Yucatan

Cenote

Regina Praeda stood at the edge, admiring the sun’s reflection in the deep pool below. She never realized that she wanted to own a property that had its own, private, sink hole until she owned it. Cenote. Steve had corrected her when she first called it a sink hole. These are natural caverns, filled with water. No one knows for sure how many there are. But some speculate there are thousands all over South America. Some speculate that they’re all connected.

            She sighed, longing for his voice.

            But he hadn’t been here. For the past two days, she strolled through the house, haunted the long, tiled, corridors, hoping he would be behind one of the many doors of the Hacienda style home he had purchased. Her phone, too, remained silent. At first, she thought that this place was too far away from society to get a decent connection. But the satellite dish had been installed and Mark had managed to ring through. She sighed as she remembered that conversation.

            Her phone beeped, but she knew it wasn’t a call or a message. It was her medication reminder. She had to take her digitalis within the next thirty minutes.

Or else.

            The deforested area ahead was large enough to accommodate the oval stone building, painted in a light beige, the windows and doors framed by bright yellow, lime green, lilac and dark blue tiles. Solar panels adorned the entire roof. A covered porch hugged the exterior of the house. Fans mounted to the porch ceiling, moving, promising a cooling reprieve.

            Regina sighed, stepped through the generous entry and made her way to her bathroom at the end of the Hacienda. She took her digitalis, then sat on the porch, under the ceiling fan.

            Waiting.