Falling Together (44 page)

The Lolas shifted their gazes ever so slightly in the direction of Pen and Will who shrugged and nodded their apologies; then everyone turned back to Jason.

“I know how it looks, Cat leaving without telling me. And, hey, you probably even know about the Armando thing, too.”

The Lolas nodded, as Pen squirmed inwardly, wondering which story Cat had told them, wondering what was worse, having a wife who cheated or one who lied in order to hurt you so much you’d throw her out, and wondering, too, not for the first time, whether she was obligated to tell Jason the truth. So much was getting fuzzy lately—Pen’s loyalties, her obligations. She felt a jolt of anger at Cat for having lied, at Armando for having told the truth, at both of them—and she knew this wasn’t really fair—for making her the keeper of a secret she did not want.

“I’m not gonna lie to you,” Jason continued. “We’ve had our share of problems. The infertility stuff royally sucked, pardon my language, and, yeah, I know Cat wasn’t happy with where we lived and whatnot. It’s probably also the case that she wasn’t always happy with me.”

“No marriage is happy all the time,” said Lola Graciela softly.

“She’s too good for me.” A bittersweet, affectionate smile appeared on Jason’s face, flickered, and was gone. “I’ve always known that.”

Pen thought,
Too smart, too funny, too sparkling and bewitching and quick, but maybe not too good,
and felt instantly ashamed, until she understood that she didn’t mean that Cat wasn’t good, but that, in some highly unexpected, mostly imperceptible, but fundamental way, Jason was.

“So I’d have to say it’s possible she doesn’t realize she wants me to find her. She might even, uh, actively think she does
not
want me to find her.”

Pen had to admire his honesty. Maybe it was the Lolas, before whose clear and rock-steady gaze it was difficult to do anything but speak the truth. Maybe it was that Jason had nothing left to lose. Maybe, probably, it was that he was braver than Pen had given him credit for.

“But here’s the deal.” Jason’s voice tensed. “When I find her, as soon as she sees me, she’ll be glad I’m there. No lie.”

“How do you know this?” asked Lola Lita sternly.

Jason’s blue eyes brightened. “Because that’s how it always happens. I mean, let’s face it; Cat’s thought about leaving me before. She even did it a few times, and there might even be times I don’t know about. Probably there are. Anyway, she’d pack a bag and go to a friend’s house or check into a hotel, or even just drive around aimlessly, with the bag sitting in the front seat.” He lifted his weighty chin. “But she always came back, every time, and she’d see me in our house—I’d have, like, gotten her note or whatever and be just sitting there—and her heart would melt.”

Oh, God,
thought Pen.

“That’s what she’d say. She’d say, ‘I can’t help it, little boy. No matter how mad I am, I see you and my heart melts.’ She calls me ‘little boy’ which is hilarious when you consider how big I am compared to her.”

If anyone found this hilarious, they didn’t let on. Unexpectedly, Pen found herself thinking of Augusta. Augusta and her addled sleep habits, how on any one of thousands of nights her sobbing and shouts of “Mama!” would drag Pen out of sleep, two, three, even four times, how by the last wake-up, usually near dawn, Pen would be shaking with exhaustion and a resentment so acute it was almost rage. Her head throbbing and full of static, she would throw off sheets and comforter and stomp down the hallway to Augusta’s room, muttering expletives, even threats (threats that, no matter how empty, would make her reel with shame in the light of day), but within seconds of arriving at her child’s bedside, as soon as she saw the pale, wet face, the skinny shoulders, her anger would dissipate, lose itself in the warm, Augusta-scented air of the room. Her heart would melt. Pen would lie down next to Augusta and pull the small, baby animal bulk of the girl into the curve of her body, and give herself over to the business—her life’s work—of loving this person who needed her.

Maybe Cat feels something like that; maybe that’s why it was so hard to leave him,
thought Pen, which should have been a nonsensical thought, since Jason was a full-grown (even, it could be argued, an overgrown) man, but Pen found that it made an absurd, sad, slightly unsavory kind of sense to her.

“Thank you,” said Lola Lita, nodding elegantly, like an empress. “Thanks to all of you. Thanks and apologies; we do not usually interrogate our guests.”

