Chapter 5 - Heather

Chapter 5

Heather

Miraflores, Lima

"What's wrong? Why are you smiling like that?"

Heather rolled her eyes. Honestly. Why couldn't her mother just say hello?

Heather had arrived at the shiny luxury hotel in Miraflores an hour or so earlier and had been sitting in the sun-streamed lobby, listening to the splashing fountain, waiting for her mother and Bon. Who were late.

The hotel was expensive beyond belief—it was glossy and lush and as different from the shabby charm of Casa Suerte as it was possible to get. Here the lobby floor was polished hardwood, with enormous soaring plate glass windows looking out onto the lush gardens of the park; the gardens led straight to the cliffs, and to a view of the glittering South Pacific beyond. Above Heather's head, wrought iron chandeliers hung from cavernous ceilings, and beneath her feet was a Peruvian rug so huge she could have parked a bus on it. There was no pulsing reggaeton here; the place was as hushed and peaceful as a dayspa.

Heather had been quite comfortable, sitting alone in the lobby on a buttery leather lounge in a pool of sunlight, listening to the fountain play, inhaling the perfume of the vast bunch of oriental lilies on the coffee table in front of her. She was feeling warm and loose and perfectly at peace with the world.

Until Mom arrived.

"I'm smiling because I'm glad to see you," Heather said brightly, trying not to lose the happy feeling she'd carried with her into the hotel.

Heather had been smiling because she'd been thinking about the morning that she'd spent saying goodbye to Romeo. In the shower. She opened her mouth, unable to resist telling Mom about him, but her mother cut her off before she could speak.

"What is that you're wearing?" Mom looked her up and down.

"A peasant skirt." Heather did a twirl and the skirt ballooned out, light as air. "It's new. I bought it at a market. It's made from alpaca silk."

"It's very bright." Mom was squinting.

"Mom, I—"

"You haven't spoken to your father, have you? I sent him an email before I left, and I haven't heard anything back."

Heather deflated. Mom had been here only two minutes and she was talking about Dad already. And no, she hadn't spoken to Dad, who hadn't answered his phone when Heather had called to tell him about Peru.

"Heather! You look gorgeous." Bon-Bon swept over from the check-in desk, clutching a fistful of hotel room swipe cards in little cardboard envelopes in one hand and Junior's wooden box in the other. "You look like a toucan."

"A toucan?" Mom rolled her eyes. "Honestly, Mom, is that supposed to make her feel good?"

Bon kissed Heather on the cheek. "Did I say toucan? I meant macaw."

"It's too bright?" Heather could feel some of the magic flake off her new skirt.

"There is no such thing," Bon assured her. "Besides, vacations are for brightness. For shaking it up a little. Say hi to Junior," she instructed Heather.

"Hi, Junior." Heather considered the box, genuinely surprised that he'd come along. "They let you into the country with him?"

"Of course. He's not a terrorist. But I did have to keep him in the carry-on luggage during the flight—which I'm sure he didn't appreciate."

"I hope you didn't spend too much on that skirt," Mom interrupted, frowning. "Tourist markets are so overpriced."

They were both in fine form today. Heather smoothed her hands over her skirt. She liked this skirt. But now she felt like a little kid playing dress-up. Especially standing next to Mom, who was in practical travel gear. She looked ready to hike right out the door and up to Machu Picchu.

Mom and Bon had arrived on the blue airport shuttle—the only people getting off at this stop. They'd been unmissable, squabbling like children. Bon had a mountain of luggage, but Mom came with just her hiking pack, even though Bon had explicitly paid for extra luggage. Heather had watched as the two of them fussed at the porter as he loaded their gear onto a baggage trolley, and as they bickered in front of the concierge's desk. She'd taken a minute to steady herself before they spotted her, but it didn't help much. They always managed to unbalance her, this time by mentioning Dad and picking at her about the skirt.

"You could do with something overpriced yourself," Bon told her daughter after she finished comparing Heather to a flamboyant bird. "Look at the state of you."

"The point of hiking is to strip things back to the basics," Mom said stubbornly. She stood out like a sore thumb in her outdoor wear, in the middle of the lobby of this exceedingly fancy hotel.

