“I missed you a ton this week.” Carmen poured orange juice for Nate. “Our first full two-week spread between visitation weekends. Which I know you know as well as I do.”
“It sure was a long two weeks. Three total if you count since the day of the move.”
Kimberley peeked into the kitchen, squinting as the morning sun hit her face. “Oooh, I missed you, too, snookum.” She smooched the air.
Nate’s eyes twinkled.
“Kim, get out of here! You need to stop spying.”
“Spying? Um, last I checked I live here, too. Just coming in for breakfast. But with the way you two carry on, I’ve lost my appetite.” She stomped from the room.
“You should go a little easier on her. She only wants you to like her. She looks up to you so much.”
“But she’s always there. I need space. We need space.”
“We had some space last night.” Nate winked and pulled her onto his lap.
Carmen giggled.
Harper rounded the corner into the kitchen. “Oh gross!” She stuck her finger in her mouth and made gagging noises. “Do you two ever let up? I’m never going to have a boyfriend if I have to act like you two. Ick.”
“You’ll change your mind. Won’t she, babe?” Nate wiggled his eyebrows.
“Without a doubt. Come on. Let’s get out of here.” Carmen grabbed Nate’s hand and tugged him into the backyard, where they settled on deck chairs.
“Hey, it’s Saturday. Why aren’t you going to tennis?”
Carmen eyed him. “It’s over. Dad won’t pay for me to be an out-of-resident member. Mom can’t afford it, of course. Dad could take me as a guest, but I couldn’t be a regular on Zach’s schedule or in competition if I’m only a guest. So, there you go.” She crossed her arms and waited for a reaction.
Nate blinked. “You’re losing tennis, too? I don’t see how your dad could let that happen to you along with everything else.”
“Hi, guys!” Tiffany sashayed toward them in skin-tight white jeans and a zebra-print silk top.
“That’s how.” Carmen jerked her head at Tiffany.
“Your dad and I are going furniture shopping. Want to come?”
Do I want to take a bullet to my brain? “No. I don’t think so. We’re going over to Nate’s.”
“Furniture for what?” Nate asked.
“Mainly for my dressing room. I need a vanity and an armoire. Plus maybe some office furniture for your dad. Depends if I’m feeling generous.” She winked at Carmen.
It’s his money! Carmen wanted to shout. How dare she talk about being generous.
Nate stood up and put on his best politician smile. “Hey, Tiffany. Mind if I ask you something?”
Oh no, Nate. Don’t do it. Please. It won’t help. She’ll only take pleasure in knowing it got to me.
“Sure.” Tiffany batted her long eyelashes.
“What’s the deal with Carmen’s tennis? I mean, does she really have to quit completely? Isn’t there some way you could talk to her dad and work things out since she loves it so much?”
“Oh, believe me, we’ve talked about it at length. It’s probably better this way since he’s not home a lot. The club says it’s not fair to the others on the team since Carmen can only show up on the weekends anyway. So they’re happy to have her spot open for someone more regular.” Tiffany pivoted toward the house. “Gotta run. The stores are waiting.”
Like her attendance was her fault. And she was still way better than any of the others even if she could only make it on the weekends.
Nate shrugged at Carmen. “Sorry, babe.”
“At least you tried. Appreciate the effort—lost cause though. Tiffany gets what Tiffany wants, and I rank somewhere near the bottom on her list of concerns apparently.” Above garbage men but below furry animals—which didn’t say a whole lot considering the mink and chinchilla coats hanging in her brand-new dressing room.
“I just can’t believe you’re not going to play tennis anymore. You’re so good at it—and you love it.” Nate sank back into the chair he’d vacated.
“Mom says to pray about it. Anything can change.” If Nate worried so much about it now, maybe he would get her a membership once they got married. Or after the baby came.
“Yeah. Maybe.”
“What? I thought you believed in prayer and God and all that stuff.” Carmen flipped onto her stomach with a balled-up towel beneath her cheek.
“Yeah. I mean, I guess so. You know how it is. We go to church sometimes, but mostly not. I went through the classes and made my first communion. That’s about the extent of it.” He intertwined his fingers with Carmen’s.