“That’s okay,” said Will and Pen.

“No prob,” said Jason. “Totally understandable.”

Pen wondered if the Lolas would retire someplace, perhaps to an inner fate-deciding sanctum, to discuss whether to tell them where Cat had gone, but they didn’t budge, just set about wordlessly conversing through nods, raised eyebrows, almost imperceptible shrugs, and some of the mild dovecote sounds like the ones they’d made when Pen said that she and Cat still loved each other. Pen didn’t feel impatient. She believed that she could sit and watch the three of them do that forever.

When the cooing and humming had concluded, Pen expected Lola Lita to speak first, but instead it was Lola Fe.

“Fine, but if we are telling them where Catalina is, I think we must also call her to let her know they are coming,” she said.

“No!” said Jason, so loudly that Pen jumped.

The Lolas did not jump, just turned their heads in unison to gaze at him. He reached up and wiped the sweat from his brow. Seeing this, Lola Graciela leaned over to turn the electric fan in his direction.

“I mean, please,” he said. “Could you—do you think you could just not tell her?”

The Lolas exchanged a complicated, lightning-quick set of looks.

“Why do you ask this?” said Lola Fe.

“Uh, like Will said,” said Jason, forcing a grin, “Cat loves to be surprised.”

Lola Fe did not react, except to keep her eyes trained on him, waiting for more.

“And, you know, like I said, she might think she doesn’t want to see me. She might even leave if she knows I’m coming. Probably not, but it’s possible. When I show up, though, she’ll be very happy, rejoicing even. I swear to God.”

Pen saw Lola Fe’s eyebrows go up. She wondered if it was a good or bad idea to swear to God, here in this house that had an Augusta-sized Virgin Mary statue standing, wistful and blue-robed, in the yard and a crucifix—at least one—on nearly every wall.

“We should honor his wishes,” exclaimed Lola Graciela with fervor. “He is her husband!”

Lola Fe stirred in her chair and seemed about to speak, maybe even speak loudly, but after a second, her face relaxed into cameo-blank inscrutability. Her eyes met Lola Lita’s gaze and held it. Lola Lita closed her eyes and nodded, before turning to Will, Jason, and Pen with a smile.

“You must wait until tomorrow to go find Catalina, in any case,” she said. None of them asked why this was so. The fact of her saying it was enough to make it indisputable. “We hope you will consider spending the night here, since you are Catalina’s friends and family. I’m afraid our home isn’t luxurious, but we would be most honored if you would stay.”

“Oh, thank you! We’d love to,” cried Pen, without so much as a questioning glance at Will or Jason and so hot on the heels of the invitation that Lola Lita laughed, a deep, buttery chuckle. Pen turned sheepishly to Will and Jason. “I mean, if it’s okay with you guys.”

Will smiled a smile that managed to be private, in spite of the other people in the room, and said, “You like it here. It’s a Pen kind of place.”

“I do,” admitted Pen.

“We’d be honored to stay,” said Jason.

“Good,” said Lola Lita. “Now, why don’t you go to pick up your things at the hotel? My nephew Everett will be glad to drive you.”

“Great,” said Will. “Thank you.”

“Sounds good,” agreed Jason.

Pen tried to imagine herself getting up and walking out of that house, even just for a short trip, and failed utterly. “Please,” she said to the Lolas, “may Augusta and I stay here, while the boys go to the hotel? If I promise to stay out of your way?”

“Of course!” said Lola Lita. “If Will and Jason are willing.”

“Would you mind?” she asked Will. “Our stuff is pretty much together. If you could just throw it all into my suitcase and Augusta’s backpack?”

“Sure,” said Will, shrugging. “But if I come back and you’ve polished off that pig? You’re dead meat.”

“Ha!” said Jason. “Pig. Dead meat. Get it?”

“Got it,” said Pen, and all the Lolas nodded.