"Indeed. But we're not hiking right now, are we? I can't see why you need your boots to take an elevator up to a five-star suite."

"I'm wearing them in." Mom was looking mulish. "Besides, no one is looking at a middle-aged woman like me."

"Not dressed like that, they're not. Maybe Heather can take you to the market and find you something to wear to dinner." Bon was arch. "Cargo pants are hardly appropriate for the resort restaurant, and we have a booking tonight. And even if they were appropriate, they haven't been in fashion for decades."

"The market isn't likely to be open now," Mom said stiffly, "and I'm tired and want a shower."

"You'll have to wear something of mine, then." Bon was implacable.

"I can order room service if you don't like what I'm wearing."

"Alright," Heather sighed, feeling a familiar tension stiffening her shoulders. "Why don't we leave this argument until after we've unpacked and freshened up."

"Argument?" Bon looked startled. "Who's arguing?"

"Not me," Mom said grimly. "But Heather's right, let's stop talking until we've settled in." She headed for the bank of elevators at the far end of the lobby.

"Has she been this much fun the whole time?" Heather asked, watching her mother's military stride. Mom looked like she was heading off to battle.

It was supposed to be a vacation.

"Well, she's at the end of a long flight," Bon said, putting her arm around Heather and giving her a squeeze. "So she's tired out. She was much worse back in Phoenix, when she was fresh."

Heather laughed. "You deserve a medal for flying with her."

"I'm sure she thinks she deserves a medal for flying with me." Bon nudged Heather. "Five bucks for whoever gets Sandra to smile first tonight."

"Cut off at midnight?"

"Anything goes. Even cat videos on YouTube. I don't care what it takes."

"Deal." But Heather doubted cat videos would cut it.

"Wait till you see the room, chicken," Bon sang gaily as they joined Mom. "I spared no expense!"

"It's a waste of money," Mom sighed. "One bed is as good as another."

"Hardly. These have those expensive mattress toppers and high-thread-count sheets. We have the most incredible view," Bon told Heather excitedly, "and just look at these elevators."

The elevators were pretty amazing. They were glass and chrome bubbles that ran up the outside of the building.

"Like in that old movie, The Towering Inferno," Bon said. "You ever see that one?"

Heather shook her head as the doors slid open and they stepped in. "Can't say I ever have."

Mom was holding on to the chrome rail with white-knuckled hands.

As well she might, because the ride up was vertiginous. And fast. The green park below whooshed away from them, and they were up in the sky, looking at the vastness of the ocean spreading out below. Heather's stomach was falling.

"Now that's a million-dollar view," Bon sighed happily.

The sun was lowering, casting a fiery orange blaze across the ocean. From here the seagulls were tiny dashes against the bronze sky.

"Oh, thank God," Mom breathed when they reached their floor, and she could escape the glass bubble of the elevator.

"If she hates heights, how is she going to manage the hike?" Heather whispered to Bon. "I saw online that some of the paths are right on the mountain edge."

"Oh, she'll be fine." Bon waved her hand dismissively, leading the way to their room.

Wow. Their suite was ridiculously fancy. The walls were painted a deep midnight blue, and everything was carpeted and plush; the deepness of the color served to draw the eye to the windows and . . . just wow . . . that view of ocean and sky. Heather felt a shiver of pleasure at the sight. She could look at that forever, she thought, creeping closer to the glass. At the edge of the terrace, a thick glass balustrade stood between them and nothing at all. Heather couldn't resist opening the doors to the rush of salt air and the sound of the waves on the shore. The wash of copper-gold evening light was warm on her face. It was like floating in air.

"Oh, Bon," she breathed, "it's amazing!"

Bon clapped her hands. "Isn't it! Don't you feel like a princess in a tower?"

"No," Heather laughed. "I feel like a queen."

"Close the door, Heather," Mom groaned. "It's giving me vertigo."

Oh dear. Mom was looking green.

"You'd best take the bed farthest from the window," Bon said practically, passing Mom her key card. "It'll save you girls arguing over who gets which bed." She winked at Heather, tossing her a key card of her own. "Junior and I are taking the king room." Bon opened the door to her room, revealing another plush midnight-blue oasis, filled with an expansive bed. "Oh, look, our bags are already here!"

