by Stacia Stone
The image dragged a laugh out of me. “That’s one way to put it, I guess.”
Her face grew concerned. “Your mom is still doing better, right?”
“She is,” I confirmed, wanting to reassure Miranda. “The tumors have shrunk by nearly half and she’s feeling more like herself.”
“Good. And Luis’s been showing up for all of his shifts and working that cute little tail off. Does he still have a court date coming up?”
“Yeah, but the public defender is hoping he’ll just get probation.”
“Even though it’s not his first offense.”
“That’s what the lawyer said. He’s only been caught for misdemeanors before now.”
“It sounds like things are better than they could be.” Miranda’s voice was casual and she didn’t look at me as she adjusted the arrangement of silk daisies that sat next to the cash register. “That all sounds like good news to me.”
I realized then what she was doing. What excuse did I have to be walking around like a storm cloud when things in my life seemed to be turning up?
“Stop it, Miranda.”
“What?” She gave me a look of practiced innocence, but I saw right through it. “All I’m saying is that if there’s something else going on in your life that’s got you down, I just wish you would talk to me about it.”
Her face was so full of understanding that I had to look away. “There’s nothing to talk about.”
“Tell me to butt out of your business, if you want. But don’t lie to me.”
“What do you want me to say?” I grabbed a stack of napkins and began aggressively folding one on the countertop. “Maybe I’m just going through a phase.”
Miranda scoffed. “Is that what you’re calling it?”
I grabbed a fork and knife to wrap in the napkin. “Can we please just drop it?”
“Okay.” She joined me in folding silverware, completing one in half the time that it took me. “But I’m always here to listen when you’re ready to talk.”
“I know.” I reached out to touch her arm, trying to convey without words that I still needed her support. “I appreciate it. Really.”
We folded silverware in companionable silence until a large stack had formed between us.
The bell dinged above the door as it opened and I eagerly looked up, hoping it was a customer.
Instead, Zach stood in the open doorway with a bouquet of long-stemmed red roses in his arms. He held them aloft, a sardonic smile on his face.
“Special delivery for Dalia Moreno.”
“You have got to be kidding me.” I slammed down the roll of silverware in my hands before coming out from behind the counter. “What are you, stalking me?”
The cheeky grin he wore didn’t falter. “Someone has a high opinion of themselves.”
I glared at him. “So you showing up where I work is just a coincidence?”
He pointed to the tag on his shirt, where the words Fifth Street Flowers was embroidered on the fabric. “Catering doesn’t pay all the bills.”
“Oh.”
“I saw the name on the delivery slip and wondered if it was the same girl.” The smile he wore was openly mocking me. “It’s nice to se you again, too.”
I wanted to crawl into the nearest hole and never come out. “I just assumed—“
“They were from me?” He asked, eyebrows raised. “I mean, you’re a cute girl and all. But I don’t really get down on following the ladies around like a dog looking for scraps. Nobody’s worth fighting the traffic downtown.”
“I got it,” I said sharply. “Just give them to me and go.”
“What, no tip?”
“Nope.”
“Who’s your friend?” Miranda asked, coming up behind me.
“He’s not my friend, just a delivery boy,” I said quickly. “And now he’s leaving.”
“You’re breaking my heart,” Zack said and handed me the bouquet.
Miranda leaned forward to give him a few dollars. “Thank you.”
Zach accepted the tip with an exaggerated bow. “I’ve heard the peach pie here is amazing. I’d love a slice.”
“Of course.” Miranda rushed back to the kitchen, leaving the two of us alone.
“I hope you’re getting that pie to go.” I said, as soon as she was out of earshot.
“Or I could hang around for awhile.” He went to one of the tables and collapsed into a chair. “Haven’t you missed me?”
“Not really.” I turned to set the roses on the countertop, hesitating to admire the perfect shape of each bloom. “No one’s ever sent me flowers before.”
“I didn’t figure you for the roses and rich guy type, but I guess I was wrong.”
I turned to glare at him. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“It means, I saw you run off at the benefit and I saw that guy — the suit — go after you.”
I kept my face neutral, careful to give nothing away. “Is that it?”
“Is there more?”
“I don’t have to tell you anything.”
“Just a friendly warning.” He shrugged casually but the look in his eyes betrayed his seriousness. “For a guy like that, you’re any easy type of girl to take advantage of.”
I crossed my arms over my chest. “You don’t know what kind of girl that I am.”
