Page 11 of Plus One

Maurice raised his hands as if praying. “He’s been practically talking in riddles all night. I can’t get a straight answer out of him.”

“What else is new?” Lanie said, rolling her eyes but sinking farther into Tommie’s lap. “You know Tommie’s cousin, right? Monique?”

Technically, he did not, but if Lanie was asking, he’d pay attention. “Sure. What about her?”

“Well.” Tommie rubbed at the back of his neck again. “She’s traveling alone, andyou’retraveling alone…”

Why was he being weirder than usual?

Lanie swatted at her fiancé. “Stop it,” she whispered. “We just want you to look out for her while we’re there, ya know?” Her color deepened, and she gave a sheepish shrug.

Both of them could be weirdos on their own time. Maurice had a flight to catch.

He shrugged. “Whatever you need, I gotchu.” The red-eye with layovers fit his budget and comfort level. He could reason his way around the real issue: his past followed him like a phantom and took up too much space. He shouldered his bag.

“Kinfolk, I’m out,” Maurice said. “See you in San Juan!”

“Be easy, brother,” Tommie shouted after him. “It’s gonna be a great trip!”

Of course, it would be. Maurice was honored to officiate. How he would hold it together the entire trip remained to be seen.

“God bless,” Maurice called back to his friends before pulling the door closed and making sure it locked behind him.

CHAPTER 3Monique

Arriving in Old San Juan, Puerto Rico, alone and at four o’clock in the morning, had to be the most unhinged idea Monique ever had. She wheeled her suitcase down the eerily quiet cobblestone street, stumbling to her hotel in a sort of drunken walk of shame.

Monique was stone sober.

Why did she agree to this again? If only she could blame her poor decision-making on alcohol. Nausea percolated at the base of her throat, acidic and persistent. The hefty dose of Dramamine she had taken mid-flight was mild sauce. Her nervous system hadn’t even clocked it.

Families like hers only got together for weddings and funerals—and even those were rare. The last time Monique had seen her father’s people was at a funeral almost three years ago, when her diagnosis was brand new and grief had stolen her words. Back then, she’d been plump and confident, able to mask her mortal fear with all the busyness of wakes and repasses. If her Aunt Don found out how sick she actually was, the entire family would know within the hour.

Monique Renee Moore had never been weak or pitiable; she wasn’t gonna start now.

She breathed in the tropical air and held it in her lungs, letting the vibrancy invade her capillaries. “I will relax and go with the flow this week,” she chanted quietly to herself as she pushed her way through the hotel doors.

The lobby stopped her mid-step, glowing orange and purple and quiet like a beachfront sunset. The cobblestone that she had struggled with outside seeped indoors as if the hotel’s walls were built around the fountain and garden that sat in the middle of the lobby. Her eyes followed the banana palms up, their fronds bending back down to earth when they reached the near-invisible barrier of the atrium.

The tightness in Monique’s chest loosened as she circled the fountain and its botanical guardians once, and then again.

“Good evening,” the clerk said with a smile. “I mean, good morning.” Her smile grew larger.

Monique paused her next lap around the garden and turned around.

“Checking in?”

Monique nodded. “If I could. I’m with the Turner-Lane party.”

The clerk received Monique’s identification and typed some things into the computer. The space between her brows folded in, the crease more prominent with each breath. There was something on the screen that she didn’t like. The clerk trapped her bottom lip between her teeth and held on.

“I know it’s super early, and my room likely isn’t ready,” Monique said with a voice raspier than usual. “If you can point me toward where I can grab a coffee and a snack, I can wait there.”

The clerk’s mouth turned up into a relieved smile. “They’re setting up for morning service, so I’m certain we can get you a café and pastelillitos while you wait.”

“That sounds perfect.”

The clerk slid some paperwork across the azure-tiled countertop. “I’d be happy to store your baggage until your room is ready.”