They sure were. There was a mountain of them next to Bon's king-size bed.

"Wow, look at your en suite, Bon!" The door to the bathroom was open, revealing marble floors and walls, and a small crystal chandelier in the shape of an egg. "You've even got a Jacuzzi!"

"You've got one too." Bon sounded smug. "Go look."

Bon-Bon loved luxury, and her joy was catching. It made Heather feel like it was Christmas morning.

Heather took her suitcase with her as she went to check out her own bathroom. Mom was already there, standing on the threshold.

"Can you believe this?" Mom said. She was sounding a little grinchy.

Heather stuck her head in. The bathroom was a mirror image of Bon's, including the giant corner Jacuzzi. There was a large orchid in the corner, fat with flowers the size of small plates.

"Is this place bigger than your apartment?" Mom asked.

"Much," Heather assured her, "I could fit my kitchen and bedroom into just our room."

Their bedroom was big enough to comfortably fit two queen beds. There was another orchid on the table, the white flowers trembling on their stems in the air flowing quietly from the vents. There was a sliding door to the terrace in here too. Heather opened it. She couldn't get enough of the salt air and the sound of the breathing sea.

The setting sun had turned the ocean molten bronze, and the palm trees along the cliff were streaming in the warm breeze. That loose, lovely feeling was back as Heather took it all in. It was gorgeous. Without stopping to second-guess herself, Heather snapped a quick photo on her phone and sent a message to Romeo. Slumming it, she captioned.

"Can you grab my pack when you get yours?" Mom asked from the dimness of the room behind. "I need a break from her for a minute or so." She sat heavily on her bed.

"Sure," Heather said absently. She'd noticed the flashing dots on her phone.

A message.

A photo of colorful fishing boats appeared on the screen in her hand. The boats were bobbing on a still bay, and the arid hills rimming the bay were glowing amber in the evening light. The bright colors of the boats—orange, teal, yellow, blue—reflected in the calm waters, doubling their charm. The sky overhead the bay was hazy, a pure blue streaked with orange and gold.

Romeo was off somewhere in Peru, watching the sunset. Living his best life.

Another message arrived.

Paracas.

He was living his best life, watching the sunset in Paracas. Without her.

Thought we weren't messaging . . .he wrote.

Stupidly, it stung.

We aren't.

Or they weren't supposed to be. They'd said their goodbyes this morning. They only had each other's numbers because they'd gone to get their Peruvian SIM cards together. Whatever it was they were to each other, it wasn't a thing that was lasting past their three days in Casa Suerte. Which they'd decided during their first night. This was a fateful fling.

Fated to be brief.

"I'm not one for permanence," he told her as they lay in the darkness, watching through the mullioned window as the moonlight chased the terra-cotta roofs with filigrees of silver light. "I come and go too much. It wears people down."

He'd made himself clear, and yet here she was, messaging him only hours after they'd parted.

Missing me, huh?

And here he was, messaging back.

"Who are you messaging? Shawn?" The note of hope in Mom's voice was unmistakable. And jarring.

Heather hadn't thought of Shawn in days. "No," she said, more sharply than she meant to. "It's just a friend I made in Barranco." She bit her lip, wondering whether or not to tell her mom more.

"I bet the place you stayed in Barranco was cheaper than here," Mom said dryly, looking around at the antique furniture in their suite.

"Much cheaper," Heather agreed, tucking her phone in her pocket, trying to forget Romeo. She couldn't bear it if she told Mom and Mom ruined it. Romeo was her secret enchantment, and she didn't want it spoiled. She fetched their hiking packs from Bon's room.

"What have you got in here?" she huffed as she lugged her mother's gear.

"Not much," Mom sighed. "It's just a slightly heavier pack—but it got good reviews online."

"You ever done a hike like this before?" Heather asked her mom.

"I went to Europe with your dad after we got married, does that count?"

"Did you have to go up any hills?"

"We walked up to Sacré-C?ur in Paris." Mom gave Heather a rueful look. Then she sighed. "I never thought I'd be doing a trek like this for the first time at my age."

"You're only fifty."

