Preston's Honor

by Mia Sheridan

  A tear slipped down my cheek and I swiped at it hastily as I turned away from the mirror. I’d cleaned the food splatters that had been in my hair and on my shirt as well as I could. It was time to face the music. But I couldn’t. I sagged down onto a small, upholstered bench in front of the female employee lockers in the women’s restroom and let the tears fall.

  My shoulders sagged and I felt the mortifying weight of the earlier catastrophe. For a few brief moments I just let it hurt. I wasn’t sure I had the energy to do more than that.

  I heard the door swing open and sat up abruptly, attempting to clear the wetness from my cheeks. I was more than willing to linger in self-pity for a little bit longer, but less inclined to do it in front of anyone. When I looked up, Rosa was standing there. The look on her face was sympathetic, but I was so embarrassed I was falling apart in front of her—my boss—the woman who’d been so kind and patient with me all week, making me immediately feel a part of the team.

  I had worked hard to learn the menu and table numbers and figure out the computer system in record time, not only in order to make things easier on myself, but because I wanted to show my gratitude by being the best employee I could be for the people who’d already been so good to me.

  Not only was I thankful for the job, but I genuinely liked it, too. The food was amazing, the people were welcoming, and I loved that my ability to speak Spanish allowed me to talk to other employees and customers who spoke limited English. Yes, I already loved working at Abuelo’s.

  And now . . .

  Rosa sighed. Helping me to my feet and hooking her arm in mine, she led me out through the door and across the short distance to her office. “Sit down, cariño.”

  Cariño. I felt the tears rise again at the sweet term of endearment, at the hope that rose inside me that she might be kind to me about the terrible scene on the restaurant floor.

  I sat down in a chair, and she pulled one up right next to me. I turned toward her and she took my hands in hers, squeezing them as she offered a smile. “Oh, Lia. Tell me what’s going on.”

  I sucked in a huge gulp of air, trying hard not to cry. I couldn’t help the wave of emotion her gentleness brought on after I’d been so afraid she was going to be angry and tell me to leave.

  I was already on shaky ground after Preston being in the restaurant on a date—a date with the woman who took care of my son, which somehow made it all the worse. Not only did she have Preston, but she spent each day with my baby, too, and the jealousy and pain I felt had wrenched my heart and made it difficult to draw a full breath.

  And then Alicia had shown up and asked for another server. I’d overheard one of the busboys telling another the reason why and wanted to die of humiliation. And then she’d tripped me. For a minute I was the same insecure, shame-filled girl I’d been in high school, and I’d just wanted to lie on the floor and cry.

  Before I could answer, Rosa frowned at my shirt. I glanced down, seeing the smears and stains and feeling embarrassment all over again.

  “Isn’t your name spelled with two n’s?”

  “What?”

  “Your nametag. Your name is spelled incorrectly.”

  “Oh. I . . . yes. It’s not a big deal. I didn’t want to make a fuss,” I murmured.

  “Oh, Annalia.” Rosa stared at me for a moment, an intensity growing in her eyes that I wasn’t sure I understood. She let go of my hands and grabbed my upper arms, shaking me slightly. “Make a fuss, mi amor,” she said with such conviction I could only stare back. “Make a fuss. Okay?” She suddenly stood, startling me again. “Come on. I’m going home for dinner with my boys and you’re coming with me.”

  “I . . . dinner? Oh, you don’t—”

  “Meet me at the back door. We’ll take my car and I’ll drop you back off at yours later.”

  It seemed as if she wasn’t going to take no for an answer, and the truth was, I didn’t want to be alone tonight, not when the anguish of seeing that Preston had moved on had been right in front of me. Even now, it felt like a weeping wound. It had been six months since I’d been held by Preston. I shouldn’t feel so raw. He’d moved on. He’d. Moved. On. But it did. Oh, it did. And so I stood and nodded, thankful for a listening, sympathetic ear that had somehow softened the desolate pain in my heart. And thankful I wouldn’t have to face Preston and Tracie again tonight.

  She scooted me out of her office, and I went to get my sweater and purse from my locker and met her at the back door a few minutes later. As Raul was passing by, I called to him. “Raul, thank you. For what you did. Thank you for that.”