T
UCKED AS SHE WAS INTO A SHADY CORNER OF THE BACKYARD
, despite the children playing tag and screeching, despite the cold glass of calamansi juice in her hand, despite the tart perfection of the juice itself, Pen might have fallen asleep. Time changed in that yard. Minutes flowed by with rich, honeylike slowness. Pen’s body felt more and more deliciously heavy. But before she could drift off, she opened her eyes to find Lola Lita sitting next to her, fanning herself with a large, woven palm-leaf fan, and regarding Pen with an amused affection that reminded Pen of her mother. Pen shook the sleepiness from her head and sat up.

“Sorry,” she said, laughing. “I don’t usually go falling asleep in people’s yards, at least not people I’ve just met.”

“Perhaps it means you feel at home here. I’m very glad.”

“It’s a marvelous place.”

“Thank you,” said Lola Lita, looking about her. “It isn’t fancy. It’s even a bit shabby, but it’s home. My family moved here after the war, when we were all quite young. Manuel was no more than a baby.”

“Manuel?” asked Pen. “Oh. Cat’s father.”

“Yes,” said Lola Lita sadly. “My baby brother.”

“I’m so sorry for your loss,” said Pen and felt ashamed and surprised at herself for not having offered her condolences earlier, when they had first arrived. It wasn’t that she had forgotten about Dr. Ocampo. It was just that this place seemed to Pen to be a world away from grief.

“Thank you,” said Lola Lita again. She reached over and touched Pen’s hand. “We have made a decision regarding your wish to find Catalina.”

“You have?” Pen held her breath.

“We will tell you where she went,” said Lola Lita.

Tears prickled Pen’s eyes. She blinked. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

“She is visiting a resort island, quite enchanting as I have heard. We have secured tickets for you on the ferry for tomorrow morning, and we have made hotel reservations, as well. Our niece’s friend from college is a travel agent, which made it possible for us to make the arrangements on a Sunday.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful! I can just imagine it, seeing her across the hotel lobby—” Pen broke off, overcome with gladness.

Uneasiness swept over Lola Lita’s face and she gave Pen’s hands a squeeze. “I am afraid that it won’t be quite so simple.”

“It won’t?” asked Pen, worried. “Why?”

Lola Lita sighed. “We can be so stubborn. Fe, Graci, and I, we are usually in agreement, but when we’re not, well, it can be—difficult.”

“I can imagine,” said Pen.

“The problem is that we have decided, after much discussion, to abide by Jason’s wish that we not tell Catalina you are coming.”

“I see,” said Pen. “Well, it might be for the best. She might leave if she knows that Jason’s coming.”

Lola Lita’s eyes glinted. “The best for Jason, maybe, and for you and Will. Possibly not the best for Cat.”

“I guess you might be right,” admitted Pen uncomfortably.

“But it also presents a problem for you because we know where she is but not precisely where.”

“Oh.”

“Bohol Province is composed of a large island and many smaller ones. We know that Catalina was planning to stay on Panglao Island. We also know which region of the island, but we don’t know which resort. We’re not even sure that she is still there, although I think she probably is.”

Pen sipped her juice, then pressed her glass against her forehead.

“We have reserved rooms for the four of you at a resort on Panglao Island,” Lola Lita continued, “but if we don’t call Cat to say you are coming, we can’t find out exactly where she is.”

“Can’t you call her to ask where she is, without mentioning us? Or call her travel agent and try to get the information from her?” Even as Pen said it, she realized how sneaky it sounded.

Lola Lita shook her head. “No. I’m sorry, but no. We can only tell you what we know about where she went, and even that feels—”

“Disloyal?”

Lola Lita smiled tenderly at Pen, “You must understand that this trip was very important to Cat. She wanted to be—undisturbed.”

Pen’s heart sank. “But we might not find her.”

Lola Lita made soft hums of comfort and brushed a lock of hair away from Pen’s cheek. “It is not a large beach, not even a kilometer long,” she said. “And you can go to some of the Bohol tourist attractions that Cat will surely visit. I have heard that you do not want to miss snorkeling along the black coral reef.”

Pen had her doubts about the snorkeling, fearing sharks and figuring that one sure way to decrease your chances of finding someone was to immerse yourself in the Pacific Ocean. She envisioned Cat swimming toward her, through shoals of brilliant fish, waving wildly, her hair floating like seaweed around her face. She smiled.