"Almost fifty-one." Mom opened her pack. "If I have a heart attack, just leave me up there for the vultures."

"Jesus, Mom," Heather groaned.

"What?"

"Do you have to be so grim all the time?"

"It's funny. I'm being funny."

"Well, no one's laughing. Come on, Bon's spent a lot of money to enjoy this with us. Can't you at least pretend to have a good time?" Heather was sharper than she meant to be, but she had years of pent-up anger simmering—which was one reason she hadn't been answering her mother's calls. Her mom didn't need it right now. Heather had planned to deal with it herself and then talk to her mom. But now here they were, roomies, and within five minutes Heather had made her mom cry.

"You're right, I'm being useless." Mom's voice was tight and tender.

Heather's insides were all knotted up and she had a sour metallic taste in her mouth. Why did her mom do this to her? She was the kid here. What if she needed comforting? But old habits die hard, and Heather found herself stepping into the role of caretaker, as usual. "You must be tired," she said, switching gears and trying to sound brisk and cheerful. "I was wrecked after the flight in. Why don't you have a shower and get ready for dinner?"

Her mother nodded but kept her back determinedly turned. Even so, Heather didn't miss the way her hand darted up to dash away a rolling tear.

She felt terrible. She should be more sympathetic. Her mother had lost a husband too. And it was somehow worse for everyone that he was still alive and kicking.

"Here, I've got something for you." Heather unzipped her suitcase. She pulled the Aesop box out. Heather had hidden the products after her first night with Romeo, freaked out by the thought of him smelling like Shawn's gift. It was fine giving the box to an anonymous shower-sharer; it was not okay to give it to Romeo.

She held the expensive toiletries out to Mom.

"What's this?" Mom looked startled.

"A gift. Something to help you enjoy your arrival." Heather felt a stab of guilt as she saw the pleasure on her mother's face. She wasn't sure if she felt guilty because of Shawn or because of Mom. Maybe both.

"Oh, honey, that's so thoughtful." Mom was welling up again as she opened the box. "Geranium! You remembered how much I love the smell of geranium?"

Well, she hadn't. But she accepted Mom's pleased thanks, glad she wasn't crying anymore.

"Baby." Mom rose from the bed and wrapped Heather in a hug, the Aesop box crushed between their bodies. "Thank you." Warm tears landed on Heather's neck.

Heather felt an inch tall. She resolved to be nicer to her mother as Mom gave a shaky sigh. Heather rubbed her back gingerly.

* * *

"What did you do, slip something in her water?" Bon whispered an hour later, as she watched her daughter lean into the mirror in the main room, applying a neat coat of red lipstick. "She looks happy."

Mom had changed into a pair of tight black jeans and a loose black knit top with batwing arms. She wore thin leather sandals, and she looked good.

"No, I just slipped her some fancy body wash," Heather whispered back.

"I thought you said you only brought travel gear," Bon needled Mom, unable to resist stirring her up. "And here you are looking fabulous."

"This is travel gear," Mom said, rubbing her crimson lips together to blot them. "You said to bring something nice to go out in. This rolled up small enough and didn't crease. And I can wear the jeans anywhere." She turned to them and raised an eyebrow. "Now please tell me the restaurant isn't on the rooftop, because I refuse to go any higher in those elevators."

"It's in the gardens downstairs."

"Oh, thank God." Mom tucked the tube of lipstick in one pocket and tucked her room card in the other.

"It's not even on the cliff edge," Bon said with mock innocence. She leaned in next to Mom and checked her own makeup, running a finger along the smudge of her eyeliner. Bon was smart in wide-leg forest-green trousers and a striped black and white top.

"Do you think I look okay, or should I change?" Heather was having second thoughts about her peasant skirt. She'd changed into a fresh T-shirt, cropped and tight, and thrown her denim jacket on. Earlier today, as she'd danced away from Romeo's farewell kiss, she'd felt bohemian and fine. But now the whole thing felt out of character, mismatched and kind of silly.

"You look stunning," Bon told her. "Like Stevie Nicks."

Heather wasn't reassured.

"Besides, you're young. You'd look great in a potato sack."

Now she really wasn't reassured.

