by Lea Santos
Okay, now Grace was completely confused. Face aflame, she followed suit and lifted her fork, concentrating on her dessert. Maddee’s explanation had seemed so heartfelt, but Grace had to admit, other than that, Maddee had been overwhelmingly platonic the entire night. Maybe wishful thinking had her reading subtext into what Maddee had intended as nothing more than a straightforward explanation.
Clearly she had made Maddee uncomfortable with her emotional display.
Had she gotten over Grace so easily?
Grace bit her lip.
Served her right, she supposed.
The four of them spent a few minutes eating and exclaiming over the flan, and thankfully, the awkward moment passed. Maybe, Gracie thought, the awkward moment had been hers alone. The possibility depressed her. Nothing worse than wanting a woman more than she wanted you. How quickly the tables turn, Grace thought, suffering a fresh bout of self-disgust.
“DoDo,” Madeira said, after finishing her flan. “I noticed you have a couple squeaky steps in the staircase.”
DoDo uttered a sound of defeat. “Ay, those stairs. They’ve groaned since the girls were little.” She passed a knowing look to Grace and Lola. “These two even learned how to avoid the looser boards in high school so I wouldn’t know when they were sneaking in past curfew…or so they thought.”
Lola laughed. “Told you she knew.”
Madeira chuckled, too. “Mothers and grandmothers always know.”
“That’s right,” DoDo said.
Swear to freaking God, the tension of this pleasant, innocent small talk was going to make Grace snap into a psychotic frenzy. It was bad enough she had to sit there next to a woman she’d pushed and pushed and pushed away until Maddee didn’t want her anymore, but now Grace had completely lost her ability to read her. Confusion reigned. Grace felt like a wishy-washy jumble of lust and neediness, unanswered questions and uncertainty. If Madeira could hear her thoughts, she’d run. Fast and far. Who wanted to be with an indecisive flake? “What about the steps?” she asked.
Madeira cleared her throat, addressing DoDo. “You know, I’ve done a bit of carpentry. I’d be glad to fix them for you.” She gave her an indulgent smile. “I’m pretty good with my hands, if I do say so myself.”
Grace’s lungs squeezed, and in a moment of poor judgment, her gaze flew to her sister. Lola read into her startled look, sucking her cheeks into a blatantly innuendo-laden, hubba-hubba expression. Grace scowled a warning, but thankfully Madeira and DoDo ignored them both.
“Oh, m’ija, that would be wonderful. You know how it is with an old house.” DoDo gestured widely. “Always too many things to fix and not enough time or money.”
“Sí, I do know. Only too well.” Madeira leaned in. “Mira. Why don’t you make me a list of things that need repairs? I enjoy fixing things, and it’s the least I can do to repay you.”
“B-but, you’re so busy at work. Won’t it be too much trouble?” Grace asked, praying Maddee would rescind the offer.
“Not at all.” She glanced at her and then shared a private smile with DoDo. “It’s the least I can do for the three women who helped me feel less homesick for mi mamá and my baby sisters.”
Swell.
Now Maddee thought of her as a sister! Grace glanced down at her utensils and pondered…suicide by butter knife? Nah. Not quick or efficient enough. The table blurred before her eyes. Life had never sucked with quite so much force, not even the day Burn had done the inner thigh tattoo. She’d thought that was the worst pain she would ever feel.
Wrong again, Grace.
“I’ll pay you, of course,” DoDo said.
“Nonsense. All I ask in payment is a good meal like this now and then.” She patted her stomach and her mouth pulled ruefully to one side. “Living alone, with my schedule, I must admit I don’t eat as well as I should.”
“That’s so generous of you, m’ija,” DoDo gushed, hands clasped at her chest.
“What you need is a wife. Or a partner—whatever terminology you prefer,” Lola said.
Grace didn’t even glance up from the pit of resignation into which she’d descended.
“Ah, but with all of you, what do I need with a partner?”
Grace couldn’t help but flinch. Ugh. It just kept getting better, didn’t it? “DoDo, do we have any Kahlúa? I think I’d like some in my coffee.” Like a whole bottle, for example.
