Chapter 14

Chapter Fourteen

As the police officer's blue and red lights clicked off behind them, Callum tried to keep himself from grinding his teeth.

They'd been pulled over for speeding on a mountainous winding road draped in thick fog, with no visible speed limit posted.

The worst part of it was that Callum had been so sure he was going to drive off a cliff that he'd been taking it easy. All the other cars on the road had passed him.

Yet . . .

"Motherfucker. My luck is shite right now," Callum muttered, his temples throbbing.

They'd managed to get away with bribing the officer. So instead of getting a ticket, Callum had forked over any remaining cash he and Liddy had, and now they were on their way. He'd have to withdraw and exchange more when he had a chance, but they were in the middle of god-knows-where right now, and dusk had fallen.

Even their momentary celebration over finding Sergio's employer had been met with disappointment—the tour office they'd called was closed for the night. Who knew if they would be open on Sunday? But fortunately, there appeared to be an office in La Fortuna, so maybe they could drop in tomorrow.

"Battery on your phone is at ten percent," Liddy said in a soft voice as they started driving again.

Callum reached over and glanced at it. He'd asked in the pulperia where he'd stopped for toothbrushes to see if they had iPhone car chargers, but he'd been out of luck there, too. Now he wished he'd stopped at the Mas X Menos grocery store he'd seen while they'd been in Tibás. He might have had a better chance there. The red light of the battery level taunted him.

"Can you put it on airplane mode?" Liddy asked.

He shook his head. "I need the GPS." He pressed the button for the direction list. They were shoddy, at best. He tried to memorize them, keeping one eye on the road, then powered down his phone.

"I feel like we just went back in time or something."

"Travel disasters have a way of humbling you like that."

"You're not kidding. This has been the trip from hell."

Even though she was agreeing with him, something about her tone sounded . . . off? She'd been less than enthusiastic since leaving Tibás, especially after calling the tour company had produced nothing.

"You feeling all right?" He didn't want to pry. She'd been in tears when he'd asked before.

Maybe I was too harsh about wanting to go back.

"I'm just hungry. Tired. The cake and empanadas were good, but I need an actual meal."

He scanned the road.

Nothing in sight. Just more mountain road, more fog, an occasional cow, lots and lots of green . . . all quickly fading to darkness.

He wanted to be off this road before dusk dwindled, taking any semblance of light with it. There weren't any guardrails between the narrow road and sheer drop-offs. How locals didn't have more disastrous car accidents, he didn't know. The speeds at which some cars and tour buses passed him made him feel like he was eighty years old, hands death-gripped at nine and three.

"I'm hoping we get to La Fortuna soon. It feels like we should have been there already." The GPS had said they had about a half hour to go before he'd turned it off.

Silence settled between them, feeling heavier like it had when they'd driven from the airport rather than on their more comfortable trip this morning.

He made a few more turns, trying to focus his tired eyes despite the dense fog around them. Was it always this foggy up here? He'd been to Arenal a few times before, but mostly he remembered how carsick the drive had made him.

This wasn't like driving on the coast where he'd spent more time.

"What I wouldn't give for a good curry right now," Liddy said, rolling her shoulders back.

Callum smiled. "Now who sounds English?"

"I think I've more than proven my bravery to try foods from other cultures. And I live in London. There's curry everywhere. I get takeaway to the office at least twice a week. Especially if I'm working after hours."

"So you're the infamous curry feaster. I knew someone was bringing it in."

"Yet you never thought to get up and look to see who it was?"

"What was I supposed to do? Grab a fork and go sniffing? You don't think it'd be strange if I showed up in your office suddenly—for no reason at all—other than to inspect your takeaway?"

"True. But maybe it's better than the opposite where you hole yourself up in your office like the wizard of Oz."

"You know, you're not the first person to call me the wiz at work."

She laughed to herself, shaking her head.

"What?"

"Nothing." She giggled again. "It doesn't matter."

"No, seriously, what is it?"

"You know what they say about you, don't you? That the reason Callum Scott has no heart is because he gave it away to the Tin Man."

He grimaced. No, haven't heard that one. "What about my brain and courage?"

"Both are debatable."

"Then I'll have to work harder at the lack of heart thing. Make them too scared to question the other ones."

She studied his face. "You don't care what people say about you?"

I care what you say about me.

Where had that thought come from?

"Why should I?" He turned down a road that appeared to be part of the main one.

