by Sabrina Sol
Her face went blank. “What do you mean?”
“I got a call this morning from my buddy. He’s got a spot on his crew for a big condo project and he wants me to take it. If I do, then I need to leave next month.”
It was obvious she was surprised. Beyond that, her emotions were unknown. “But what about…your abuela?” she finally asked.
He cleared his throat and tried to look anywhere but into her beautiful eyes. Eyes he knew would shred him to the core. “I know it’s going to be hard to leave her, but I think this will really be good for me.”
She sat back in her chair. “Sounds like you’ve got it all figured out.”
He dismissed her tone. He couldn’t afford to think about whether she disapproved of his decision. Time to change the subject to something they both could agree on, and perhaps the one thing they’d ever have in common. Sex.
“I’m still weighing all my options, but that’s enough talk about our work. Let’s get the check and then get back to our room. I’m feeling hungry again.”
She smiled at his comment. Not as big as when she’d told him about Brandon but he’d take it. In fact, he’d take whatever she gave him at this point.
Because in a few weeks, there’d be nothing.
Chapter Eighteen
She hated being one of those girls.
But when she picked up her cell phone—yet again—to make sure she didn’t have a missed call from Eric, she couldn’t deny that she was, in fact, one of those girls.
Amara went back to making tracks in her mashed potatoes with her fork as her parents discussed whether there would be enough leftovers of the roast chicken for their lunch tomorrow.
It had been two days since she’d heard from or seen Eric. She couldn’t shake the feeling that something changed the other night at dinner. And not in the way she’d hoped.
“Are you done?” Her mother’s question interrupted her mind-wandering. Looking down at her half-eaten chicken breast, flattened mashed potatoes, and newly-stabbed pieces of green beans, Amara nodded. Her mother picked up her plate and disappeared into the kitchen.
After checking one more time that her phone hadn’t rung without her hearing it, she looked at her dad from across the table. Well, she looked at the newspaper he now held up in front of his face. “Have you heard from Eric recently?”
“No,” he said from behind the Deportes section. “I just figured he’s been working some late nights trying to finish up some things. Why?”
“Just wondering. I had a few questions for him, that’s all.”
“Why don’t you call him? I have his number if you need it.”
So do I. “No, that’s okay. I don’t want to bother him if he’s sleeping. I’ll just leave a note for him at the bakery tomorrow.”
As she lay in her bed later that night, unanswered questions and lingering doubts refused to let her sleep.
She punched her pillow a few times, trying to get comfortable. Sure, Eric hadn’t called but that didn’t mean things were over. Not yet. And certainly not without telling her face-to-face. She wouldn’t let herself believe that he’d ever do that to her. She meant something to him, didn’t she? Even as she tried to convince herself that he hadn’t disappeared without a word all over again, the restlessness wouldn’t go away. And so she lay there. Tossing and turning. Wondering and waiting.
Frustration turned to irritation until she’d had enough. Playing silly mind games was for teenagers. There was no reason why she couldn’t just pick up the phone and demand to know what was going on.
She threw off the sheet, shot out of bed, and grabbed her phone. It was already after eleven. She punched in his number and waited.
He answered after only one ring.
“It’s Amara. Before you say anything I need you to listen. First of all, I know I might’ve seemed a little weird about you going back to Vegas but then we had sex and I thought everything was okay. But if you decided to leave early for some reason, it’s kind of crappy of you not to at least call to tell me. No hard feelings. Just don’t be a jerk about it and jerk me around because— ”
“Stop, Amara. Just stop.”
“I’m not done talking. Remember you’re supposed to be listening. I deserve at least that, I think. Can you give me—”
“I said stop already! I haven’t called you because I’ve been at the hospital. My abuela is dying.”
…
The beat of the monitor played on. Like a tune you couldn’t get out of your head, it was a tormenting kind of obsession.
Except this melody let Eric know that his grandmother was still alive. Barely.
He looked at her sleeping in the hospital bed, wires and tubes running from different parts of her body up to those monitors. The second attack had been much stronger—much more devastating on her heart. The doctors delivered the grim prognosis the previous night—his grandma had days, maybe hours left.
“The nurses said I can stay here tonight,” his mom said as she came back into the room. “So I’m going to go home and get some things. Can you stay here until I get back?”
“Of course.”
“Good. But you call me if anything changes, okay?”
“I will.”
“Don’t say anything that will upset her.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I just mean she needs to rest and it’s not good for her to get upset.”
“And you think I’m such a horrible grandson that I’d purposefully do something like that? Thanks a lot, Mom.” He stood up and stalked out of the room.
He’d reached the elevator by the time his mom caught up with him. “Hey, where are you going? I thought you were going to stay with her?”
“I will. I just need some air.”
The elevator doors opened and he walked inside. His mother followed. “I don’t think you’re a horrible grandson,” she said.
“Could’ve fooled me,” he told her.
“I just…I’m trying…” Her voice broke. “I’m sorry.” And then his mother started sobbing. The obvious pain in her cries twisted his heart until he couldn’t take it anymore. He grabbed her and held her close until the elevator doors opened.
