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He gave me a sly smile, reaching into his back pocket. “Something a bit more tangible, then,” he said, pulling out his wallet. He fished around inside and pulled out a quarter, and he held it up between us, tails side towards me. “Say you flipped a million coins over and over. Statistically speaking, one of them is going to come up tails twenty times in a row. What if I told you this is that coin?”
“Were you flipping a million coins?”
He smiled. “This coin has only seen tails. It doesn’t know anything about heads—doesn’t even know it’s capable of landing on heads. If I flip this coin right now, what are the odds of it landing on heads?”
I frowned. “Well… fifty-fifty.”
“How much would you bet?”
I hesitated. Didn’t matter. He flipped the coin, straight up into the air, and he caught it in one hand. He kept it in his palm, not showing it.
“Well?” I said, not knowing what this tension was in my chest.
“You said fifty-fifty. Does the coin think it’s fifty-fifty?”
“A… a coin isn’t a person. It’s not an analogy.”
He pocketed the coin, standing back up, picking up his sandwich. “Well, I’d better go. I have to meet with someone in fifteen.”
“I—wait. The coin?”
He grinned, finishing his sandwich and balling up the wrapper. “You tell me what it landed on.”
“I don’t know.” And I didn’t know why I was so agitated—why I felt like my life would fall apart if I didn’t know which way the coin landed.
“Take care, now, you hear?” He turned away, holding a hand up in a lazy wave over his shoulder, and I found myself straining at the table as he left, watching him go—watching the door swing shut behind him, waiting for him to come back, waiting for someone, something, anything.
Chapter 19
I felt like I was going to be sick as I hit the call button, but I had to do it. I sat on the park bench, squinting under the sunlight, watching a picturesque sailboat drift by not far from the quay.
The call clicked, and I heard Miguel’s voice wary on the other side. “London. Here to curse me out again?”
I took a long breath. “Why’d you pick up?”
He paused. “The fuck kind of reverse psychology game is this?”
“If you think I’m just going to curse you out, why’d you pick up?”
He was quiet for a second. “Really did a number on you, huh?”
“Adam Garcia told me it’s done a number on you, too.”
“Santo cielo.” He sighed. “Guess I was wondering if you actually had something important to tell me. Or maybe I’m a glutton for punishment.”
I’d never really thought to try piecing together what Miguel was thinking, what he was feeling. What went into his decisions. That tone in his voice spoke volumes. Guilt, shame. He’d picked up because he felt like he was obliged to me. And sitting here in that feeling now, it was a strange sensation.
“Listen… I wanted to apologize,” I said, my voice low. “You were genuinely trying to look out for me. And I assumed the worst. So… I am sorry.”
It felt like letting go of a ton of bricks. On the other side, Miguel hesitated, starting and stopping, before he spoke. “You really are losing it.”
“Maybe neither of us were María’s precious babies. I think Queen Pearl was her precious baby. Us? We were both pawns in her game for it.”
“Now you’re criticizing her?”
“She made the right choice. I hate it, but I… mostly just hate it because I know it’s the only choice we had.” I kicked at the dirt. “Just acknowledging that I was… I guess… holding onto a title that didn’t mean anything, trying to be her favorite.”
He sighed. “Dios mio.”
