A tear forms in the corner of one of his eyes. I feel an almost tidal wave of sorrow, but no regrets.
Chapter 34
When my flight lands in Montevideo early Monday morning, with the plane bouncing along the runway, my heart bounces, too. I’m really here.
On each leg of my journey, but especially on the nine-and-a-half-hour flight from New York to Brazil, I rehearsed the words I would use when confessing to Bas, though more than once I toyed with the idea ofnottelling him. If I stay silent, I get to keep my relationship and make a fresh start of it. And though Bas will surely sense something’s off, I could try to make him think it’s related to my ordeal in Cartersville—and, in time, my guilt might even subside. But then I’d be no better than Logan: cheater, liar, cad.
I insisted during my last call to Bas that there was no need for either him or Jorge making the nearly hour-and-a-half drive to pick me up, and that I would instead book Umberto, a guy we sometimes use for airport runs. He begrudgingly agreed and said he would have lunch waiting for me.
And that means I won’t have to spend a whole car ride faking that everything’s okay.
There’s always a ton of people meeting passengers at the Montevideo airport, as if airplane travel is still a novelty. When I emerge from customs, I spot Umberto along the edge of the large, jubilant crowd, and he waves at me with a friendly smile. As we head to the parkinglot, in the crisp but pleasant air, he asks me in Spanish about my trip, having no idea what the agenda was.
I tell him that it was good but I’m glad to be home. Not knowing, of course, if it will still be my home by the end of the day.
We head east on Ruta Interbalnearia, the coastal highway that connects Montevideo to Punta del Este. Though tourist season is well over, there are still billboards heralding the joys of summer and others touting area vineyards and availability in new bright-white condominiums.
I close my eyes, trying to shut out the world for a bit. Despite my resolve to tell Bas the truth, I find myself resisting again. But even if I convinced him everything was okay, the deceit would be a dangerous fissure in the foundation of our relationship.
Eventually I feel Umberto veer left, and I open my eyes. We’re leaving the main road in order to travel northeast. This stretch is far more rural, and the rolling fields on each side are filled with cattle or sheep, and the occasional concrete farmhouse, its tin roof glinting in the sun. Now and then, we catch up with a beret-wearing gaucho riding his horse along the side of the road.
Finally, we make the turn to the chacra. Sebastian must hear the car coming up the long driveway, because by the time we reach the house, he’s standing under the portico. My heart swells at the sight of him with a weird mix of joy and anguish. He’s in jeans and a beige flannel shirt, his hair slightly tousled by the breeze. Poco is right beside him, ears raised.
As soon as I’m out of the car, we embrace, and Bas kisses me softly on the mouth.
“Bienvenido a casa,” he says tenderly.
“Thank you. It’s so good to be here, sweetheart.”
But inside, I’m roiling.
A flurry of activity follows—me paying Umberto and petting the leaping, tail-wagging Poco; Bas hauling my bag from the trunk—andit isn’t until I’ve washed up and changed that we’re finally side by side again, standing alone in the kitchen.
“Where’s Maitena?” I ask. Though I see lunch on the counter, there’s no sign of her.
“I asked her to make something earlier and then just leave it for us to serve ourselves. I figured it would be nice to be alone together when you got back.”
“Yes, of course.” I now have no excuse for putting off the conversation we need to have.
With Poco trailing behind us, we carry out platters and bowls to thegaleríaand set them on the table. There’s roast chicken, already carved, chimichurri sauce, potato salad, and sliced tomatoes, perhaps the last good ones until next summer. Bas grabs a bottle ofrosadoand another ofaqua con gas. We take our usual seats at the table, him at the head and me catty-corner. This way we both can enjoy the view.
“You feel like acopa de vino?” he asks, smiling. “It’s practically required after a flight on GOL airlines.”
“Ha, yes, but just a little, okay? I don’t want to pass out at the table.”
I take a minute before eating to stare out at the landscape. A few small clouds scuttle across the sky, casting shadows here and there on the fields. For the first time, I notice that the milky plumes of the pampas grass have turned almost completely brown.
“You ordered a perfect day for my return,” I say, sounding more wistful than I intended.
“I tried,” he says. “But you know how fickle the gods can be.”
“Oh yes, they certainly can be.” I feel a terrible pang in my chest as I say it. Before the day is done, I’m going to know what the gods have in store for me.
Bas has already taken a few bites of his meal but pauses now, setting his utensils down.
“Any news since we spoke yesterday?”
“No. The case seems to be moving, but we might not hear anything new for at least a day or two.”