If he didn’t really know God even though he had everything going for him, how could she ever trust the theory that some divine being watched out for her from up above? Nope. No doubt about it. She was on her own.
“But really, if you think praying will help you get over losing tennis…and everything else, by all means, go for it.” Nate’s eyes softened as he gazed at Carmen. “I don’t know how you can be so calm.”
Because I have a plan.
Chapter 7
Consuelo is still scrubbing the kitchen floor, so don’t go in there, okay?” Mrs. McConnell called from some deep recess of the McMansion.
“Uh. Hi, Mom.” Nate winked at Carmen.
The blond suburban queen came around the corner, drying her hands on a monogramed dish towel. “Hi, son. Hey, Carmen.” She finished drying her hands on her khaki pants and pulled her white sweater closed around a black blouse. Hillary McConnell’s cleaning outfit.
Did her smile waver, or had Carmen only imagined the kink in Hillary’s steely armor?
“What are you two doing today?”
“Just hanging out. Nothing special.” Nate gestured toward the kitchen. “She almost finished? We’re starved.”
“I think so, but who knows?” Mrs. McConnell turned to Carmen. “Hey, maybe you could ask her how long she’ll be. You speak her language, right?”
Oh great. This should be fun. Her language happens to be Spanish. And yes, Carmen spoke it. Carmen glanced at the ceramic tile, imported from Spain, no doubt. Maybe it would open up and swallow her whole before she had to humiliate herself. Carmen’s body moved toward the arched entrance to the kitchen as though propelled by some unseen force. Stop moving, feet. Once she arrived at the kitchen, Carmen would have to open her mouth and widen the gulf between herself and Nate’s family. Maybe it had been Mrs. McConnell’s plan all along to point out to Nate that his girlfriend was no better than a cleaning lady.
Why couldn’t they have shown up at Nate’s just thirty minutes later? The last thing she needed was to have her ethnicity pointed out to Mrs. McConnell in all its Mexican glory. Nate’s parents had a hard enough time tolerating their son dating a rich Mexican girl from down the street. But now…now she was a poor Mexican girl from Hackensack, New Jersey…in a single-parent home…living in an apartment.…Carmen could only begin to imagine the way they felt about her. This little interaction with the cleaning lady sure wouldn’t help.
Deep breath. “Cuantos tiempo?” Carmen’s voice croaked out in barely a whisper.
The maid scooted back on her knees and continued to scrub and hum.
A little louder. “Cuantos tiempo mas?”
Still nothing? Seriously?
Consuelo shifted position on the floor again, and Carmen noticed the wires hanging down from her ears. Of course. An iPod. Carmen stepped in a little farther and said with force, “How much longer? Cuantos tiempo mas?”
Consuelo’s head jerked up as though she’d been slapped—the surprise smoothed out the deep lines on her face. They reappeared as her grin spread from ear to ear. “Carmen. Mi chica. Es bueno verte!” She clambered to her feet, smoothed down her light gray skirt and white apron, and pulled Carmen into a tight embrace. “Como esta tu familia? Estoy orando para tu.”
Just ignore Mrs. McConnell’s raised eyebrows. Fraternizing with the help was bad enough,
but doing it in Spanish? Carmen doubted she’d recover from this in Nate’s parents’ eyes. Not that she held out much hope before. She should have ignored Consuelo. But the cleaning lady had said she’d been praying for Carmen’s family. Carmen couldn’t snub her.
“Mas o menos.” Carmen held up one hand and twisted it. What could she say? Of course her family wasn’t fine. But poor Consuelo with her four kids to feed and family back home waiting for her paycheck to arrive every month had it as bad as Carmen. Worse? Probably not. At least as bad. Wouldn’t it be harder to move from the lap of luxury to a bunk bed in Hackensack than to have always lived that way?
Hillary McConnell cleared her throat, and Nate shifted his feet.
Oh, right. “Consuelo, cuantos tiempo mas?” Carmen gestured at the expansive floor.
Consuelo looked at her chunky plastic watch. “Eh. Quince minutos…aproxidament.”
“She said fifteen more minutes.” Carmen locked eyes with Nate’s mom.
“Thank you, dear. That’ll be fine.” She patted Carmen’s arm as she strode from the room.
