The Paper Swan(84)

He put away the paint, locked the house and spent the afternoon getting reacquainted with old friends: his boat, a blue, blue sky and a sparkling ocean.



Damian made more paper swans for the little girl. He left them lying about where he knew she’d find them: tacked to the gate, sitting on the porch, hanging on a string from the tree by Skye’s window. She never talked to him, but she always took the swans, and she always left before it got dark.

Damian stopped by one of the outdoor markets that had sprung up between Casa Paloma and Paza del Mar. He picked up fresh fruits and vegetables and meat. He was almost done when he spotted cans of tuna stacked on a shelf.

I made you something, Skye had said.

Her ceviche had turned out to be the foulest thing he’d ever tasted, but those four words, those four words had blown his tightly guarded world apart. No one had loved him or fought for him, or made him feel the way Skye had. The way she still did.

Most days, Damian kept busy enough to ward off thoughts of Skye. Nights were different. At night, he had no defense. He lay in bed with a hunger so wide and so vast that he felt himself get swallowed up in it. Nothing, not even the Lucky Strike box under his pillow, could keep him from falling into the soul-sucking hole in the center of his heart.

As he drove home from the market, Damian wondered where Skye was, if she had found someone who deserved her more than he did, someone who brought her more happiness than pain. He had deliberately kept himself from any information about her. If he knew where she lived, where she worked, where she shopped, he couldn’t have stopped himself from looking her up, and he wasn’t sure what he’d do if he saw her again, even if it was just from across the street. Living without her was agony, but the thought of seeing her with someone else, no matter how happy and fulfilled, was unbearable.

Damian dropped four bags of groceries in the kitchen and went back to the car for the rest. As he reached the main door, the little girl walked past him, dragging the rest inside.

“Can’t you make anything else?” She plopped herself up on one of the stools and placed a paper swan on the counter.

“You don’t like swans?” He had left that one tucked under a stone by the pond, a few days ago, with its neck peeking out.

“Why do you only make swans?”

“Because my mama told me about a magic swan that hides on the grounds here. I haven’t found one, but you remind me of it.”

“Me?”

“Yes. You make me laugh. That’s some powerful magic. And I think you’re going to grow up into a beautiful swan.”

“Are you calling me an ugly duckling?” She hopped off the stool and confronted him.

“No. I’m just . . .” Damian cupped his groin and jumped back instinctively. He didn’t like the way this little girl had him hopping around like a bunny rabbit. “You know what you are? You’re a big bully. You kick me, you spy on me, you walk in and out of here without my permission, and now you’re trying to intimidate me.”

They glared at each other, her hands on her hips, and him guarding his balls.

“What does ‘intimidate’ mean?” she asked.

“To frighten, terrify, or push someone around.”

Her scowl softened. She seemed to like the idea. “You’re funny,” she said, her face breaking into a grin.

“And you have dimples.” Damian faked disgust.

She stood quietly and watched him put things away.

“This place looks pretty now,” she said. “It was always sad.”

“You like it?”

“It’s nice.” She regarded him for a moment. “What’s your name?”

“Bandidos don’t have names.”

“You’re no bandido.” She giggled. “Bandidos make a mess. You made it nice.”

“Thank you. And you’re welcome to come by any time, as long as your parents are all right with it.”

“I can take care of myself.”

“That may be so, but I’m sure your mother would like to know where you are. Is she home, waiting for you?”

“My mama’s in Valdemoros.”

Damian felt a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. The word itself conjured up gray, concrete-laden memories. He wanted to ask about her father, but growing up without one, he tended to be more sensitive. “You have other family?”

She shrugged.

“Who looks after you?” asked Damian.