“What about parasailing?” I ask.

  She thinks about it. “Maybe not today. I think I'd be happy just relaxing around the pool for an hour or so—sort of recovering from yesterday's long day and getting ready for unexpected guests tomorrow.”

  I grin. “I'm with you there. I feel like just vegging today.”

  “And we can use our free coupon for dinner,” she says. “In fact, I'll call right now and see if I can make a reservation.”

  While Sid calls from her cell phone, I get us some fresh towels and a couple of lounge chairs that seem in a good position for the late afternoon sun. The preteen boys must've found someone else to harass. For now, the pool is quiet.

  “It's all set,” she says as she joins me, “for six thirty.”

  So we just kick back for a while, and I return to daydreaming about Ryan. Judging by the contented expression on Sid's face, I suspect she might be doing the same thing about Ian.

  We drive back into San Lucas at a little past six. The sun is just going down, and the sky is a soft, rosy shade of pink. We have our windows down, and the air feels wonderful, a combination of warm and cool—refreshing and invigorating.

  It's a pleasant surprise to see the restaurant has valet parking. Sid seems relieved to hand over the keys. Then we go inside, although it's another one ofthose open sort of restaurants. After a short wait, we're seated at a table that looks out onto the wharf.

  “Very nice,” says Sid with satisfaction.

  The waiter hands us our menus and tells us the specials of the night, which I translate as best I can for Sid. Then I look down at the menu and am shocked to see the prices. I'm already used to the way prices given in pesos look outrageously expensive, but I know I can simply take off the last zero and come fairly close to the equivalent in U.S. dollars. Like, a meal that is listed for a hundred fifty pesos is really about fifteen dollars. But the prices on these meals seem way out there. I see one entrée with lobster that's seven hundred and fifty pesos, which is seventy-five American dollars. I'm sure my dad would be having conniptions by now.

  “Did you see the prices?” I ask in a quiet tone.

  She nods. “Yeah, its a little spendy. But remember that one hundred dollars of the bill is covered, Maddie. So go ahead and knock yourself out.”

  I finally decide to try the steak and scampi for three hundred eighty pesos. It doesn't come with a salad, but Sid reassures me that adding a salad for a hundred eighty pesos is no big deal. By the time I order my food and beverage, I calculate that my meal alone will cost about six hundred pesos—the most expensive meal I've ever had. Still, I remind myself that most of our meal is paid for.

  “We might as well enjoy,” says Sid as she sips her iced tea.

  “Yeah, in a way you paid for this already.”

  She laughs. “Juan was lucky I was in a good mood today. Otherwise, I would've been long gone a lot sooner.”

  “A good mood because of Ian?” I ask.

  She smiles. “Why not?”

  A movement at a table catches my attention. “Hey, don't look now,” I say to her, “but there's that couple I told you about. The ones who got so fed up with the four-hour sales pitch.”

  “Four hours! Now, that's one expensive meal,” says Sid.

  She can't see the couple without turning around, but I watch with interest. They're sitting between us and the bar, and it looks like they're just finishing up their meals, but they still don't look too happy. The man's head is bright red now, and the woman is scowling. I notice a couple of waiters nearby. They seem to be pointing to the couple and whispering. If their body language is any indication, they are not being complimentary. Then one waiter hands the other one a glass with an amber liquid and ice in it, and then—I kid you not— drops something into the drink. The second waiter seems to smirk just slightly as he gives the drink a stir with a stick. Then he goes directly to the couple's table and sets it down before the man. The man looks slightly surprised, but the waiter says something to him, and the man actually smiles and holds up the drink as if to toast him.

  Okay, maybe they're making amends, but I still wonder what the first waiter dropped into his drink. I think the worst, but perhaps it's just some sort of Mexican specialty. I've heard you can find a worm in the bottom of a tequila bottle, which grosses me out. And since the drink appeared to be alcohol, which I'm not much of an expert on, I really wouldn't know anyway.

  Our waiter brings us our salads, and I must admit they look rather spectacular with all sorts of greenery and fresh fruits cut into interesting shapes. I'm thinking they should look pretty special for eighteen dollars. I never had a salad that cost this much in my life.