  Raul winked at me. “We’ve got each other’s backs around here, Annalia. Next time I slip and fall, I know you’ll be there for me.”

  I let out a relieved breath. “Yes. I hope I don’t have to be.” I smiled. “But, yes.”

  He smiled back and walked away, off to deliver a tray of food to a table.

  Fifteen minutes later we were pulling into the driveway of a tidy-looking house in a residential neighborhood in Linmoor. The house itself was small and relatively modest, but the paint was fresh and new and the front yard was beautifully landscaped with a gorgeous, vining, deep-pink flower arched over the doorway. It was clearly a home that was well loved. Something I’d only ever dreamed of.

  The sun was only a glimmer on the horizon, but I was glad we’d arrived here when we had and I was able to see the yard in the last vestiges of evening light. It charmed me and made me feel just a bit lighter somehow.

  “Your yard is so beautiful,” I said as we walked up the flagstone path. I admired the vibrant colors, leaning toward the lilac bush that was heavy with purple blooms and inhaling its sweet perfume.

  “Oh, thank you. It broke my heart when I couldn’t water them last year. But . . . so many lost their farms, their businesses, I can hardly complain. And luckily, many of my plants came back.” She smiled. “We still collect our shower water and use it in the watering cans. Good habits, I suppose, even now that the drought is over.”

  “Yes,” I agreed as she opened the door. We’d all learned habits that would be hard to break—and maybe shouldn’t anyway.

  I pictured Sawyer Farm and how ravaged it had once looked, envisioned Preston’s drawn, weary face as he came through the back kitchen door day after day, looking exhausted and half dead. Most evenings he’d eaten and gone straight to bed. In the beginning I’d been glad for it, glad he was sleeping, glad he could shut out his grief for a little while. And even after the baby had come, I’d tried so hard to understand . . . tried to be patient . . . tried to put my own needs aside, hoping, hoping that despite everything he’d grow to love me . . .

  He’d wanted me once, and I’d clung to that small hope.

  “Joaquín, Alonso, Diego,” Rosa called as I followed her inside and she shut the door behind us. A big, black dog appeared, and Rosa made a clicking sound. “You’ve been on the sofa, haven’t you, you big, naughty beast.” If dogs could smile, this one did. Grin might be a better descriptor.

  A boy who looked to be about twelve came down the stairs and greeted Rosa. Following closely behind him were two handsome older teenagers who both gave me shy smiles and kissed Rosa on her cheek. Rosa introduced them to me. Diego was the youngest and Joaquín, who looked about eighteen, the oldest.

  Rosa pointed to a pile of what looked to be sporting equipment and told them in a quick burst of Spanish to put it in the mudroom or face the consequences. I wasn’t sure what the consequences were, but they must be serious because alarm filled the boys’ faces, and they picked up the items hurriedly and rushed ahead to a door to the left, presumably the mudroom.

  “Follow me, Annalia,” she said. “These boys are going to cook for us while we have a drink and watch the sun set.”

  The boys all grumbled and put up some mild protestations, but Rosa shooed them toward the kitchen. “There are makings for cheese enchiladas in the refrigerator. I think you three can manage that. Make a small salad and bring me a glass of wine a
nd Annalia . . .” she looked at me and I said I’d like any type of soda she had, “a Coke. In a glass. With ice.”

  A few more grumbles and a few “this isn’t fairs” and they were off and Rosa, smiling, looped her arm with mine. “Teenagers,” she said, but there was such affection in her voice that I knew it wasn’t a criticism. “Someday their wives will thank me for teaching them how to cook.”

  She led me through her home, which was both pretty and lived-in, out through a sliding-glass door to a brick patio and huge backyard overlooking the grove of trees I’d seen from the front yard. The patio lights cast a soft glow that reached to the edges of the lawn and there was a comfortable sitting area featuring many brightly colored pillows, and a fire pit just beyond that. “Oh,” I breathed. “It’s so pretty back here.”

  Rosa pointed to the outdoor sofa and we sat down. She put her feet up on the table in the middle and sighed. Joaquín brought our drinks out, giving me a shy smile as he handed me my glass. “Thank you,” I said quietly.

