Page 97 of Old Flames

The proposal shocked her. “What are you saying, Leo?” she asked, stumbling away from him. “You don’t even know me! Let’s wait until we get back to the real world to have this discussion. Things might change.”

“You don’t think I know you?” he said. “July, I know you down to your dark spaces, to the secrets that you haven’t shared with anyone. And you know me, too. Say you know it’s true. Say it.”

When he kissed her again, he could taste her mixed emotions in the salt of her tears. He knew her that well. There was no mystery left to solve. They understood each other. They knew each other. And they loved each other. Nothing would convince Leo otherwise. “I’m the one for you,” he said. “I am the one. Do you hear me? Do you understand? I’m the one.”

She wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her body to his. “God, Leo . . . heaven help you if you are.”

32

Any gains Leo had made, he lost at the threshold of her bedroom. The plan was for her to pack for the night. He walked her up to her door and, at her insistence, left her there.

“I think I’ll spend the night here,” she said.

“Why?”

She offered him a sampler of excuses, including a throbbing migraine, fatigue, and moodiness. “I get so cranky when I’m this way. I need to change, chill, shower, and sleep it off.”

“Shouldn’t we get dinner?” he asked, trying to stave off a goodbye.

“I’m not hungry,” she said. “I’ll see you in the morning. By then, for sure, I’ll feel better.”

“Is there anything I can get you?”

“I’m fine.” She touched his cheek, a gesture that did not reassure him. “Don’t worry. I’m not running scared.”

“I am,” Leo said. “Is this because I proposed during golden hour?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Could I get an answer to my proposal, then?”

“I’ll sleep on it.”

Then he found himself on the other side of a shut door and quickly walking away before he knocked it down.

Leo was on his way to his suite to shower, change, and do all the things that July had mentioned when he got a text message from Dr. Flores. Join us for drinks! We’re celebrating!! Followed by the address of the Cuban spot near Mallory Square. He wasn’t in a celebratory mood, but he did have a couple questions for the director. Should I let July know? Leo wondered on his way out, finally deciding against it. She wanted space, peace, and quiet. She wanted to be left alone.

Leo understood that she would not accept his proposal or leave her life in New York for this southernmost city. It was selfish of him to expect her to. Why had he proposed in the first place? Marriage had never been high on his priority list. Despite that he’d been engaged for months, he was, at his core, a serial monogamist. That engagement was a trial experience. They’d agreed to end it as easily as they’d decided to do it. With July it was important that they choose each other and amplify that choice with vows and witnesses and notarized paperwork. They’d lost everyone and only had each other. If a blood pact was required, he’d agree to that, too. Anything to keep her. But July was the wind, he realized. There was no catching or keeping her. She would sweep through his life, strip him of everything, and leave. He could love her until the day he died, and it wouldn’t change anything.

The restaurant was electric on this Friday night. Dr. Flores, his wife, domino buddies, Amaris, and their spouses, were at a table on the patio. A live band played salsa music, and couples whirled on the dance floor at a frenetic pace. Dr. Flores stood to welcome him. “What’ll you have? It’s my birthday. Sky’s the limit!”

Leo gave him a hug. “Happy birthday, young man! I’ll have a tonic and lime.”

“I’ve officially reached retirement age,” Dr. Flores said, a hand to his heart as if to protect it from the elements. “Only two months before I pass the baton to the younger generation.”

Leo couldn’t accept this. “You’ll miss the institute. It’s clear you love it.”

“The proper order of things,” Dr. Flores declared.

Leo’s drink arrived. He sipped, snacked on chicharrón, and chatted with Amaris and her husband. When the band announced a ten-minute break, allowing conversation to flow more smoothly, and the director’s wife left for the ladies’ room, Leo went for it. Pivoting to Flores, he said, “I have some questions for you, if you don’t mind.”

“Please! Anything to distract me from my descent into old age.”

“I’ve learned of an interesting young Black woman who worked at The Aurora back when it was still the Jacobsen residence. How would I go about researching someone like that?”

“Start with census records,” Flores replied. “Key West recorded the names of every habitant of a household. Beyond their names, you’ll learn where she’s born, where her parents were born, whether she’s Black, Chinese, Indian, or mixed race. But that’s it.”

Census records were limited and did not paint a whole picture. “What if she wasn’t around at the time of the census?” Leo asked. “What if she died?”