  Sid and I are just finishing our salads when I notice the other couple leaving. But the man, who seemed completely sober just moments ago, is definitely staggering now. In fact, it looks like he's wasted. And his wife looks pretty perplexed as well as totally irritated. Even so, she puts one arm around him as she helps navigate him through the maze of tables and out of the restaurant.

  “That's weird,” I tell Sid.

  “What's that?”

  “That couple.”

  “The four-hour couple?”

  “Yeah. The man looked totally drunk.”

  She shakes her head. “That's too bad.”

  “But just a few minutes ago, he seemed fine.” Then, in a lowered voice, I tell her about what I saw the two waiters doing.

  “Do you think they slipped him a Mickey?” asks Sid with concerned eyes.

  “I don't know. But it sure seems suspicious.” Then I see the two waiters together, chuckling as they look toward the exit. I tell Sid about it.

  “I hope the man is okay,” says Sid.

  “Do you think we should go check?” I ask. “Maybe I should tell the couple what I saw.”

  Sid considers this. “No. I don't want you to get involved, especially if something fishy is going on.” But then she stands. “Let me pretend to use the rest room, and I'll see if I can find them. You stay here.”

  Okay, now I'm feeling just slightly freaked. What kind of restaurant is this? Still, I keep my face calm as our waiter reappears to collect our salad plates. And in my best Spanish, I tell him the salad was excellent. He smiles and nods and asks if we'd like more tortilla chips. I tell him, “Si, gracias.” Then I also tell him, unnecessarily I'm sure, that my aunt is using “el bano. “ Oh, well.

  A long time goes by, and Sid is still not back. What if something has gone wrong? What if this restaurant is run by crooks? What if they've done something with Sid? I'm seriously just about to go running out of here when she returns.

  “What happened?” I ask in a quiet voice, keeping the expression on my face calm and pleasant, I hope.

  She forces a smile too. “It was very strange.”

  Then our waiter reappears with our entrees, and we both smile at him and act as if nothing whatsoever is wrong. But after he leaves, I ask Sid if it's safe to eat here.

  “I think so,” she says.

  “You think?”

  She picks up her fork and takes a bite. “Just act natural, Maddie.”

  So I pick up a scampi and take a careful bite, and I must admit it's delicious.

  “I don't think we're in any danger,” she says quietly, still smiling. “But the Andersons—”

  “You know their name?”

  “Yes. Richard and Marsha Anderson from Des Moines.”

  “Wow.”

  She takes another bite and smiles. “These scallops are fantastic.”

  “But how did you meet them?”

  “Well,” she begins carefully, “I heard some yelling, so I thought I'd go outside. The Andersons had just been mugged.”

  “Mugged?”

  She nods. “Yes.”

  “No way!”

  “Remember not to look like we've seen anything, Maddie. We don't want the waiters to know.”

  “What did you do?”

  “Well, I spoke to them and told them what you thought you'd seen. Marsha was glad to know what happened. She was afraid Richard had been sneaking drinks. That last drink was on the house.”

  I nod. “It figures. But why?”

  “I'm sure their salesman from the time-share has a friend here in the restaurant. And he was mad at them and just wanted to get even.”

  “That's terrible.”

  She nods and takes another bite. “But I can sort of see their point.”

  “Whose point?” I ask with a scampi held in midair.

  “The Mexican people.”

  “Huh?”

  “Well, it's not unlike New Guinea—or lots of places, for that matter. The rich white folks show up and act like they're superior. Not everyone, but there are plenty who treat the locals rudely. They don't try to speak the language, and they go around expecting to get something for nothing. They're inconsiderate and try to take advantage of people. Why shouldn't the locals want to get even? This is, after all, their country. We're the interlopers.”

  I consider this. “I'm sure there are some Mexicans who still feel like Americans robbed them of land. I mean, what happened with California and Texas was a long time ago, but I'll bet there's still some resentment around, some animosity.”

