caught some baitfish, dropped a few baits in the water, and helped Paulo catch a few wahoo and several tuna. Throughout the afternoon, he’d set the hook, and then he and Isabella would reel them in accompanied by much high-pitched squealing from an exuberant Isabella, who desperately desired to see the fish but not necessarily touch them. Paulina sat up top smelling of coconut oil, wearing Marguerite’s bathing suit and my Costas, and laughing at the festivities below.

Toward evening, Paulo filleted the fish with a speed and proficiency that would have rivaled Hack, and then we grilled the fish on the pool deck along with some vegetables that Paulina picked up at a market down the road. As the sun went down, we reclined at the table with full stomachs and easy smiles. Isabella stood in the shallow end of the pool, testing her newfound boldness. Paulo finished his third serving of fish, scraped his plate, and wiped his mouth. His satisfaction was palpable. He patted me on the shoulder, then tapped himself on the chest and said, “Mi corazón está lleno.”

He knew I didn’t understand, but I got the feeling that he said it in Spanish for emphasis.

I shrugged and he said the words again.

When they still didn’t make sense, Paulina translated, “He said, ‘My heart is full.’”

It was quite possibly the most fun I’d had in recent memory.

*  *  *

Sometime after 9:00 p.m., Isabella fell asleep and Paulo carried her upstairs to bed. Paulina followed, giving me a chance to check in with Colin. I told him about the day, the house, the progress of the cleanup, and that we’d still found no sign of Zaul. I explained how now that Zaul was separated from his friends we were looking for the proverbial needle and—as difficult as it was—our best bet was to wait right here. He agreed and then fell quiet. Heavy, not saying much. Finally, he said, “You remember that favor you asked of me?”

“Yes.”

“I’ve got some information for you…” I listened while Colin reported on what he’d found.

And the news was not good.

*  *  *

We hung up and I sat staring at the moon on the water. After a few minutes, Paulina returned and sat. Closer this time. “Where were we?” There was a childlike playfulness in her voice and an innocence in her eyes that told me she was enjoying her time here and, more important, me. I also got the impression that it wasn’t something she did with every guy she met. I admit, I was drawn to her. Maybe a lot. Well, okay, more than a lot. But I had a track record of hurting people, and something in me did not want her to be one more. I wanted to spare her from me.

Sitting on that pool deck, I was staring back over the wake of my life and the thing that struck me was how the churn and chop was littered with relationships. With people I’d used to get what I wanted. I didn’t know much about my present life or where I was going or what would happen to me when we found Zaul and I returned him to his folks, but whatever happened, I knew I didn’t want Paulina to be one more casualty in the war that had become my life. Maybe pain does that, and while I tried to mask it and pretend that I couldn’t or didn’t feel it, I was in pain. My pain painted me and was the source of what made me feel dirty. I was rarely self-aware, but somehow at that moment, bathing in the smell of coconuts and sweat and the utter delight of a woman in full bloom, I was lucid enough to know that Leena deserved better than me, and while I might not be able to get clean, I didn’t have to drag her down in the mud with me.