Free Sunburn by John Lescroart

cold shower. In minutes I was back downstairs at the table, drinking café con leche with a bit of roll and butter. I asked Berta to come and sit with me.
    “Are you feeling better?”
    She nodded. “It is not a good omen, still.”
    “Probably just wanted to get out of the heat. Where is everyone today, by the way?”
    “Señor Sean is not out of bed yet. The two se ñoras have gone to town together. Señora Lea said for me to tell you she would be back in the afternoon.”
    “Did she say where in town she was going?”
    She shook her head no.
    I thought that strange, but not exceptionally so, and let it pass while I resumed my breakfast.
    Berta poured herself a cup of coffee and sipped at it, looking distracted. “Do you want to go into Tossa today?” she asked. “Because a taxi will be up soon. I am going in for shopping.”
    “Thank you,” I said. “I’d like to.”

    We bumped and swayed in the usual manner all the way down to Tossa. Berta and I sat in the backseat and talked, trying to ignore the ride as we weaved from side to side.
    I was feeling much better, though still slightly hungover, and with the windows down, the heat wasn’t so bad. I looked over at Berta and was surprised again to find her so handsome. She had a fine face, neither young nor old. I wondered if, before Kyra, she and Sean hadn’t . . .
    “Were you married, Berta?” I asked abruptly.
    “Sí.”
    “What happened?” I didn’t mean to press, but suddenly I badly wanted to know.
    She looked down at the floor. “He went away.”
    “Long ago?”
    “Eighteen years.”
    The driver swerved, throwing her against me, but she stared hard, straight ahead at the road, and I was content to be silent as we wound our way past the cork trees and vineyards, back down to Tossa.
    I got out at the main crossroads near the back of town, and Berta went on to the market to do her shopping. I decided to walk through the town to the ramblas. It was near noon and the heat was stifling, but I knew down by the beach it would be cooler. Also, I’d be more likely to run into Lea down there. I didn’t normally come in to Tossa without a plan, but it was a good town to browse in and, despite the heat, I enjoyed winding through the streets, with their empty graffa bottles, their grand summer pensións, now for the most part closed up until the next spring, their stray dogs, and their faint but ever-present smell of urine and decaying garbage.
    The season was over, and Tossa was once again a town of Spaniards. Prices had dropped markedly even since we’d arrived, and the shops were closing for the winter one by one. Down at the ramblas, though, most of the bars and discos were still open, and it was here that I expected to find Lea. I knew that Tony often hung out at a bar called the Tiki, where Mike tended bar. It was a good place, with a vined terrace fronting the sea. By the time I arrived, drenched with sweat, a light breeze had come up, rustling the vines overhead.
    There were customers scattered about, but no sign of anyone I knew, so I sat down, pulled a mystery from my pocket, and made myself comfortable.
    A white-jacketed waiter came up and asked me if I’d like coffee. I told him I’d prefer a beer. During the last months of the season, Tossa invariably runs out of fresh drinking water, and they let sea water into the city water supply, so that all showers, drinking water, and, hence, coffee, is slightly, or sometimes very, saline. It was an acquired taste that I had decided to do without.
    The beer came, and as I drank it my head cleared.
    It was pleasant, sitting there under the vines with the light breeze blowing across me. The beer was good. But I found myself falling victim to what Lea and I had spoken about the day before—all this free time. It bred thoughts which, while not exactly useless, were certainly impractical. Day-dreams came and went apace. Chance feelings and vague uncertainties could ferment and grow into full-blown emotions.