  Rosa smacked him lightly on his hip as he was walking back past her, and he pretended to be surprised, jumping slightly and saying, “Ouch.” I laughed and he grinned back at me.

  “Flirt,” Rosa said, sipping her wine. She looked over at me, tilting her head. “Feeling better?”

  I nodded. “Yes, thank you.”

  She studied me for a minute until I was tempted to squirm before she asked, “Who was the man in the restaurant tonight?”

  I swallowed the sip of soda I’d just taken. “The man?”

  “Yes, the man. The one who appeared to be on a date but couldn’t keep his eyes off you. The one who looked so tormented I almost sent him a complimentary shot of tequila. Or three.”

  I laughed, but it was without much humor. “Preston,” I said, and I could hear the pain in my own voice though I’d tried to say it casually. “He’s my son’s father.”

  Rosa sipped her wine as she watched me again, finally nodding once. “So you’re not together?”

  “No, we’re not.”

  “So why is it he had words with the blonde perra who tripped you, and she left the restaurant looking terrified out of her mind—what little of it there appears to be?”

  Perra. Bitch. Alicia. I blinked. “He did?”

  “Oh yes. But even after that, he still didn’t look satisfied.”

  Preston had defended me. A tremor of warmth moved through me. Preston had always defended me, had always been my champion, and I was surprised yet moved by the knowledge that he still was, at least in some instances. Maybe that’s why it had hurt so deeply that he’d watched me suffer for so long and not done something about it. And yet . . . I’d watched him hurt, too, and not done anything about it—not because I didn’t want to, but because I didn’t know how.

  Confusion overcame me and I took a large, shaky inhale of cool, evening air and let it out slowly. I still felt as if there was an iron band around my chest.

  I thought about how kind Rosa had been to give me the job at Abuelo’s with nothing more than the mention of Alejandro’s name, a man who really knew nothing about me. I thought about how understanding she’d acted toward me tonight when I’d made a big scene in her restaurant and left them short a waitress during the busy dinner hour. That hadn’t been completely my fault, although it was because of my personal life that it had come to pass at all—a personal life I’d brought with me, unwillingly or not. I had to contend with it, but that didn’t mean Rosa should have to.

  And I thought about how above and beyond she was going now, inviting me into her home and having me over to dinner—a dinner her sons were making.

  “Rosa,” I choked, “the truth is I left them both, Preston and my son. I think you should know because a lot of people in this town dislike me for it, and I’d hate for it to affect your business in any—”

  “Oh, Lia, I already know about that, cariño. Linmoor is a very small town.” She took a sip of her wine.

  I stared at her, blinking. “You . . . know?”

  “I do. But I don’t judge people based on the gossip of shallow people. I like to make my own judgments. You know what I’ve come to see from the experience of getting to know you this week?”

  “No,” I breathed. I felt suddenly raw and far too tender. I wanted to wrap my arms around myself but I was holding the glass of soda in my hand and I felt frozen with nerves. I remained still, trying desperately to hold back the threatening tears.

  “I know you’re the hardest worker I’ve ever employed. You go above and beyond for your fellow employees, and you do more than what’s asked of you. You’re kind but shy and you carry a whole world behind your eyes, and I wonder if you ever let anyone be a part of it. And I imagine that if you don’t, you must be very, very lonely.”

  Twin tears slipped out of my eyes and I didn’t bother to brush them away. Rosa stood and came over to me, taking my glass and setting it on the table, and then pulling me to my feet. Inside, I heard a burst of noise come from the kitchen, raised voices as if the boys were arguing over something, and it jolted me slightly.

  Rosa linked her arm through mine. “Let’s walk. The yard is so big, sometimes I like to stroll around like it’s my own personal park.”

  We strolled for a minute, and my emotions settled as we walked. I soaked in the warmth of Rosa’s closeness, the motherly way she held me against her. “Do you want to talk about it?” she finally asked gently. “Do you want to tell me why you left?”