  “And why not? We might feel the same if we were in their shoes.”

  We discuss this concept a bit more as we eat, but I still feel concerned for the Andersons’ welfare. “Will they be okay?” I finally ask my aunt.

  “Well, I used my cell to call the police for them. No telling when or if they'll show up. And Marsha was definitely going to be the designated driver back to the hotel. Plus, the American clinic is just down the street. I think I convinced her to stop by there to see if Richard needs any medical attention. Hopefully they didn't slip him anything too serious.”

  I shake my head. “That's just so weird. I cant believe it really happened…or that I actually witnessed it.”

  Sid just shrugs. “It's a foreign country, Maddie. As I keep telling you, travelers need to stay aware.”

  “Do you think anyone will try to slip us something?”

  “I really don't think so. Juan and I parted amicably. I'm pretty sure I didn't say or do anything to offend him. We're being polite to the people here. I'll leave a good tip. We should be perfectly fine.” Then she winks at me. “But keep your eyes open.”

  I sort of laugh. But I will take her advice. “So the lesson here is that American tourists should either mind their manners or watch their backsides?” I say.

  “I suggest both.”

  o my relief, our dinner is both delicious and harmless. But I cannot believe the total of the check. Even with our hundred-dollar coupon, Sid still shells out another fifty bucks and change. Of course, a lot of it is for the tip. But the waiters are friendly and polite, and Juan's brother, the owner, who is acting as head chef tonight, comes out and introduces himself. I think we can be sure no ones going to slip us anything. Even so, I keep a close eye on Sid as she drives us back to the hotel.

  “I totally forgot to see if Francesca found us a room,” says Sid as she drives through the hotel complex. “I hope she was successful.”

  “Why don't we stop and ask?”

  “Good idea,” says Sid, pulling up to the oficina again.

  “Buenas noches, Francesca,” I say as we go into the office. But she's on the phone, holding it slightly away from her ear as if it's too loud.

  “I am so sorry,” she says to whoever's on the other end. We can hear the sound of a man yelling. Francesca continues to apologize to him. “I will tell my manager,” she assures him several times, jotting down notes as she speaks. “Yes, yes, I am so sorry.”

  Finally she manages to get the complainer to hang up and turns to us with a bright but somewhat weary smile. “Buenas noches, ladies.”

  “Have you been able to find another room for us yet?” asks Sid.

  Francescas smile fades. “I am so sorry. I have been unable to find suitable accommodations for you.”

  “What do you mean by suitable?” says Sid. “Have you found anything at all?”

  She frowns. “What I have found, I'm afraid you will not like. It is not the kind of place most Americans want to stay.”

  “Oh.” Sid sighs.

  I imagine cockroaches, lumpy mattresses, and drug deals out in the parking lot. Not a pretty picture. “What about the place where Ian and Ryan are staying?” I say, thinking how cool it would be to stay in the same hotel. “Didn't Ian manage to get in at the last minute there?”

  “That's right,” says Sid with excitement. “What about the Casa del Sol?”

  “Francesca just shakes her head. “It's a very nice place, the first place I called. They are fully booked until after New Year's.”

  “Oh.”

  “I will keep trying,” promises Francesca. “Something will come up.

  “Gracias,” I tell her.

  “Yes, gracias,” says Sid. “We don't want to sleep on the beach.”

  Francesca firmly shakes her head. “No, that is no good. I will find you the best room I can.” Then she laughs. “Or I will take you home with me.”

  “Really?” Now I wonder what that would be like.

  “But my house is very crowded,” she admits. “Not comfortable. There are nine of us there.”

  “Well, thanks anyway,” says Sid as we leave.

  “Gracias,” I call out. “And adios!”

  “She seems sweet,” says Sid once we're outside.

  “And frustrated,” I add. “That phone call sounded miserable.”

  “I wonder if it might've been the Andersons,” says Sid as she drives to the parking area. “Although I doubt Richard would be able to speak that clearly yet. Poor man. Hell sleep hard tonight.”

  “I hope he learned a lesson,” I say. “Maybe he'll treat people with more respect now. I know I'm going to try to be extra friendly to everyone I meet here.”

