“Ah, what kind of bus is it?” Guido asked Carlos García.
Carlos García considered this for a moment. “It is a bus full of my players—football players.”
Football players. Meaning professional soccer players.
“Yes!” Abree said, getting to her feet. “Let us go! It is not safe for us here.”
Guido put a hand up. One of the men stopped her from running toward the bus. Guido conveyed this information to Brando and the two of them argued for a bit—well, sometimes it was hard to tell. Italians could be passionate with their conversations. In the end, Brando must have relented because we were all hauled toward the waiting bus.
I absentmindedly wondered why no one had considered that the driver of the bus full of football players had put the nail in the coffin of our van. We would be entrusting him with our lives along these steep and winding roads. I wasn’t even sure if a bus of that size should be allowed here. It defied the odds.
A bus full of men looked up at us as we boarded. As infectious as a yawn, smiles broke out on their faces, and they started clapping.
“¡Viviste!” one of them said, slapping Violet on her ass. It was more of a sportsman type of slap. “¡Celebremos!”You lived! Let’s celebrate!
“¡Dios no destruiría tal belleza!” one of them said to me, and I put my hands behind my back, not wanting him to touch me.God wouldn’t destroy such beauty!
These sorts of sentiments continued until all of us had loaded the bus, and a few went around for the Italian men, who all took it in humorous stride. I noticed that Rosaria, Abree, and Collette scanned the aisles, choosing their seats carefully.
This was the party they had hoped for, even prayed for.
I sat next to Violet and Guido. Chiara, Valentina, and Carmen sat right behind us. I put my bag at my feet, glad that I didn’t get a window seat. I didn’t want to see death before it came to claim me. Let me die oblivious to it all, eating Scottish cookies in bliss. Perhaps I was becoming a stress eater.
Guido handed me the phone again. I put it up to my ear. Brando was breathing heavy, like a carnivorous animal on the hunt, probably scaring some unsuspecting zebra on a safari somewhere.
“Brando?”
“I don’t like this,” he snapped. He was attempting to control his emotions but failing. He couldn’t say anything beyond that.
All is well, then.I wouldn’t have to listen to it.
Violet went to take a cookie, and without even thinking, I moved the box from her. She gave me an astounded look, before she blurted, “Are you pregnant, Sandy?”
“Are you pregnant, Sandy?” the bus full of exotic-looking football players echoed.
Such a jovial bunch, these guys.
I had to consider this. No, I wasn’t. I had stopped taking my birth control after the night Brando and I discussed it, but it was too soon. I knew from experience that it took time for things to straighten out in the female department. Not that it took me long to get pregnant last time. Still…
Before I could answer her, Brando snapped the same question at me from his end.
“No.” I shook my head and handed her the entire box of cookies. “I’m sure I’m not.”
He muttered something abouthearing that beforeand thenbus full of fucking soccer playersbefore hanging up on me. My phone chirped not long after.
Text me when you get back to the cottage.
A plainyeswas all I responded with. I wasn’t feeling too creative at the moment, or friendly toward him.
“Scarlett!” Rosaria called. “What is the name of the pub we will be going to tonight?”
Carmen leaned forward, her hand on the seat, pulling my hair some. “Figures,” she whispered in my ear.
I thought about it for a moment. Then I told Rosaria.
In the next few minutes the entire bus began to sing “ABC” by the Jackson Five. It sounded different laced with Spanish and Italian accents. Closing my eyes, I held tight to my bag, hoping that another van on the side of the road wouldn’t become a victim. Us either.
* * *
