I end up spending three weeks in Vancouver. The processfor the student visa takes a bit longer than expected. It’s apity you can’t bribe the government the way you can otherinstitutions, but Vera and I manage to make the most of it. The day I arrived at her mother’s house inVancouver, we ended up having dinner with her family.It wasn’t exactly a comfortable, smooth experience, andher sister grated on my nerves so badly that it took a lotto keep my temper in check. But by the end of it, itseemed that that they were warming up to me. At leastVera’s mother was able to put away her prejudices.Perhaps it helped that I had come all the way for Veraand was actively trying to get her to return to Spain. Itshould have at least proved that I was serious about her.
After that, however, we were out of there. When thepaperwork was all filed and couriered, we rented a carand went on a road trip to the center of the province, aplace called the Okanagan. It reminded me a lot of Spain—dry rolling hills the color of khaki and wheat, coldblue lakes, orchards and vineyards as far as the eye couldsee. It felt less like waiting and more like truly relaxing,enjoying the hot, prolonged summer.
There was a lot of lazing around, a lot of wine, a lotof love-making. Being inside Vera again was likecoming home, and her skin, her lips, her touch, was themap that led me there. It was exactly what we needed toreconnect again, and I think when we emerged from ourbliss, we somehow came out stronger.
When we finally are granted her visa, there is asurprisingly emotional goodbye between her and herfamily. Though Josh seems sad to see her go, he’s alsohappy because she’s happy. But it’s her mother againthat surprises me. It makes me think that over time,perhaps she and Vera can have a better relationship. As Isaid before, distance can do funny things, and sometimesspace brings people closer.
On the long plane ride to Madrid, during the nightwhen the cabin lights are off and most of the passengers,including Vera, are asleep, I take out my letter. I read itover, once again out of habit. When I turn my head tolook at Vera, I am surprised to see her looking at mewith wondering eyes.
“What do you keep reading?” she asks me quietly.
I give her a small smile. “It’s probably silly, but itcomforts me.” I pause and place my hand over hers.“When you left me last year, before I decided I had tocome after you, I wrote you a letter. It was an apologyfor everything I had done.”
Her face crumples softly. “Why didn’t you give it tome?”
“Because I felt my apologies would be better inperson. Was I wrong?”
She shakes her head. “No. No, you didn’t even needto apologize to begin with.”
I hold it out for her. “Would you like to read it?’
She stares at the paper. “If it’s another glimpse atyour heart . . . I would love to.”
I open her hand and place it inside. “Be gentle withit.”
She gingerly takes it, flips on the light above herhead, and reads it over in silence. It seems fitting thatshe’s reading it beside me on a plane that is taking ushome.
I shouldn’t, but I can’t help but watch her face. It’sso intimate, knowing she’s taking in my truth right infront of me. Her eyes well up and she places one hand ather heart, but she doesn’t cry. She reads the whole thingin one go. When she is done, she only says, “I love you.”But she says so much more than the simplicity of herwords. She says everything I have needed to hear.
“I love you,” I tell her, and she lays her head on myshoulder. I kiss the top of her head and turn off the lightsabove us.