  Sid laughs. “Oh, Maddie, you're always friendly and thoughtful. Why do you think I bring you along on these trips?”

  “Because I'm a cheap date?”

  Back in the room, we watch a very strange Mexican game show on TV, then go to bed early. I think we're both worn out and looking forward to seeing Ian and Ryan tomorrow. Our plan is to get up early enough to get warm showers before the hot water is at peak demand. But I'm happy to call it a night, and I know I'll probably be dreaming about Ryan soon. At least I hope so.

  The next morning we fix breakfast in our own little kitchenette. Just as we're finishing up, Sid's cell phone rings. It turns out to be Ian, and he invites us to join them for lunch at their hotel just down the road. Naturally, we agree.

  “They're sure up early,” I say as I rinse our breakfast dishes.

  “Ian is still on Ireland time. He said he didn't sleep too well.”

  “I know how that goes.”

  I decide to kill some time by hanging at the pool for a while this morning. I guess I'm hoping to look just slightly tan for Ryan—proof that I got down here before he did. Silly, I suppose, but true.

  Finally it's close to noon, and we're both dressed and ready to go. I can tell that Sid's just as excited as I am, although like me, she's trying to conceal it. But as we drive, I think she might be even more excited. She hasn't seen Ian since last summer when we were in Ireland. Not that I've seen Ryan much since then. I mean, it's been pretty random. But at least he wasn't half a globe away.

  “Wow, this place is really nice,” says Sid as she drives into the much larger hotel complex. This luxury resort has manned security gates, but when she tells them Ian's name, we're allowed to go in. We drive around, admiring the gorgeous architecture and gardens until finally we find a parking area that's close to the restaurant.

  “It looks lots better maintained than our place,” I observe as we walk up a path through a well-tended landscape.

  “And so pretty,” says Sid, stopping to admire a huge carved wooden door that looks like it might be from another century.

  “There you are!” calls Ian as we approach the restaurant. He jogs down toward us and catches Sid in his arms, hugging her and actually spinning her around a couple of times. Very romantic! Ryan is coming along behind him, but he seems a little uncomfortable, as if I might expect the same treatment, which I don't. He gives me a warm hug. Then he hugs Sid, and Ian hugs me.

  “So fantastic to see you two ladies here,” says Ian in that incredible Irish accent of his. I think I could listen to him all day.

  “What an amazing surprise,” says Sid as she smoothes her skirt and adjusts her purse. “I'm so glad you boys could come down— although I'm still slightly stunned. How did you do it?”

  “I can thank Juliet,” says Ian as he takes Sid by the hand and guides her up the stairs to the restaurant.

  “Juliet?” echoes Sid in a voice that sounds just a tiny bit jealous.

  “I think you may have met her. She hostesses for me at the restaurant,” he tells her, “but she's very adept on computers. When I couldn't make it to the States for Christmas and I told her that you were going to Mexico, she went online and found this place for me, made all the arrangements. And she got me a great deal to boot.”

  “Well, God bless Juliet,” says Sid.

  “I couldn't believe it when Ian called me,” says Ryan as we wait for our table. “He says to me, ‘Would you want to come to Mexico with me for New Year's?’ And I'm like, Are you nuts? Of course I want to go to Mexico with you! Sign me up.’ “

  “And here we are.” Ian smiles, and his whole face lights up.

  “And we're so glad you are!” exclaims Sid.

  “Por aqui, por favor.” The maitre d’ nods, then leads us to a table where we all sit down, boy-girl-boy-girl. Cozy.

  “So, have you ladies been having fun down in the land of sunshine?” asks Ian. “Staying out of trouble, I presume?”

  Sid launches into last night's story about the unfortunate Andersons, and we all end up laughing about how Sid and I were trying so hard to be covert and careful, worried that we might be the next victims. Still, I feel sort of sorry for the Andersons. I hope it didn't ruin their vacation.

  “I hope that poor man is okay,” I say as I regain my composure. “Who knows what they put in his drink.”