“Good idea.” DoDo bustled up and refilled all the coffee cups on the table, adding a small dollop of liqueur to each mug. After she’d set down the heavy brown bottle, Grace picked it up and added a second generous chug-chug-chug to her mug, needing all the liquid courage she could guzzle. She stirred the concoction with her index finger, then sucked down a generous mouthful, coughing against her fist on the exhale.
DoDo appraised her thoughtfully, but refrained from comment, thank goodness. After a moment, she regarded Madeira. “I’ll get to work on that list bright and early tomorrow, and I insist on paying for all the parts, at least. In addition to feeding you, of course, which is my pleasure.”
“Whatever makes you happy, DoDo.”
Panic rose in Grace’s throat as she contemplated what exactly this fix-it arrangement would mean to her sanity. She pushed back from the table and began to carry dishes to the sink. Her heart pounded and her hands trembled as she filled the basin with water and added way too much soap. Tiny bubbles broke off from the steadily growing mound, rising in the air to pop in front of her like little unrealized dreams. How apt. Absently, she began to dump dishes and utensils into the water, grateful her back faced the rest of the room. If she was lucky, they wouldn’t sense her trembling.
But seriously. Just what she needed—Madeira lurking about the house with sweat-sheened muscles and a low-slung tool belt. She was used to living with DoDo and Lola, totally uninhibited. What happened if Grace dashed down to the laundry room in her underwear to grab a shirt from the dryer, only to realize that Maddee was rehanging a squeaky door?
A sexy image that included Maddee in a skimpy tank top and tool belt, with Grace naked atop the washing machine during spin cycle, caught her by surprise. Her eyes fluttered closed. She reached out to scoop up more dishes and grabbed DoDo’s very sharp Henckels chef knife by the blade instead of the handle, only realizing her mistake when the tempered steel bit into the soft flesh of her fingers. “Oh!”
Her yelp startled everyone to their feet.
She threw the knife into the empty side of the double sink with a clatter, gripping her sliced fingers with her other hand. A steady stream of bloody bubbles ran down the sink, and tears stung her eyes from the pain. “Damn.” She bit her lip.
“M’ijita, what happened?”
“T-the knife.” Grace blinked rapidly. “I wasn’t paying attention.”
DoDo tsk-tsked, dashing over to turn off the water. Her eyes widened when she saw the extent of the damage. “My goodness, you have to be careful,” she chided, but not unkindly.
In a flash, Madeira stood beside her, steadying Grace with her warm, hard body. “Let me see.” She tried to examine the cuts, but Grace held the injured hand in a shaky death grip. “Let go, Gracie. Don’t squeeze so tightly.”
“It h-hurts.” Unshed tears raised her voice an octave.
“I know, baby. I know. I just need to see how deep the cuts are.” Madeira managed to pry the injured hand loose from the other, and turned to Lola. She extracted keys from her pants pocket and lobbed them to her.
Lola palmed them easily, her eyes wide with worry. “What do you need?”
“My orange medical bag. Behind the driver’s seat.”
Lola lit off with a quick nod. “Hang on, Grace,” she called over her shoulder.
“DoDo, do you have a towel or some muslin you don’t mind ruining? The cuts are pretty deep. I’d like to wrap them before I take her to the hospital.”
“Of course. I just bought some unbleached muslin for my quilting bee. Let me just…” DoDo bustled off, still talking.
<
br /> “The hospital?” Gracie asked, or maybe whimpered, as the first tear trickled down her cheek. She felt dizzy just thinking about it. Hospitals didn’t rank on her favorite places list after spending all those weeks in traction with her leg.
“’Fraid so. This is too deep, rayito de luz, I’m sure you’ll need stitches.” With sympathy in her eyes, Madeira wicked a tear from Grace’s cheekbone with her rough-gentle finger, and Grace’s breathing ceased. She remembered those fingers from the accident scene, from the year that followed when she’d only imagined them, and her, and dreamed she’d magically appear and touch her with them again. “Damn.”
Madeira cast a quick glance over her shoulder. “You keep swearing and DoDo’s going to make you write me a letter of apology,” she whispered.
