Page 126
My jawbone. That’s right. A drag queen told me.
“I can show you the emails,” I say.
“Not necessary, Mr. Clint.”
Rafael crosses to the kitchen island and picks up a small envelope. “Here are the keys. Front gate, main door. The code for the keypad is written here. Wi-Fi also.”
He hands me the envelope. It feels too light for what it contains.
“Thanks.”
“The alarm is simple. I show you?”
He walks me through it. Slowly. Clearly. I retain maybe thirty percent because my brain is still stuck in the entryway.
“Very easy,” Rafael says.
“Yeah. Totally.”
He explains the pool guy comes twice a week, gardener once a week, cleaning only on request. He mentions trash pickup and bottled water and where to find extra towels.
“The pool is small,” Rafael says, leading me through the living room toward the patio. “But good for cooling.”
He slides the door open.
Past the patio wall, the hillside drops toward rooftops and palms and then the ocean, wide and bright enough to make me forget whatever I was going to say.
“Oh,” I say instead.
Rafael smiles for real this time.
“Yes.”
He turns back toward the kitchen.
“Groceries are not stocked. There is a market down the hill. Restaurants also.”
“Good. Yeah. I can figure that out.”
“Do you need a taxi arranged?”
“No, I’m good.”
I am not good, but I need him to leave before I collapse in a pile of questions and nerves.
Rafael picks up his phone from the island. “If you need anything, message me.”
“Thanks. Yeah, I will.”
He hesitates near the door. “Mr. Paul takes very good care of the house.”
I look at him.
“I’ll take care of it.”
Rafael nods. Maybe he believes me.
“Enjoy your stay, Mr. Clint.”