Still holding her, he guided them outside the hospital and to a concrete bench. She sat down and pulled a tissue from her jacket pocket. He took a seat next to her. “I’m sorry, too. For everything.”
She shook her head and blew her nose. “I know I’ve been hard on you since you came back. You didn’t deserve that.”
“But I did. I do.”
She grabbed his hand. “I shouldn’t have kicked you out. I was wrong. And I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to say it. When she’s gone, all we’re going to have is each other…”
Her tears came again, and this time his own threatened to fall. His abuela was going to die. Guilt tugged at him. It couldn’t have been easy for her to see him and his mom fighting all of the time. He owed it to her to make these last few days as peaceful as possible. It was time to let go of the past.
“We do have each other, Mom. I’m here for whatever you need.”
Eventually, her tears stopped and she left to go to the house to pick up her things. He made his way back to the room and sat in the recliner next to his abuela’s hospital bed.
He had started to nod off when his pocket vibrated. He didn’t have to pull his phone out to know that it was Amara calling…again. She was worried about him, but he couldn’t think about that now.
“Mijo?”
Eric scooted his chair closer to the bed and grabbed his abuela’s hand. “I’m here.”
Weary eyes met his worried ones. She looked so small and frail. He couldn’t stand it.
“Agua?” she asked, her voice cracking.
He nodded and stood up to pour her a small cup of water. Gently, he helped her lift her head so she could take a sip. Then she lay back down and smiled at him.
“Why are you still here? The bakery…”
“That
can wait. I need to be here with you and Mom.”
“Diana?”
“She went home to get a few things. She’s going to stay overnight with you. The nurses said it would be okay.”
His abuela nodded her head and grabbed his hand again. “Need you. Do something for me.”
He tried not to wince as she struggled for each word. Each breath. “Of course. Anything.”
“Take care…your mother. She’s stubborn…like you. That’s why you fight. The same.”
“I promise.”
“Good. Something…else.”
“Something else?”
“Robles girl.”
“Amara? What do you mean?”
“Be with her.”
“What?”
“You like her. She like you. Be with her.”
He smiled. He could never hide anything from her. But his smile didn’t last. “Her family doesn’t think I’m good enough for her. Maybe they’re right.”
“Basta!” Her outburst ended in a coughing fit. He grabbed the cup and helped her take another drink. When she was done, he tried to tell her to save her strength and rest, but she wasn’t having any of that. His abuela needed to talk, and a failing heart wasn’t about to stop her from saying what she had to say.
“No more. Yes, you make mistakes long time ago. But you…good man. She…good woman. No matter anything else.”
Tears welled up, and his throat knotted with grief. After everything he had put her through, his abuela still believed in him. The question was, could he believe in himself once she was gone? He squeezed her hand and watched her drift back to sleep. The monitors told him she hadn’t left him yet.
So he sat back in his chair, covered his face with his hands and finally let the tears escape.
…
The funeral Mass of Doña Arroyo was as beautiful as it was sad. Amara couldn’t help but be affected when Father Marcos talked about her love of God and family.
Amara knew that Doña Arroyo—before her attack—had been one of a handful of women responsible for cleaning the small church, cooking for Fr. Marcos and cutting flowers from the rectory’s garden to place on the altar every week. She didn’t just go to this church, she took care of it. And now it was time for it to take care of her.
“Her legacy of love and faith will continue to live in those who knew her and those who loved her,” the father said.
Those like her grandson Eric.
She watched from her seat toward the back as he walked with his abuela’s coffin down the aisle, along with five other men she didn’t recognize. A need to run to him, to comfort him, overwhelmed her, so much so that she had to wrap her arms around herself to keep from doing something that would raise eyebrows and questions.
But if he saw Amara, he didn’t acknowledge her. Instead, he kept his shoulders squared and eyes straight ahead for the entire service. She tried to catch his attention at the cemetery, but people constantly flanked him on either side, patting his back and shaking his hand, offering their condolences. The community that had shunned him now embraced him.
If she had any hope of talking to him at the luncheon held afterward in the church’s multipurpose hall, it was dashed soon after she arrived to deliver the besos she’d made especially for the occasion. He was nowhere to be found.
She walked into the small kitchen to leave the tray of pastries and bumped into Eric’s mom, who was on her way out. Then the woman she barely knew proceeded to break down right in front of her.
Amara set the tray down on the counter and reached over to pat her shoulder. “I’m so sorry for your loss. She was an amazing woman.”
Diana Valencia nodded and then tried to compose herself by wiping her eyes and pulling a tissue from her watchband to blow her nose. “Thank you, Amara. She really liked you.”
“She did? I think I really only talked to her that one time in the bakery.”
“Well, Eric talked about you and everything you were doing for your parents. And she would always tell him that you were something special.”
