Page 79 of Harbor

No, she didn’t think so.

“I’m not going anywhere, Ren. What is wrong?”

When he didn’t answer her, she followed the path he had taken out of the bathroom. A quick peek at the sliding doors leading out to the small veranda told her Diego was still safe and playing happily. The veranda’s railing was too high for him to climb over, and the railings were close enough together that he couldn’t slide through them, either. They didn’t put any chairs out there just to make sure he wouldn’t try to climb up on one and fall over the railing, too.

With the sliding doors closed, he also couldn’t hear their conversation.

Renzo headed for the short hallway that led into the two bedrooms. Lucia didn’t even think about it, she followed him without question. Standing in the doorway, she watched as he yanked the dresser in their bedroom open without care. Some of the clothes they’d unpacked and put into the drawers spilled onto the floor, but he didn’t seem to care.

His mind was on something else.

Lucia felt like hers was just starting to catch up to speed.

“What are you doing?” she demanded.

Renzo didn’t even turn to look at her as he replied, “What the fuck does it look like?”

She didn’t want to answer.

She didn’t want to know.

They’d decided, hadn’t they? They said they weren’t doing this anymore. They couldn’t—it wasn’t good for Diego. They’d said.

Renzo kept moving inside the room even as Lucia stayed frozen in the doorway. He went to the closet, yanking out the two black duffle bags she didn’t want to see again, if ever. Throwing them uncaringly to the bed, Renzo finally turned to look at her. He widened his arms, as if silently asking, What are you doing standing there?

“Renzo,” Lucia said quietly.

He just kept staring.

She refused to move.

“We have to go,” he told her.

Lucia shook her head. “No.”

“Lucia.”

“We’re not going anywhere.”

“We don’t have a fucking choice here, Lucia.”

She didn’t know what he was talking about. She didn’t know what had him so spooked that he looked crazed, but none of it mattered. They’d already had this goddamn conversation, and there was no way she was backing down on it.

She couldn’t.

“We’re not going anywhere, okay?” Lucia stepped forward, once single step into the room. “If we run again, that’s going to make Diego even worse than he already is, Ren. You know this. What in the hell is wrong with you?”

Renzo said nothing as he yanked a crumpled piece of white paper from the pocket of his jacket, and threw it at her. Lucia didn’t catch it in time before it fell to the floor, but she was quick to bend down and pick it up. It took entirely too long for her to get the paper flattened out so that she could read the words written on it. By that time, Renzo had already yanked out the clothes in the top two drawers of the dresser, and dropped them inside the bags.

Lucia was still frozen.

Stunned.

Silenced.

She read the words on the paper—three times, actually. She understood what they said perfectly well, and what they meant. She didn’t need to take them in over and over to comprehend what the words were telling her. No, she read them over and over because that handwriting … so familiar and careful in its strokes. She’d seen it time and time again in her life.

Her father’s handwriting.