A Shadow on the Trail EXCERPT
Jake had been studying his guidebook vigilantly, and found himself oddly disappointed to read that he was in entirely the wrong season to view turtles laying eggs on the beach. Though not a nature freak like Jessica, he had nevertheless been looking forward to that event since seeing a really amazing photo in the book.
In a small café (and he had to admit the coffee was damned good in this country; what did they do to it to make it taste so much better?) off the side of the highway, the barista, a woman, chatted with him. She knew a lot of English and Jake had by now learned enough Spanish to ask what her name was—Silvia—and to tell her his. She seemed confused by his name, asking, “Yek?,” so he wrote it down on a paper napkin. “Ah, Jacobo!,” she’d said, pronouncing the j like an h. And Jacobo he was from that day on.
The next day.
Jake arrived at a small, private residence/hotel that came recommended in the guidebook (he’d begun following its recommendations not only for sightseeing, but for lodging and some restaurants, too, whenever they fell in his price range). The owner smiled patiently through Jake’s “What’s your name?” routine (last night he’d added “Please,” “Nice to meet you” and “How are you? I am fine” to his growing Spanish repertoire), then shook hands with him and told him, in heavily-accented but understandable English, that he was very welcome there. She showed him to his bungalow, which was rustic but absurdly over-decorated in what he always thought of as a Heidi-tending-the-cows style, then followed him from his car to his room as he lugged his stuff. When he put the guidebook on the bed, she asked, “Is okay?” and picked it up.
“Fine, yes, okay!” he said, smiling and nodding. She stroked the cover a moment, then pointed at the author’s name, Merry Evelyn Merriweather.
“You know him?” she asked. Ju know heem?
“Her, you mean?” he asked.
“No, no, is man!”
Jake glanced again at the name, shrugged. “How do you know it’s a man?” he asked dubiously.
“I meet him.”
“You’ve met him? The guidebook guy?” Jake was surprised. “Really? How?”
“Oh, Merry come here many times. Very nice man!”
“Huh.” Jake didn’t know what to say. Was that why this place was listed in the book? Was the guy some kind of schmoozer? But Jake dismissed the thought; he supposed it didn’t matter, since the book had been right about everything so far.
“Okay, so good night! Sleep with the little angels!” said the proprietor suddenly, and, smiling, closed his door. Jake flipped to the back of the book, then checked the back cover as well, but there was no photo of the man with the silly name. He shrugged and turned again to the vocabulary section. This time he memorized norteamericano, tico, cenar, desayuno and tortuga.