"Yes, she was fast," was all Juan Diego would say.
In the hushed dining room, Miriam held the salad fork between her thumb and index finger, reminding Juan Diego of the way Flor used to hold a cigarette--as if it were a joint. "Waiter," Miriam was saying. The lifeless gecko hung limply from the glistening tines of the little fork. The boy driver, who was a clumsy waiter, rushed to take the murder weapon from Miriam. "I'll need a new ceviche, too," she told him, taking her seat.
"Don't get up, darling," she said, putting her hand on Juan Diego's shoulder. "I know it hasn't been long, but I've missed you terribly," she added. Everyone in the dining room had heard her; no one was talking.
"I've missed you," Juan Diego said to her.
"Well, I'm here now," Miriam told him.
So they knew each other, everyone was thinking; she wasn't quite the mystery guest they'd been expecting. Suddenly, she didn't look uninvited. And Juan Diego didn't seem exactly neutral.
"This is Miriam," Juan Diego announced. "And this is Clark--Clark French, the writer. My former student," Juan Diego said.
"Oh, yes," Miriam said, smiling demurely.
"And Clark's wife, Josefa--Dr. Quintana," Juan Diego went on.
"I'm so glad there's a doctor here," Miriam told Josefa. "It makes the Encantador seem less remote."
A chorus of shouts greeted her--other doctors, raising their hands. (Mostly men, of course, but even the female doctors put up their hands.)
"Oh, wonderful--a family of doctors," Miriam said, smiling to everyone. Only Auntie Carmen remained less than charmed; no doubt, she'd taken the gecko's side--she was a pet person, after all.
And what about the children? Juan Diego was wondering. What did they make of the mystery guest?
He felt Miriam's hand graze his lap; she rested it on his thigh. "Happy New Year, darling," she whispered to him. Juan Diego thought he also felt her foot touch his calf, then his knee.
"Hi, Mister," Consuelo said, from under the table. This time, the little girl in pigtails was not alone; Pedro had crawled under the table with her. Juan Diego peered at them.
Josefa had not seen the children--she was leaning across the table, involved in some unreadable sign language with Clark.
Miriam looked under the table; she saw the two children peering up at them.
"I guess the lady doesn't love geckos, Mister," Pedro was saying.
"I don't think she misses geckos," Consuelo said.
"I don't love geckos in my ceviche," Miriam told the children. "I don't miss geckos in my salad," she added.
"What do you think, Mister?" the little girl in pigtails asked Juan Diego. "What would your sister think?" she asked him.
"Yeah, what would--" Pedro started to say, but Miriam leaned down to them; her face, under the table, was suddenly very close to the kids.
"Listen, you two," Miriam told them. "Don't ask him what his sister thinks--his sister was killed by a lion."
That sent the kids away; they crawled off in a hurry.
I didn't want to give them nightmares, Juan Diego was trying to tell Miriam, but he couldn't speak. I didn't want to frighten them! he tried to tell her, but the words wouldn't come. It was as if he'd seen Lupe's face under the table, although the girl with pigtails, Consuelo, was much younger than Lupe had been when she died.
His vision suddenly blurred again; this time, Juan Diego knew it wasn't the Viagra.
"Just tears," he said to Miriam. "I'm fine--there's nothing wrong. I'm just crying," he tried to explain to Josefa. (Dr. Quintana had taken his arm.)
"Are you all right?" Clark asked his former teacher.
"I'm fine, Clark--there's nothing wrong. I'm just crying," Juan Diego repeated.
"Of course you are, darling--of course you are," Miriam told him, taking his other arm; she kissed his hand.