"That's lucky for you. I sure as hell care what people say about me. Especially at work."

"Maybe you care too much."

"And maybe you care too little." She sounded abrasive.

Maybe we both said more than we needed to. Or not enough.

He snapped his head toward her. "What has caring about what people think of you ever gotten you, Liddy? You're adventurous. You are. I can tell. But you hold back. The same way you do at work when we have meetings and I ask for suggestions. Maybe one of your suggestions might make things better for everyone, but you don't. Whether it's because you don't like me or you like to fit in, you keep your mouth shut."

"You don't know me?—"

"And I think I finally know why. Because when you were growing up, people told you that you couldn't do things. I don't know who—maybe your parents, your classmates, your doctors. I'm not sure. It sure as hell wasn't your granny, and I can't imagine Elle in that category either. She started a dance school for kids with disabilities, for Christ's sake. That shows how she feels about the matter."

"Callum, stop."

He shook his head. "No, because you know what, you deserve better than what you're letting yourself have. You knew you were smart, so you worked hard and landed an incredible job out of university. Then because you're adventurous and brave, you hopped on a plane and moved to a new country. But you have to stop caring so much about what people think of you. Wouldn't it make you feel better to just tell them to fuck off? For once?"

"I'm more than happy to tell you to fuck off."

Ha. Serves me right.

He'd crossed the goddamn line again. Hell, if the roles were reversed, he'd tell her to fuck off, too. Callum cleared his throat. "I didn't mean?—"

"To play armchair psychologist to my life? Really?" Liddy crossed her arms, visibly agitated. "Don't you dare bring up anything that I confided in you and use it against me. At least I try with people. You can say all you want about not caring what people think, but that's easy when you won't let anyone get close enough to hurt you. Your ex cheated on you with your best friend, so, of course, the solution is to shut everyone on the planet out."

Anger flared through him. "That's not something?—"

"Something you want used against you? Yeah, I get it. Asshole." She shook her head, seething. "You even shut your own mother out, Callum. You shut the world out and then sit high and mighty in your corner saying, ‘I don't care what any of them think.'"

Callum gripped the steering wheel tighter. Up ahead, a red sign glowed like a beacon from the fog. Soda La Libertad , it read. Thank God, somewhere to eat. He pulled the car into the gravel lot. Only a few other cars were in front of the small, shabby building, but he didn't care. He needed to get out of this car right now.

He turned the car off.

"You even shut your own mother out, Callum."

Shut my mum out? Nothing could be further from the truth.

She tossed me away as if I wasn't her flesh and blood. I mean nothing to her.

"My mum? Do you want to know what she said to me when she found out about Sophia? Do you want to know why I want nothing to do with her, Lydia?"

His heart raced. He'd never told anyone this. Not. A. Fucking. Soul. "I asked her to choose. It was either her or me. Surely, my own mother wouldn't want to betray her only son, right? My mum might have been Sophia's mum's best friend, but she was my mum. And she said, ‘Callum, how can you ask me to make that choice?' Me. Her son."

He swung the car door open. "She made her choice, Liddy. It just wasn't me."

He slammed the door.

She was out her door a second later. "Callum?—"

"Don't. Discussion's over." Callum could see by the expression in her eyes that his truth had affected her. But then she schooled her features and took a deep breath.

"What are we doing here?"

"You said you were hungry. This is a restaurant. A soda, to be exact." He gestured at the sign.

She scanned the exterior of the one-story pink-and-yellow breeze block building. "Are you sure it's safe to eat here?"

He shrugged. "Safe enough. I'd stick to bottled drinks, though."

"That's reassuring." She came up beside him, tension hanging thickly between them.

"It's local. Sodas usually have good food that's cheap. I was mainly suggesting you skip anything that might have unboiled water in it because water can be a source of illness for foreigners."

He glanced back at the car, wishing he'd brought some painkillers for the pain in his leg. That would have been a good thing to buy when he bought toothbrushes.

Although, his physical pain seemed secondary right now. He was more.. .aggrieved. She'd been so combative, and he hated how that conversation in the car had gone.

Though maybe it's good for me to remember what she thinks and believes about me.

He'd been letting himself get too comfortable. A reality check had been necessary.

They went inside and sat at a picnic table, where a middle-aged woman approached with some menus. They both ordered steak sandwiches and Coke, then Callum settled into his seat, scanning the interior.