  Her question confused me slightly because no one had ever asked me to share my feelings with them. I wasn’t sure how I felt about doing so, or even how to go about it. And furthermore, I wasn’t sure there were even words to put to my emotions. Do you want to tell me why you left? As if reading my mind, she smiled over at me. “Sometimes it’s best to just spit it right out. Why did you leave, cariño?”

  “Because no one wanted me there, and I felt like I was dying slowly inside.” I let out another long, shaky breath, feeling both the shame in me rise at my admission and something else loosen slightly, allowing me to breathe more fully.

  Rosa tightened her grip on my arm, and I leaned in to her as we neared the trees and then turned to walk along the border of the wooded area. It smelled earthy and damp back there and I filled my lungs with the rich smell of spring, of newness. And it wasn’t just the newness of the earth filling my senses. There was a sudden newness inside me, too—a curious unfurling—as if a seed of growth had pushed its head out of the shadows and into the open air, eager to flourish and bloom.

  I spoke briefly of Cole and how he and Preston had been my friends growing up. All this time and I’d been so afraid to mention Cole’s name, had thought it would open the wound to speak of him at all, and yet I found it was the opposite. Talking about him to Rosa felt like a slow stitching inside as if something was being gently pulled back together—something that was still thin and delicately woven, but no longer torn wide open.

  I told her hesitantly, and with some amount of shyness, that I hadn’t known I was pregnant until a few months after Cole had died. I’d gone to Preston, so terrified, so filled with grief not only for Cole’s death but for the fact that Preston hadn’t reached out to me at all since the night he’d dropped me off at my apartment. I confided in her how each day had stretched emptily into the next.

  “Oh, Annalia, sweet girl.”

  We’d sat on his front porch swing and I’d told him I was pregnant. I was already almost four months along by the time I’d gotten up the nerve to tell Preston.

  I . . . I’m pregnant. I know you’re probably not very happy about that.

  An unplanned pregnancy was never cause for celebration, I supposed, but I was well aware that the timing for mine was particularly terrible. Preston had stared at me in shock and some type of dawning horror that sliced at my heart and made me flinch and look away. That look had made me unconsciously put my hands to my belly as if to comfort the baby inside, to let him know that he was wanted, at least by me.r />
  But then Preston had taken my hands in his, and though his were shaking, he’d told me I’d have to move in with him, that he wanted to look after me. And it’d given me a sad kind of hope because I’d thought it would be an opportunity not only to help him through his grief, but for us to get closer, to form a family, to reclaim what we’d had for one sweet moment in time. To rekindle the true and pure friendship we’d shared for years. And God, I wanted to be looked after. I needed it, was desperate for it. Surely his mother would warm to me. I’d convinced myself everything would be okay. Reality had proven to be far more complicated than my own wistful dreams.

  “Oh, cariño, that must have been so hard. Didn’t you have anyone to talk to? Anyone to help you navigate the rocky path of new motherhood? You’re so young, mi amor. You must have felt so alone. Alone and scared and heartbroken.”

  Emotion welled up in my chest so fast, so suddenly, that I barely managed to choke back the sob that accompanied the deluge. All I could do was nod as more tears gathered and fell down my cheeks. Rosa smiled softly and hugged me to her side. “What about your own mother, Annalia? Where is she? Was she any help?”

  I let out a groan that sounded like the mixture of a laugh and a sigh. “God, no. But . . . she’s lived a hard life, too.”

  Rosa sighed softly. “I’m sorry.”

  One of her boys leaned out the sliding glass doors and called his mom, telling her dinner was ready. It jerked me back to reality. I felt embarrassed and exposed. I’d shared far too much with someone who was a virtual stranger and . . . my boss. I’d been out of line. She’d asked me with such sincerity to tell her about myself, but I was certain she hadn’t expected that much detail. I hadn’t said too much, but I’d certainly shared more with one person than I ever had in my life.

  I wiped the drying tears and felt the heat that had risen in my cheeks. “I—”

  “Thank you for trusting me with your story, Annalia. We women need each other. For whatever His reasons, God deemed it appropriate to strap me with a wild band of male hooligans who I can barely understand half the time. It is so nice to experience the softness of a daughter and talk of the things I know.”