Grace knew Maddee was trying to cheer her up. Her chin trembled, and she stared at the sliced and diced fingers of her right hand, angry at her own carelessness. “I doubt I’ll be writing anything anytime soon.” Tears began to plink-plunk on her arm. “I’m such an idiot.” And not just for the cuts.
“It’s okay. Hey.” They weren’t so different in height, but Maddee still bent her knees until her face was level with Grace’s. “Look at me, babe.”
Grace did. How could she not when Maddee called her “babe” in that intoxicating voice?
“You’ll be fine. And they’ll give you some excellent pain drugs, too. I’ll be with you. Okay?”
Grace wanted to be tough, to tell her she didn’t need her. Didn’t need anyone. But she couldn’t. She hated hospitals after the semi crash. “Promise?”
“I promise.” Madeira’s smile lit up the room. “I won’t leave that hospital without you, Gracie.”
Another vague memory surfaced from the day of the crash. Grace gave a watery laugh, then shook her head, studying Maddee through her tears. “This rescue scenario is becoming way too big a part of our relationship, Maddee.”
Madeira pulled her into a hug. “Mira. I’ll rescue you as many times as it takes, fierita. Believe me. As many times as it takes.”
Grace melted into the embrace wondering what exactly Madeira had meant by that.
*
Grace shivered, cold on the uncomfortable gurney with only a sheet to ward off the chill. They’d made her remove her long-sleeved shirt, offering only a threadbare hospital gown in its place. The fact that she’d lost a bit of blood probably didn’t help with the warmth factor, nor did the fact that Madeira sat next to her bed, as kind and caring and concerned as…a sister.
What did you expect?
With a sigh, Grace turned her head away and stared at the pastel-striped fabric divider. She didn’t know what she’d expected, only what she felt. Right now she felt lonely and bleak and desperate. In the section next to hers, a mother crooned softly to her little boy, who’d come in with a broken leg that was waiting to be set and casted. The intimate, familial sounds of the woman’s voice saddened Grace and made her yearn for things she’d lost…things she’d never really stopped wanting, no matter how much she’d tried to convince herself otherwise.
She knew her flip-flopping feelings about Madeira were flighty and unfair and that she needed to make up her damn mind what she wanted and then stick to it. Her good hand bunched the sheet. If only things were that simple.
If only she weren’t so damn scared.
After the nurse pushed some sort of narcotic into her IV tube, several minutes passed while Grace lay stiffly on her back, jaw clenched against the dull, relentless throbbing in her hand. She remained silent, unable to bear the thought of carrying on a conversation until the pain dulled. She could pinpoint the exact moment the pain drugs kicked in. Her whole body loosened, including her traitorous tongue.
Turning to Madeira without any provocation whatsoever, she blurted, “You know, I’m getting these tattoos removed next week. I wish I’d never gotten the stupid things.” Her brain caught up with her mouth several seconds later, but the damage had been done. She tried not to cringe.
Madeira’s face came up from the magazine she’d been perusing, and she immediately chucked it to the side. “Did you say tattoos, with an s? As in, plural?”
Whoops. Grace giggled like a cheap drunk. “No. I must have slurred or something.” Her index finger shot up and wavered in the air between them. “One tattoo. Singular.”
Madeira stood slowly and approached the gurney, leaning forward to rest her forearms on the metal side rails and smile at Grace with amusement in her eyes. “Let me guess, as if I need to. Drugs are on board.”
“Yup. On board and riding first class. I think they’re even ordering drinks.” Maddee blurred before her eyes, so Grace squinted.
“Can I see it?”
“See what?”
Madeira nodded toward her chest. “The tattoo. Last time I only got a glimpse.”
Oh, good. She’d believed Grace about the tattoos. So much for DoDo thinking she wasn’t a good liar. Ha! And as for the Easy Vixen, what the hell? Maddee had already seen it once. Grace tugged down the top of the gown to expose the glaring yellow beast, staring up at the wavering white ceiling tiles while Madeira scrutinized it. “You remember the little yammerhound from the day of the assembly?”
No answer.
