“Here’s my plan. You apply for identification as your own son. It sounds crazy at first, but hear me out. If the original Ian Booke moved quietly to some remote village in South Africa, there’s no reason anyone would’ve known. They assumed he died and his house was sold, but in fact, no body was ever found. He married late in life to a much younger woman. If you’re willing to add four or five years to your actual age, on paper, it will make even more sense. I’ve done the math in my head. You were born in 1910. If you married at fifty-five and your new bride came up pregnant, say five years later, when you were sixty, your son, Ian Booke, Jr., would now be around forty years old.”
“It’s a plausible tale,” he admitted, “but I don’t see how that gets me documents.”
“Don’t you see? In most third world countries, they only require a minister or another official to sign an affidavit, saying you were born there, on that date.”
His clever face lit with an appreciative expression. “And in such places, they’re always in dire need of coin. You suggest I should bribe someone to sign the necessary paperwork, which would get me a South African birth certificate along with a credible identity that allows me to keep my own name.”
“Exactly.”
“Corine,” he said softly. “Why were you
I ducked my head. “I was braced for the worst, but I hadn’t given up hope.”
He surprised me by tilting my chin up and planting a firm kiss on my mouth. It wasn’t at all sexual or romantic; it was a fierce thank-you of a kiss, one you would receive from the dearest of friends. Whatever else life had in store for Ian Booke, I hoped it would be wonderful. He turned shy then, and soon fled to the garage to assist Chuch. Those modern gearboxes didn’t repair themselves. I imagined after such a long confinement, the freedom was intoxicating. In the morning, we’d probably find him running down the road at top speed, simply because he could.
That night, dinner was a simple affair, as Eva was saving all her culinary creations for the fiesta. Chuch was downcast over that, but he soon cheered up over board games, where he and Eva kicked our asses. Booke and I just weren’t on the same page for Pictionary. Kel didn’t return before I went to sleep, and I worried about him until I drifted off.
No Chance that night. I was a little disappointed.
In the morning, I cleaned alongside Eva, making the house shine for guests. It was exhausting, but it took my mind off my worries. Hopefully, we’d finish in time for me to shower and get ready. Around two, Shannon showed up with boyfriend in tow.
Jesse Saldana was a tall, lean drink of water with a shock of sun-streaked brown hair and bitter chocolate eyes. He had a permanent tan, courtesy of his Mexican heritage, and he was an all-around good guy. I had semi- dated him a while back, but courtesy of a forget spell that went massively awry, both he and my best friend forgot all about me, just long enough to get together. Looking at them now, I couldn’t doubt it had been for the best. She radiated adoration and joy in equal measures, and he looked just about as gone on her. I caught them in a tender, unguarded moment as we prepared for the other guests. As they paused in the foyer, he leaned his head down to hers, just content to touch, and she reached up for a kiss that literally curled her toes, visible through the peep-toe of her platform Lolita Mary Janes. When Jesse saw me, his hands tightened briefly on Shan’s shoulders. I glimpsed unease as she turned—and as she spotted me, she lost a little of her radiance, like it wasn’t okay to kiss her man in front of me.
“Can you give me a minute?” Jesse asked Shan.
“Yeah, no prob. I’ll just, uh, help Eva in the kitchen. I guess.”
“Come on.” Jesse beckoned me out to the back patio, which was presently deserted.
I took one of the rattan chairs, waiting to hear what he had to say. While he collected his thoughts, I admired the tropical feel Eva had managed out here, making the most of the new terracotta tile with rectangular planters accented with round ones. All the blooms were lush and green, spiky fronds, flowing leaves, peppered with vibrant blooms. A few hanging baskets framed the space beautifully, making me want something like this back home in Mexico.
“I feel like I need to explain,” he began.
“You really don’t. No promises were broken. It’s just one of those things.”
“Well, you started it,” he muttered. “With your damned spell.”
I lifted a brow at his tone. “I’m aware. I haven’t bitched at you.”
“Maybe it’d be better if you did. Then I wouldn’t feel so guilty.”
“About what? Being with Shan or disappointing me?”
“A little of both.”
I laughed. “Jesse, forget about the latter. You and me, we weren’t meant to be. The spell proved that. I honestly believe that if you’d loved me, you wouldn’t have hooked up with Shan. Some part of you would’ve realized it was wrong—that something was missing.”
He gazed at me somberly with the clear sunlight finding toffee flecks in his dark cocoa eyes. “I hope you’re right about that. You know I worry—”
“About being inconstant, too easily influenced by other people’s emotions,” I supplied. This wasn’t the first time we’d discussed that particular fear. “So let me ask you this. When Shan was missing, there were probably other women who were attracted to you, who gave signals. How did that go?”
“You mean did I
“Not even that. How did you respond to them? Did they have a shot?”
“No way. I love her.
But it made me really glad to hear. “See? We never had that.”
He considered for a moment, pensive rather than regretful, which made for a nice alternative. “I think . . . you just had too many reservations about us. I couldn’t help but sense that. It really wouldn’t have lasted, would it?”
I shook my head. “It looked great on paper, but no.”
“Whereas with Shan, there are none. I never had
“You’re her lobster,” I said, wondering if he’d get the reference.
“Okay, Phoebe,” he mumbled, but I could tell by his expression that he liked the comparison. “With Shan, she loves and wants me so fiercely, so unconditionally, that it’s like a perfect broadcast that blocks out all other signals. There’s no room for anyone but her. And it’s so . . . restful. So perfect.”
“Her intensity might scare somebody else,” I pointed out. “Somebody who doesn’t need it like you do. Which makes you two a perfect match.”
“So you really don’t mind? Shan is a little worried.”
“I’ve told her repeatedly that it’s fine. Somehow I’ll make it sink in.”
“She tells me you got back with Chance, anyway.” Neutral tone there, carefully nonjudgmental.
“Working on that. But yes. I’m very happy for you two.” I pushed out of my chair and met him in the middle of the patio, where he had been pacing nervously. Reaching up, I hugged him tight around the neck, then whispered into his ear, “If you hurt her, I’ll cut off your balls and make you eat them.”
He didn’t take offense. “I won’t. The whole time she was gone, I was just . . . empty. I hardly ate. Didn’t sleep much. I could only think how hellish it would be if she never came back, if I never saw her again. I lay in bed at night, just wanting to hear her laugh one more time.”
Tears started in my eyes because I could so fully relate to his suffering. That was how I felt about Chance at any given moment. But if Shan could come back from Sheol and make Jesse a happy man, I didn’t see why I couldn’t retrieve my lover from his father’s realm. But first, we had a party to attend—in honor of Booke’s lost birthdays. Hell of a thing to celebrate.
I stepped away from him to find Shan standing in the doorway; and from her expression, she’d heard everything. Her blue eyes simply glowed. “You’re so getting lucky tonight, Saldana.”
Pointing at Jesse, I made a shooing motion toward the house. “Go. I’ll deal with her now.”