Amara could feel her cheeks burn. She had no idea she was a conversation topic in Eric’s home. Speaking of Eric…
“He’s not here,” Diana said as she busied herself with setting out more plates and napkins for the food. “My son is taking this very hard. The funeral was too much for him so he went home.”
“Oh. That’s too bad. I never got a chance to tell him…to offer my sympathies.”
Diana walked over to her and grabbed both of her hands. “He says he’s okay, but I know he’s not,” she said, her eyes full of sadness and more tears. “He won’t talk to me. Maybe he’ll talk to you?”
She stood there in stunned silence as Eric’s mother took a set of keys from her pocket and handed it to her. “It’s the big silver one,” she said, and then walked out of the kitchen.
Without stopping to analyze choices or weigh consequences, Amara gripped the keys and walked out of the hall. When she got to the sidewalk in front of the church, she started to run.
Everything was a blur of houses and cars as she made her way down the one block to Eric’s house. She landed, breathless, on his doorstep, anxious and shaking so badly she could barely get the key into the lock. She walked through the small house until she came to his bedroom’s closed door. He was in there. She knew it in her gut. She opened the door.
He was lying on his back on his bed with his hands underneath his head. But as soon as he saw her, his face crumpled and he covered his eyes with his arms.
“Please, Amara, go away.” His voice cracked.
Her heart broke. His grief was palpable. So was his need.
She closed the door behind her, turned the lock and joined him on the bed. At first he tried to turn away from her, but she wouldn’t let him and brought his arms down to his side.
Gently, she kissed his forehead and brushed the sides of his hair with her fingers. His cheeks were wet, from his tears or hers she didn’t know. But she kissed them, too. He opened his eyes to whisper, “What are you doing?”
“I’m taking away your pain,” she answered against his lips. At first, he didn’t respond to her light kisses. She worried that he would push her off of him or be angry that she didn’t leave him like he’d asked. But he didn’t push her way. Instead, he wrapped his arms around her and buried his face into her shoulder.
They held each other until the sun went down. At some point, she’d moved her head down against his chest and lain there listening to his heartbeat, anticipating every breath. If it weren’t for his fingers combing through her hair every now and then, she might have thought he’d fallen asleep.
Her own eyes grew heavy but she fought to stay awake in case he wanted to talk.
And eventually he did.
“I can’t believe she’s gone,” he said into the darkness. “You know, I woke up this morning and the first thing I thought was, ‘I wonder if abuela wants to go the grocery store today.’ Then I remembered.”
She felt a tear slide from the corner of her eye and down the side of her face onto his shirt. “I’m so sorry, Eric. I know how much she meant to you.”
“What am I going to do without her, Amara?” his voice was thick with emotion.
“You go on. And you live your life knowing that she loved you and that she was proud of you.”
She didn’t know if those were the words he wanted to hear. But it was truth. And if the words didn’t bring him some comfort, she could only hope that her touch would. Reaching across his chest, she found his hand and linked her fingers through his.
“Thank you for staying with me,” he said after awhile. “I bet everyone is wondering where you are.”
“Let them wonder. I’m here for as long as you need me to be.”
And that’s when she knew this thing with Eric was more than just sex. He’d become important to her, to her life. Maybe, just maybe, there didn’t have to be an end for them.
Chapter Nineteen
“It’s perfe
ct. Just perfect.”
Eric’s heart surged. Amara spun in a circle, taking in the finishing touches he’d put on the renovation late last night. Her eyes glistened with tears and he knew he’d done well. At last.
It had been three weeks since his abuela’s funeral and life had moved on. It had to. The bakery needed to be finished. He couldn’t let Amara and her family down.
He’d worked around the clock over the past few days, making Amara promise not to go inside until he came back after his meeting with the lawyer to discuss his abuela’s will. He’d even blindfolded her outside before letting her in.
Now as she walked in circles, surveying the renovated bakery, the joy and lightness that filled her face gave him such satisfaction.
“I can’t wait to see all of this filled up with your sweet desserts,” he said and grabbed her around the waist from behind and rested his chin on her shoulder.
“You really did it. You gave me my dream.”
His heart soared. Even if it wasn’t true, she’d said he gave her the dream. Not Brandon, him. He kissed her on the cheek and then spun her around. “This is all you, Amara. All I did was put the pieces where you told me to put them. You gave yourself your dream.”
“So tell me. What happened with the lawyer?”
He grabbed her hands tight. “Well, it was like we thought. She left my mom the house. My mom wants to sell it. She says it will be too hard to live there without abuela. She’s always wanted to move to Oregon so that’s what she’s going to do. She’s going to give me half of whatever she makes on the house.”
“That’s good, right?”
Although he was grateful for the money, it didn’t take away from his continuing sadness. “I guess.”
“Hey, what happened to that smile?” Amara grabbed his face with her hands and searched his eyes.
He shrugged. “I don’t know. The money will help, for sure. But I’d give it back in a minute to have her back.”
“I know. I know.” She wrapped her arms around him and he took comfort in her warmth. When he finally let go, she said “What if you use the money on something she would’ve wanted?”