“You’d be surprised what I know.” Zach said and stood from the chair. “But I got to run, we’ll finish this conversation next time.”
“There isn’t going to be a next time.”
“Something tells me there’s more where that came from.” He nodded toward the bouquet. “Check the card. Guess I’m not the only stalker in town.”
I glared at him as he left. The bell clanged over the door as it closed behind him, just as Miranda came back into the dining room with a plate of pie in her hand.
“Do you want some ice cream, too…” She trailed off, noticing I was alone. “Where did your friend go?”
“He’s not my friend,” I reminded her. “Off to another delivery, I guess. Who cares?”
“Well, I can see why he left if that’s how you were treating him.” She set the pie down on the counter next to the roses. “He seemed like a nice boy and these are such pretty flowers.”
“Not that nice.”
“You’re never going to find a boyfriend, acting like that.”
The door dinged and a young couple with stroller came into the diner.
“Why don’t you take them,” I said, hoping to distract her.
She gave me a knowing look but grabbed two menus off of the stack. “Make sure you put those roses in some water before they wilt.”
I gathered the roses up in my arms, petals soft as they brushed against my skin. As I looked closer, I realized that the roses weren’t just red. The bright crimson was only at the tips. At their centers the blossoms were a yellow so bright that it looked nearly like gold.
My fingers tipped open the little card that nestled between two buds. A simple message was written on it in slanting script.
You can’t run.
-J
Chapter Ten
“Dalea, get those tamales off of they stove before they burn.”
I rushed to comply with Momma’s instructions, carefully laying the corn husks on a clean dishtowel that sat on the counter to cool. Today was the first day since she’d been sick that Momma felt good enough to be out of bed for more than a few minutes.
She was making use of the time by cooking a huge family dinner for all of us and had enlisted me to help her. If it weren’t for the little oxygen tank that had to be wheeled around behind her, this would have felt just like old times.
“Did Luis say what time he would be home?” she asked.
I glanced at the clock. “He’s just working the lunch shift, so maybe another hour or so.”
She opened the oven a scant distance and peeked inside before closing it. “Empanadas are still his favorite, right?”
I knew what
she was trying to do. “Everything will be fine tomorrow. The public defender nearly promised that Luis won’t be locked up.”
Momma shook her head, dislodging the plastic piece in her nose that delivered the oxygen. “That’s what they always say, until they don’t.”
“Everything’s going to be fine, Momma.”
She inspected the tamales, giving a little grunt of approval. “At least he’ll get one more good meal at home, regardless.”
My little sister, Lucy, flew into the kitchen. “I’m hungry. Dinner weady?”
“Not yet,” Momma said, sinking down into a chair at the table, looking tired. “Go watch TV.”
Lucy peeked around me to look at the stove. “But I’m hungry.”
“No, Lucy!” Momma said, sharply enough that my sister jumped.
“Not until Luis gets home, okay.” I went to the refrigerator and poured her a glass of milk. “Take this and go finish your show.”
Lucy looked back and forth between us, the confusion apparent on her face. She had gotten so used to Momma’s silent presence that it was hard to go back to doing things her way.
Whatever my sister thought, she took the milk and headed back out into the living room without saying a word. The sound of canned laughter from whatever show she was watching was loud enough to be heard in the kitchen.
“This place is too small for all of us,” Momma said, her voice strained.
“It’s all we can afford right now.” I said flatly. “Especially now that you’re not working.”
“Watch your mouth, young lady.”
Anger and frustration simmered inside of me. Didn’t she realize that I wasn’t a child anymore, that I’d proved that many times over?
“It’s just the truth. And you shouldn’t take it out on Lucy, none of this is her fault.”
Momma reached up to stir the pot on the stove with harsh strokes. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Yes, I do,” I said, loud enough that it was nearly a yell. “It’s just been me this entire time, Momma. Ever since you got sick, I’ve had to worry about paying the bills and keeping food on the table. You have no idea what I’ve had to do—“
I cut myself off, realizing what I had been about to reveal.
“Never mind, let’s just finish dinner.”
“I’m sorry, Dalea.” Momma grabbed my hand and squeezed it weakly. “I know how strong you’ve had to be, between working at the diner and taking care of your brother and sister. Things will be better now, I promise.”
“Okay.”
“Has anything else been going on, you seem so tense?”
“No. Nothing.”
