“And I have every right to be, considering what’s been going on.”
“David thinks you’re anxious or depressed… or maybe both.”
“So, did he invite you here to check on me or diagnose me?”
“Oh, stop it, Val, c’mon now, I invited myself. I was worried about you. I offered to take a cab, but he insisted on picking me up at the airport.”
“What else did he say about me? What else did you talk about?”
“Not much… just the dog and the housekeeper, what's her name?”
“Conchita,” I sighed. “Actually, she should be here any minute. David told me she's coming by today to bring more tea.”
“Tea? What kind of tea?”
“She makes this special homemade brew.”
“Is it any good? What does it taste like?”
“It’s sort of bitter and smells like floral perfume. It’s like a chamomile tea and it’s supposed to calm you.”
“Sounds interesting.”
“I don't like it, but David’s all into it. It knocks me out and gives me wacky dreams. I’ve only had it twice but I hate the way I feel after I drink it.”
“Hmm, it kinda sounds like that ayahuasca stuff.”
“Aa-yuh-waa-skuh?” I giggled. “What’s that? I can't even pronounce it.”
“It’s some type of plant that grows in the rainforest. They brew it to make a hallucinogenic tea and people travel to the jungle, to places like this, to drink it. They have whole ceremonies around it.”
“Really? How do you know about it? Have you tried it?”
“No, a friend of mine has. He said it smells and tastes like crap.”
“What else is in it?”
“I don’t know exactly but supposedly it makes you puke your guts out and sends you on a wild and crazy psychedelic trip.”
“Eww gross. That sounds like loads of fun.”
“Not!” She bent over and made a loud hacking sound. We burst out laughing.
“Okay, enough of that; want more coffee?” she asked, swiping my empty mug from the table.
“Sure.”
Cindy went over and grabbed the coffee pot and poured us each a second cup. As she turned around, she paused and looked out the kitchen window. She stood in front of it for a moment, gazing toward the garden.
“Hey, there’s a woman out there with David. She’s got long black braided hair… she’s carrying a burlap bag.”
“That would be Ms. Conchita.”
“Cool purple dress she’s wearing.”
“What’s David doing?” I asked, glancing over at her.
Stretching her neck, she leaned in closer to the window. “He’s kneeling on the ground next to what looks like a small statue.”
“So, that’s where he’s putting it,” I muttered.
“What did you just say?” She padded over, placing my mug back in front of me.
“I think his ex-wife is buried in the garden.”
“What?” she gasped, spilling her coffee on her white tank top. Tugging on her shirt, she wiped at it. “Dang it, I think I just ruined this top. It’s my favorite,” she moaned.
“That wooden box I told you I found. Well, actually, I didn’t find it; Max did. He sniffed it out and dug it up.”
“What about the box and his wife?” She went over to the sink, turning on the faucet and dabbed her shirt with water.
“I have a feeling the box has something to do with his ex-wife. Maybe her ashes are stored in it. Why else would he keep a box locked up and buried?”
“Hmm… not sure, but I guess that would make sense.”
“Especially since he bought a statue of an angel and put it in the garden.”
“But are you sure she’s dead? What’s his wife’s name? Or what was her name?”
“Which one?” I tilted my head.
“What do you mean which one?” She narrowed her eyes.
“He has two ex-wives,” I said, holding up my fingers.
“Has or had?” she questioned. “Maybe they’re both dead,” her eyes went wide.
There was a knock on the door and Cindy walked over to open it. There stood Conchita, smiling at me, waiting to be invited inside. She was so demure and always polite.
“Hola. Pase por favor.” I smiled, waving her into the kitchen. She ambled toward me and took a seat at the table. Reaching into her bag, she pulled out five cotton sacks of teabags.
“Estos son nuevos,” she spoke softly, pushing them near me.
“New,” Cindy said, sitting down to join us. “She said they’re new.” Picking up a sack, she dug a fingernail inside it and pulled out a teabag.
“I know what she said,” I remarked. “I’ve been studying my Spanish.”
Conchita looked down and away as if I had just said something about her.
“Val me dijo que haces esto,” Cindy said and then turned to me. “I just said that you told me she makes this.”
“Sí, es casero,” Conchita replied. Cindy translated for me again. “Yes, it’s homemade.”
“¿Cual es el nombre?” Cindy continued. “What is the name?”
Cindy was all chipper. I watched as she talked with her hands, acting like Conchita’s new best friend.
“Despierta,” Conchita replied, beaming at Cindy. She showed her the tag at the end of the string and pointed to the word written on it.
“Desperate?” I asked, leaning over trying to decipher it. My eyes met Cindy’s and we both shrugged our shoulders.
Neither of us knew what Conchita had said as she sat there smiling at us.
34
David
The evening is off to a great start. I promised myself tonight would be a much better one than last evening. Cindy whipped up an insanely delicious grande-sized pan of tres leches. It is light, luscious, and airy… just like her.
Oh, come on, don’t hate. I’m a man. Besides, I’ve already mentioned it is okay to look as long as you don't touch. What’s that saying? No harm, no foul. Show me a man who wouldn’t look twice at a cute blonde with tan, toned legs in a pair of short shorts. You couldn’t, could you? I’m right again, aren’t I? I love it when I’m right.
I lick the last of the cream from my fork and think of indulging in a second slice but then I run a hand over my protruding belly and decide to pass. Instead, I swill the last of