As Heather followed Mom and Bon down to dinner, she felt the familiar prickly sweat of self-doubt. For a moment she imagined Shawn's reaction to her new clothes, which was a complete mistake, because now she'd invited him back into her head.

That skirt is really designed with taller women in mind.Shawn-in-her-head sounded thoughtful. That was what was so horrible about him. He framed every insult as though he was being helpful. And it was awful.

Heather was aware of her hem trailing slightly on the floor as she swished into the elevator. She was very short for it. She crammed her hands into the pockets of her denim jacket and kept her gaze away from her reflection in the elevator glass.

"Those are very flattering jeans, Sandra," Bon was telling Mom sincerely. "They do wonders for you."

"If you say one word about my weight gain, I'll sock you one,Mom. I mean it."

"Well, you'd never even know in those."

"Mom."

"Besides, big bottoms are fashionable these days. Not like in my day."

Heather's mom gave an eyeroll worthy of a teenager.

"At least she didn't compare you to Stevie Nicks," Heather told her.

"Heather Russo!" Bon-Bon was outraged. "I won't hear a word said against Stevie Nicks. I first slept with your grandfather after a Fleetwood Mac concert. Although that was before Stevie Nicks joined the lineup."

"Stop!" Mom put her hands over her ears. "I don't want to hear it."

"Oh, gross." Heather was the first one out of the elevator.

But Bon wouldn't take the hint. "It wasn't gross. It was beautiful. And I was wearing a skirt much like that one. Only it was Indian cotton."

"Stop talking." Mom still had her hands over her ears as she crossed the lobby.

"Bon, you need to buy me at least a couple of glasses of wine before you drop information like that," Heather told her.

"I'll keep that in mind." Bon was having a great time. She had Junior's box in the crook of her arm, and she was grinning. "This is so much more fun than sitting around back in Tucson, next to that golf course. Thank you for coming along on your grandmother's crazy vacation."

"Thanks for inviting me," Heather said honestly. "I'm loving it so far."

"And we've barely even begun!" Bon gestured expansively at the lush gardens, the palms spotlit against the plum-colored night sky. "Ready?"

Heather was. Because she wanted to claw back the Barranco magic. As they stepped out into the garden, she glanced down the coast, to where Barranco was a glitter of lights on the cliffs. But Romeo wasn't there anymore.

"And don't forget," Bon reminded her, "five bucks for the first person to get your mom to laugh."

"I've got the cat videos queued up," Heather promised.

A couple were leaving the roped-off restaurant as they approached. The man looked Heather up and down and smiled. Oh God. Was he laughing at the skirt? Heather curled in on herself.

"Stop slumping your shoulders, Heather. You look divine. Own it." Bon poked her between the shoulder blades.

Automatically, Heather straightened her shoulders.

"No one with a rack as good as yours should ever slump."

"Bon!" Heather flushed.

"What's she done now?" Mom asked. She was waiting at the velvet rope that cordoned off the hotel's outdoor restaurant, which sprawled onto a paved area in the gardens, beneath awnings that rippled in the breeze.

"She's talking about my rack," Heather told her quietly, still blushing.

"Mother!"

"I was giving her a compliment."

"Well, save the compliments till we're a few drinks in and can cope."

"You two need a few drinks. You're so uptight it hurts. Aren't they, Junior?"

"Don't you dare bring Junior into this. I don't want him anywhere near my daughter's rack."

"Mom!"

"What? I don't."

"Everyone shut up now," Heather warned. "The ma?tre d' is coming."

Mom and Bon swiveled, polite smiles fixed in place, as the ma?tre d' swooped in to take them to their table.

You'd never know what filthy old broads they could be, Heather thought, as they complimented the host on the table.

It was a great table, with a view down the lawns to the water.

"Three pisco sours," Bon ordered before the waiter even gave them the wine list. "And as soon as they're done, bring us three more. We're celebrating tonight." She gave the waiter a conspiratorial gesture, beckoning her closer. "You may be surprised, but this is my seventieth birthday present to myself."

"Happy birthday. And is that your birthday present from them?" the waiter asked in her heavy accent, nodding equally conspiratorially to the cherry wood box on the table in front of Bon.

