If You Stay (Beautifully Broken, #1)(76)

“I see that,” he agrees. “It’s no matter. Come with me, bella mia, and we will arrange for your bags to be delivered to your flat.”

Alanzo leads me to a small rickety counter where he speaks fast and fluent Maltese to the girl standing there. He scribbles something on a paper and hands it to her with his gnarled fingers and she nods. Then he pays her. I try to hand him US Dollars, which is all I have at this point, but Alanzo shakes his head and clucks.

“No, no,” he waves his hands. “Tomas instructed me to care for you. It’s all right.”

I’m too tired to argue.

He whistles and holds his hand in the air and hails a taxi.

I am surprised for just a moment. I guess I thought that Valletta was small enough to walk from place to place. Yet even now, I realize that was silly. There are 400,000 people on Malta and half of them live in Valletta. To be honest, the only memories I have from this place are from when I was small, when I spent a summer here with my gypsy-like father. The memories from my ten-year old self are probably distorted as hell.

I remember Italian ices, shell-hunting by the sea and long periods of boredom during which I entertained myself as my father played poker. Poker is, and always has been, Eric Talbot’s life’s blood. It is how he makes his living, how he gets his blood flowing. It also allows him to be very, very mobile. Each summer that I spent with him was in a different place, from Portland to Taiwan. But I remember Malta as being my favorite, because of its easy way of life and happy people. It is why I am here now.

Alanzo and I slip inside the air-conditioned interior of the car. I lean my head against the seat for a moment. I am so tired. Tired enough, actually, that I find myself waking up as the taxi comes to a stop outside of a little bungalow.

I blink the sleep from my eyes and open the door.

“It’s perfect,” I breathe as I step from the car.

Alanzo beams. “You like it?”

“Of course,” I nod.

The small flat is made from stucco and is situated on a bluff overlooking the sea. I can see for miles and miles here and the beach below us beckons to me. The sand is pristine and perfect, the sun beautiful and cheerful and there doesn’t appear to be anyone else for at least a mile. I have surely found paradise. I will have to watch myself to make sure that I don’t succumb to the temptation of lying on the beach all day. I have work to do.

“Come, Dr. Talbot,” Alanzo beckons.

“Please,” I call from behind him. “Call me Eva. Everyone else does.”

He smiles. “Alright. Come, Eva.”

I follow him up the winding path to the door. Green vines and fragrant white flowers are tangled on each side of the little walk and I pass a motorized scooter leaning against the house in the shade. I raise my eyebrows.

“It’s for your use,” Alanzo explains. “You can ride it almost anywhere that is too far for you to walk and for other needs, you can ride the bus.” I nod as I file the information away.

He unlocks the door and hands me the key, then steps aside so that I can enter.

“One bedroom, one bath, kitchenette,” he says. “Just as you asked for.”

It is clean, cozy and efficient.

I nod. “It’s perfect.”

“Linens and towels are included. You will have a cleaning lady come once a week. You will not need to care for the house. If you require something or if something breaks, call Tomas and he will contact your land lord.”

I nod again.

I don’t bother insisting that I can take care of it myself. Malta is a very patriarchal society. The men enjoy being caretakers. I don’t wish to intrude on that. I only wish to study their behavior when I meet them.

I walk through the small flat, taking note of the cozy furnishings, the open back doors that lead to a little patio area surrounded by a garden and the very small bed. I cringe.

“Not what you are used to?” Alanzo guesses.

I shake my head. “I haven’t slept in a twin bed since I was a kid,” I tell him. “But it’s okay. I’ll make do.”

Because I definitely don’t want to sound like a spoiled, self-entitled American

Alanzo looks at me kindly.

“You seem very tired, Eva,” he observes. “You should rest. Tomas will be along in the morning to welcome you.”

I nod again. “You’re right. I am tired. Thank you so much, Alanzo. It has been a pleasure meeting you.”

He smiles, a wizened old grin, and then he is gone and I am alone.

I look around at the quiet little cottage with the dusk settling in and I know that I won’t be able to hold my eyes open for much longer.

I curl onto the skinny little bed and close my eyes. I have a scant few minutes to appreciate the ocean crashing outside of my open window before I drift into a dreamless sleep.

***

It is dark when I wake.

I lie still for a moment because I know that something has woken me, but I don’t hear anything out of the ordinary in this unfamiliar house. Shadows fall in angular slants against my wall but nothing is moving. The silence is still.

And then I feel it again, a tickling on my arm. My stomach sinks with dread as I brush at my skin and come into contact with something moving; something thin and fleshy.

I scream and leap from the bed, fumbling for the light switch on the wall.

There, sitting on my bed atop twisted sheets, is the largest, scariest looking spider I have ever seen in my life. Its hairy leg-span must be four or five inches. It is black and white striped and has a huge bulbous abdomen with some bright yellow stripes thrown in. I scream again just looking at it. It is so horrifying that I’m too terrified to even squash it with a shoe. I don’t want to get my hand that close.