My eyes moved automatically to the roses standing in a vase in the center of our kitchen table. I had removed the card and hidden it in my room. There was no way to adequately explain the cryptic message inside and I didn’t want to be forced to try.
Julian was clearly not going to just go away without a fight. It was going to take all of the willpower I had to resist him, and even that might not be enough.
“I can’t believe that someone would leave such gorgeous flowers at the diner,” Momma said, easily identifying where my gaze had moved.
“People leave all kinds of things,” I said casually, already committed to the lie. “Miranda found a tennis bracelet in a glass of water once, but I think the girl came back for it.”
“You know, your father used to send me roses like this when we were dating.”
Momma never talked about my dad, not in the three years since he died. It had always been easier to just pretend that he never existed. She got sick so recently afterward that the two events had always been linked in my mind.
I swallowed hard against the lump forming in my throat.
Momma stood up slowly and went to the table. Her fingers trembled slightly but she reached out to trace the gentle curve of one rose. “They used to look just like this too.”
“Dad was a romantic, huh?”
“Most men are in the beginning.” Momma let out a hoarse laugh. “But your dad really liked to pull out all the stops.”
I smiled, trying to imagine my dad as the romantic hero. “That sounds nice.”
“Every rose color has a meaning, not everyone knows that.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Most people know that red is for love and passion, but it’s really rather run of the mill, I think.” She adjusted one of the stems so it fell more evenly with the rest. “Yellow roses are joyful, but usually platonic. A man who sends you yellow roses is letting you down easy. He wants to be your friend.”
“What about these?” I asked, curiosity getting the best of me. “What does it mean when the roses are both yellow and red?”
“Roses like this, with yellow at the center and red on the tips, are very special.” The smile on Momma’s face was wistful. “You send roses like this to your true love.”
Her words rocked me. I busied myself at the stove to hide my face because I didn’t want her to see what I was obviously thinking. “How nice.”
“Except these roses are interesting.”
Schooling my features into a more neutral expression, I turned back to face her. “Oh, why?”
“These have thorns. Nobody sends roses with thorns anymore.”
“What do you mean?”
“Bouquets never have thorns. The florist always trim them off.” Momma shrugged and sat back in her chair. “Unless they’re asked to leave them, I suppose.”
My belly clenched tight and I had to breathe through the aching sensation. “Why do you think they left the thorns?”
“I don’t know.” Momma said, her mind clearly moving on to other concerns.
I tried to keep the desperation out of my voice. “Just tell me what you think.”
“Whoever sent those roses clearly associates love with pain.”
* * *
I left for my bedroom immediately after dinner, desperate to escape. Momma’s words to me kept echoing in my head and they were impossible to ignore.
True love.
Whoever sent those roses clearly equates love with pain.
Maybe Julian didn’t know the meaning of the rose colors. Maybe he had just picked something that looked pretty and the message behind the choice was totally meaningless to him.
Or maybe not.
The question weighed on me, haunting my thoughts. I knew that he wanted me — to possess me at least, like a figurine displayed in a glass cabinet that had no will or desires of its own.
But love was something else entirely.
The worst part was that there was no one that I could talk to about any of this. No one in my life would understand what I had done or why I wanted to do it again. I was completely alone.
I used to have girlfriends. The kind that would pick up the phone at any time, who you could spill all of your secrets to and know that they would understand. But for now, I was alone — with my secrets and my secret desires.
When I closed my eyes, Julian’s face swam in my vision like a waking dream. Imperious eyes and a face that was so cold it could have been carved in marble. I didn’t want to want him, but I couldn’t help myself.
It wasn’t until I laid back in the bed and felt hard pricks on my scalp that I realized something was there. My hands slipped underneath the cotton pillowcase and touched something hard and metal.
I pulled my hand out and a necklace was twined in my fingers. White gold and diamonds shimmered in the light of a streetlamp through my window.
Julian had been here — in my home and in my bed — or he had sent someone to do his bidding. The thought should have terrified or sickened me, and it did, but tendrils of painful pleasure still curled in my belly.
I looked through the opened window to the fire escape that stopped only a few feet from the ground three stories below. Had he come up that way, creeping into my room when no one was home
It was clear that he wanted me, even if I didn’t know for what.
Chapter Eleven
Luis was dressed in an ill-fitting suit that used to be my father’s. The shoulders were too wide and the sleeves hung low enough that they nearly covered his hands.