Lydia was quiet, her gaze fixed downward. He'd tried and failed to comfort her, if she needed comforting at all, and now here they were. But the tension grew so uncomfortable that it almost choked him. "Look," he said after a few minutes of nauseating silence. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have snapped. Or brought up anything from your personal life. You're right, I don't know you. And I'm sorry."

She rubbed the backs of her arms. "I'm sorry, too."

There. They'd both apologized.

Now why don't I feel any better?

Their food came quickly, and they ate in silence, neither of them trying again to bridge the ever-widening gap between them. Not surprisingly, they finished their food in almost record time, each of them swallowing their sandwiches in about five minutes.

The server brought the check at Callum's request, then he pulled out a credit card and handed it to her. He sighed wearily, sipping his Coke. Coming to La Fortuna had been a terrible idea, and he wished he'd been more adamant about returning to Samara. But hopefully, they could find a place to stay quickly enough.

The server returned a moment later. "Rechazaron la tarjeta."

Card was declined.

What?

Callum blinked at her, trying to understand more clearly. He had funds in his bank. He pulled out another card. "Try this one," he said in Spanish.

The woman nodded and went back to the corner of the room.

She returned a few minutes later. "La tarjeta no pasó." The card didn't go through.

Callum stared at her in disbelief.

Then it hit him.

"No, fuck. No." He covered his eyes with his hands.

"What's going on?" Lydia's alarmed voice broke through his racing thoughts.

"I forgot to call the bank—and my credit card companies—and tell them I was traveling internationally. My cards won't process."

How could I have been such an idiot? But he knew how. He'd spent the night before his trip getting sloshed. Even what little packing he'd done had been about twenty minutes before he'd left for the airport.

Lydia's eyes widened. "I don't have any cards on me. Or cash—we gave the cop the last of my cash."

What the hell are we going to do?

Heat crept up his neck as he turned toward the server's awaiting stare. "My cards are frozen because I came from England," he explained in Spanish, his heart beating unusually fast. He pulled out his mobile phone. "Let me just call the credit card company. Or get online. See what I can do."

The woman didn't look amused by his story. She nodded but didn't return to the kitchen. No doubt she was wary that he and Liddy would get up and leave without paying.

Callum turned on his phone. Relax. It'll be fine.

His phone turned on, and a sickening six percent now showed on his battery life. How had he dropped battery so fast?

Then he looked for bars of service.

Nothing.

He searched for Wi-Fi.

Nothing.

"Are you getting through?" Liddy's tone was anxious.

"No." Callum shut his phone off again. With his phone searching for service, it would kill whatever remaining battery he had left. He looked up and held Liddy's gaze. "You don't have any money?"

"I was going to exchange more at the airport, but then Elle's dress was taken." Liddy's face had paled.

The server was back, a man with her this time. Sweat broke out on the back of Callum's neck as he explained the situation to them both. "As soon as I can get somewhere with mobile phone service," he finished, "I can get online to my bank and get my cards working again. And then I come back here and pay my bill. I promise."

The man shook his head. "Tienen que dejar los pasaportes." You have to leave your passports.

Callum turned toward Liddy, his gut bunching. "He doesn't believe we'll come back. He wants us to leave our passports to be sure."

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Liddy hissed. She gave Callum a stern look. "I am not leaving my passport. It's currently my only form of identification."

Callum's mind raced. "Okay. How about I leave my passport, but my girlfriend can keep hers?" he asked the man.

The man considered Callum's words, then nodded. "Pero cerramos a las ocho. Y estámos cerrados ma?ana." But we close at eight. And we're closed tomorrow.

Callum reached into his pocket, then stopped short. "Goddammit." He looked up at Liddy again. "He agreed we could just leave one, but I can't leave mine. I can't drive without it here. We could get stopped again. And we'll probably need it to check into a hotel, too. So unless you can magic up a credit card once I get it going, I'll need my passport."

Liddy's face drained of color. Letting out a defeated sigh, she reached into her bag and pulled out her passport. She slid it across the table to Callum. "I didn't forget to call my credit card company," she said with irritation. "But now that reminds me, I need to cancel mine and haven't had a chance to do it."

"I'm sorry." Callum took her passport and held it out to the man, explaining the situation further. He wrote his name and mobile phone number on a napkin. "We'll be back as soon as possible."

They left the restaurant, and Callum swore. This couldn't get any worse. What the fuck are we going to do?

Complicated was an understatement.

One thing's for sure. Liddy will never forgive me.