Life and Other Near-Death Experiences(40)

“Does your sister live in Puerto Rico?”

“No, she’s in Arizona. I don’t see her or my niece and nephew very often, although they come here for Christmas most years.”

“And your parents?”

“My dad’s still here. And my mom’s in New York City. I fly out there as much as I can.”

“No kidding. My twin lives in New York.”

“You have a twin? I can’t believe you didn’t mention her before. What’s she like?”

“She’s a he. Paul. He lives in New York with his partner, Charlie, and their twin boys.”

“You’re full of surprises.”

“Yes, I am,” I said slyly.

He gently pulled me onto his bed. “Tell me more.”

I would have liked for us to stay tangled together beneath that cloud of mosquito netting for the remainder of my life, but Shiloh seemed excited about whatever he had planned, so I slipped on a dress and sandals while he showered. When he came out, he was dressed in a white linen shirt, linen pants, and a pair of loafers.

“You clean up nice,” I said.

“I do make an effort on occasion.” He brushed my curls off of my shoulders, then ran his hand along my back, sending shivers up my spine. “Are you sure you’re feeling up to this?”

He had caught me wincing earlier; I’d have to be more careful about that. “I’m fine,” I told him. “I swear.”

“If that changes, you’ll tell me. Right?”

“Of course,” I chirped, ignoring the mild but persistent throbbing in my lower abdomen.



Old San Juan was a postcard of a city, with tropically colored colonial buildings stacked side by side on narrow streets paved with deep blue cobblestones. After walking along a path overlooking the water, we ducked onto a side street, where Shiloh led me to a tiny bar. The walls were plastered with photos of famous people and what was presumably the family who owned the bar.

“Legend has it this is the birthplace of the pi?a colada,” Shiloh said.

“Is that true?”

“I don’t know, but José here makes a mean drink,” he said, reaching across the bar to clasp hands with the bartender.

“You know everyone in Puerto Rico,” I said.

He squeezed my thigh lightly. “No, I’m just taking you to my favorite places.”

This was comforting. If he had other girlfriends on the side, he wouldn’t be parading me around town. Plus, he’d shown me where he lived. Not that it mattered, I reminded myself; we had a few more weeks to play couple, and then it was on to the end.

José slid two tall frosty glasses toward us, each filled with an icy mixture so pale yellow it was nearly white. Sweet without being heavy, the drink set off every pleasure receptor in my body. “I think I’m in love,” I told him, face still in my glass.

Shiloh smirked. “I’m fond of you, too.”

I kicked him under the table. “Not so fast, tough guy. I’m still trying to reconcile your fine body with your homicidal tendencies.”

He leaned in to whisper in my ear. “How many more times do I need to replicate this afternoon to make you forget about the plane mishap?”

I smiled broadly, then kissed him, surprising myself. I wasn’t usually the type for affection of the spontaneous or public variety. Then again, I was not the type to sleep with random men while I was still legally married. And yet.

After we finished the pi?a coladas, Shiloh and I walked a few more blocks to a brightly colored restaurant where a band was playing. We were seated and ordered wine and paella. After the waitress left, Shiloh motioned toward the dance floor. “Come on.”

“No puedo,” I said, mimicking Milagros during our last lesson.

“Si, tu puedes,” he said, pulling me out of my chair. He stopped and glanced at my stomach. “Wait, are you feeling okay? Because if you’re not—”

“Very clever use of reverse psychology there, Dr. Velasquez.”

“I’m serious, Libby. We’ve already done a lot today. If you’re not up to it, it’s not a problem.”

For once, my cancerous abdomen wasn’t the issue. The issue was that I was about as graceful as a buffalo mid–accidental cliff dive. “I can’t dance,” I confessed. “I have, like, four left feet.”

“You’re in luck, because Puerto Ricans happen to be born with a right foot, a left foot, and dancing hips. I could salsa before I could walk. I’ll teach you.”

He gyrated exaggeratedly in front of me and I laughed. “Okay, but you’ll have to lead.”

“Not a problem.” He put one hand on the small of my back and took my right hand with the other. “Watch my feet for a minute. Then look up and let me guide you with my body.”

I blushed as he moved me back and forth, again and again, until I managed to operate my limbs in a manner that might charitably be described as dancing.

“You’re not half-bad,” Shiloh shouted over the music.

“For a gringa!” I said, mostly delighted that I had not yet broken one of his toes.

“Exactly.” He laughed and spun me around.

The tempo slowed, and he pulled me close. “What’s next, Libby?” he asked quietly, his cheek almost touching mine.