She peered over and found Madeira just a little too entranced with the tattoo, so she hid it again.
Maddee looked at her, swallowing thickly. “What?”
“The talkative boy in my class. Remember?”
“Oh. Yes, of course.” Madeira shook her head a couple times as though to clear it. “What about him?”
Grace took a deep breath. “His older brother, Steven, was in my first short-lived class, pre-semi. The night of the accident was parent/teacher conference night. My very first, which is why Ms. Right was in the car with me. Moral bear support.”
“Ah, I didn’t know that.”
She nodded. “Anyway, in Steven’s enthusiasm to tell me a story—”
“Hard to believe.”
“Yeah.” She laughed, and a little too boisterously. “Runs in the family. Anyway, he tugged on my sweater to get my attention and flashed the tattoo to his parents.” She rolled her head from side to side on the crisp, waterproof pillow, listening to it crunch beneath her ears. She forced a swallow past a throat tightened by the ugly memory. “I remember the exact moment I realized they’d seen it. Their faces just…changed, Maddee.” She closed her eyes, reliving the humiliation anew and hating it just as much.
“He didn’t mean to do it.”
“I know.”
Madeira’s hand smoothed her hair, her cheek, and Grace nestled into the caress. It felt so good to be touched by her, even simply as a gesture of platonic comfort. At this point in a very crappy day, she’d take what she could get. She drifted into an undulating sea of calmness, losing track of the story, of everything except the feel of Maddee’s hand on her skin.
“So, what happened?”
“Oh, um…” She shrugged, sluggish. “Nothing, really. I finished the conference and moved on to the next parents. But I knew. Know what I mean? I had a sinking feeling in my stomach for the rest of the night, and it was all I could think of on the drive home. I wondered if maybe it was a sign that I wasn’t fit to be a teacher. That I should go back behind the bar where I belonged.”
Madeira gave her a sly look. “I thought you said you didn’t believe in signs.”
Whoops. She dodged the question. “Would you quit changing the subject?”
Chuckling, Madeira rolled her hand as if to say “go on,” but a thought struck Grace’s brain launching her off onto a previously unexplored tangent. “You know, maybe if I’d been paying better attention—”
“Shh.” Madeira placed two fingers over Grace’s lips to silence her, removing them when she settled back. “I saw the accident happen, Gracie, start to finish. No way you could have avoided that semi.”
“You’re probably right.” Grace touched the spot on her chest marred by the so-called art. “T
he point is these tattoos give people the wrong impression about me.”
“I thought you said you only had one?”
Damn drugs. What did they give her, a truth serum/morphine hybrid? She sighed, flopping her healthy hand on the sheet. “Okay, fine. I have two. But, no, you can’t see the other one, so don’t even bother asking.”
Madeira arched a brow, one corner of her mouth quivering with a hidden smile. “Is that a ‘for right now’ rule or a forever rule? I’m just askin’.” She grinned, and her curious gaze traced the form of Grace’s body beneath the sheet, no doubt wondering which part the second tattoo adorned.
Grace tingled under the perusal, despite the drug haze and the fact Madeira wasn’t even touching her. She ignored her question. “I’m trying to say…I’ve changed. I’m not the same jaded bartender who’d let some biker—named Burn, mind you—talk her into a couple of sleezy tattoos just for grins.”
“Of course you’re not, Gracie. We all grow and change.”
She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth carefully, afraid her wicked buzz might make her bite down too hard and draw blood. “Even you?”
“I seem to change every day.” Madeira smiled. “But back to you. Not that you asked my opinion, but I don’t think you should get the tattoos removed.”
Shock riddled through Grace. “Why not? They’re ugly.”
The roughened tip of Maddee’s index finger touched Grace’s nose lightly, and her whole face felt it. “They’re you, fierita. As much as the sweet, innocent third-grade teacher is you. Everything in your life up to this point has made you who you are, so everything is valuable and nothing’s a mistake.”
“Oh, trust me. Some things are mistakes. Ex-things, for example, named Lurch, Rat, and…what was that other biker chick’s name? Ah, yes. Mongrel. Arf, arf.”