There was a spiky silence as Heather and her mother regarded Junior's box.

"Oh no," Bon said. "That's my husband."

The waiter recoiled, horrified as Bon's words sank in. "Lo siento," she stammered.

"Mom, why?" Heather's mother protested, as they watched the waiter beat a hasty retreat. "That poor girl."

"What? It's the truth." Bon seemed genuinely baffled by their responses.

"It's a bit unusual to have your dead husband on the dinner table," Heather told her grandmother.

"I'm sure it happens all the time." Bon-Bon was blithe.

"I'm so sorry," Heather's mom apologized to the waiter when she returned carrying a tray of cocktails for them.

The waiter waved the apologies away and, blushing, told them the cocktails were on the house. "Happy birthday," she said weakly, shooting alarmed glances at Junior's box.

"Put him away, Mom," Heather's mother pleaded. "It's probably a health hazard to keep him there."

"Don't be silly. He's sealed inside a lead casing in there. It's all perfectly fine." Bon patted the top of the box. "Besides, it's my birthday party and I want him here."

"Happy birthday, Bon." Heather raised her pisco sour, trying to pinch off another argument. She nudged her mother's glass closer to her hand and gave her a sharp look.

"Fine." Heather's mom picked up her pisco sour. "Happy birthday, Mom."

Bon toasted herself merrily and took a deep mouthful of the cocktail.

"Oh, wow, that's the best one I've had," Heather said admiringly after she'd taken a sip. Her phone buzzed in the pocket of her jacket. Surreptitiously, she slid it from her pocket and glanced at it under the table as Mom and Bon looked through the menu.

It was another photo from Romeo. This one showed a square-shouldered frosted-glass bottle of pisco and a shot glass.

Surreptitiously Heather took a shot of her cocktail and sent it back to him. Snap.

It was another one of those coincidences. Watching the same sunset over the water; drinking pisco at the same moment. Sure, they were tourists in Peru, and these were common things tourists did—but even so, it felt fateful.

There was a slow unwinding coil of anticipation in Heather's stomach. It was like she could feel him through the phone. But this was an anticipation that would be unfulfilled, she thought thickly as she hid her phone under her skirt. It buzzed again.

How's it going with the family?

Heather typed one-handed, lifting her cocktail with the other, to make it look like she was paying attention to her family and not messaging some hot guy she'd only just met. Surprisingly well. They're ordering ceviche and scallops and there's no bloodshed yet. She waited a beat. I thought we weren't messaging.

There was another beat. Then he messaged back: We're not.

And then her phone went silent.

"What are you smiling about?" Mom asked, sounding suspicious again.

"She must have been watching cat videos," Bon said, nudging Heather. "Go on, share."

"Not at the table," Mom scolded.

"I'll show you under the table, then." Bon took her own phone out and typed something in. Then she held her phone over Mom's lap and punched play on a video.

Heather couldn't see what was playing, but Mom's eyes bugged out of her head. Then she snatched the phone off of Bon and pressed it into her lap, to hide the screen.

"Mother!"

Bon took a sip of her cocktail and batted her eyelashes innocently. "What? It's a cat video."

Mom shook her head, trying to be outraged, but Heather could see that she had to press her lips together to keep from laughing.

"What?" Heather demanded. "What is it?"

"Nothing!" But Mom was struggling not to giggle.

Heather reached for the phone, but Mom held it away from her. Now she was starting to laugh.

"No!" she squealed. "It's not decent."

"For Pete's sake, Sandra, she's old enough. Hell, she's been busy sexting someone all night." Bon snatched the phone off of Sandy and dropped it in Heather's hands.

Heather was shocked. "I have not!" But then she saw the phone screen and was really shocked. "Bon!"

Mom was laughing in earnest now. She covered her face with her napkin. "I can't believe you, Mom."

"That's filthy." Heather was starting to giggle too, tossing the phone back to Bon like it was a hot potato.

"What? You've never seen someone stroking a little pussy before?"

"Mom!"

"Bon!"

Heather made the mistake of meeting her mother's gaze and lost control. Mom was turning bright red and starting to snort. Heather felt the tension of the last couple of hours drain away.

"That's five dollars to me," Bon told Junior smugly.