Realization doused Carmen. Of course Mrs. McConnell understood basic Spanish. She had to be able to communicate with her own employee—if she couldn’t, she’d have hired someone else.
No matter. Carmen would have her moment of revenge. Wonder if Nate’s mom understood Spanish for she’s having my baby?
Chapter 8
A single mom with three girls? They are so going to pounce on us at church.” Carmen slumped on Mom’s bed and pulled the rumpled covers over her already-dressed body. She’d managed to keep the subject of church off the table in the weeks since their move by claiming illness, too much homework, or whatever else she could think of. But Mom sure looked determined to drag them all out for their public disgrace that morning.
“What are you talking about?” Mom finished brushing on some gloss and smacked her lips together.
“Oh, they’re going to see us as their next project. You know, those poor Castillo girls—like we’re in need.” Not that they weren’t.
“Well, aren’t we?”
“Not from a bunch of strangers trying to make some convert quota.” Carmen bit the corner of her nail too short then squeezed it tight until blood surfaced. She stared at the pooling blood like a bug squirming under a microscope. The sting reminded her she was, indeed, alive. It didn’t prove she mattered, but alive was a start.
“Just give them a chance. That’s all I ask.” Mom slipped into her heels and tightened the slingback around her slender ankles. “You might be surprised. This church comes highly recommended. A lot of my old friends go here.”
As Carmen sat in the front seat waiting for Mom to start the car, she tried to think of a way out. Get sick? Just say no. Hide. No, she was stuck. The ten-minute drive to the church on the better side of town would be nowhere near long enough. Carmen hadn’t been to her old church in a couple of years, but at least the longer drive to that one had been green and plush. Now, the drab gray of the scenery out Carmen’s window depressed her. And the bars on some of the store windows weren’t very inviting.
“She’s touching me,” Harper whined, and scuffle noises ensued.
“Girls, please don’t fight. You’ll mess up your dresses,” Mom begged.
Maybe they would rip each other’s clothes. Then they’d have to go home. Carmen would make them a consolation lunch, and they could watch old movies all afternoon.
“Speaking of dresses”—Mom looked Carmen over head to toe—”couldn’t you have worn something other than jeans today?”
Carmen shrugged. “I like my jeans, and I doubt God cares.” Or notices.
The car turned into the parking lot of Hackensack First Christian. Oh boy. No more stalling.
Carmen followed Mom into the church, averting her eyes from any potential recognition from classmates. Probably the children of Mom’s old classmates. Same people, different outfits. These people wouldn’t understand her. Tears stung her eyes. Why was she acting like such a baby? She’d never been a loner before, but now she wanted to hide in her room all day. She missed the old happy, outgoing Carmen she’d once been, but that girl had disappeared. The girl without a care in the world. The one who mattered. Carmen dug her fingernails into her palm. The pain was good for a moment’s relief.
“Look, girls. There’re tons of kids over there.” Mom gestured to the section at the front left where three rows were filled with teens and younger youth. “Do you want to go sit with them?”
What, like a play date? No thanks.
“We do!” Kimberley grabbed Harper’s hand and yanked her toward the front.
“Uh. I’ll pass.” Carmen slid into a chair next to her mom and slouched, for once wishing Kim and Harper were less friendly.
The music started. Ugh. Here we go. Carmen rose from her chair after she made sure everyone else had stood. Once upon a time, she’d loved this stuff. Until logic made her almost positive God didn’t exist except as the higher power people could find deep within themselves. He was a good idea for people to lean on when they were in trouble. But God or no God, Carmen’s life had gone up and down, been happy or sad, subject to everyone else’s whims and stupid decisions. None of it seemed to depend on an unseen force of nature, so it made more sense to accept that He wasn’t real.
The woven fabric on the seat back in front of her prickled under her fingernail as she picked at the loose threads. Ten. Ten lighting fixtures hung low from the ceiling. Three. Three men in suits occupied thrones—okay, seats—on the stage. Or they’d probably call it a platform. Whatever.
Why did people have to raise their hands when they sang? Maybe they wanted to be the best little worshipper to convince everyone around them they were closest to God. Didn’t the Bible say people should be private when they prayed and stuff? Carmen could swear she’d heard that somewhere.
Where were the doors? Carmen shifted her feet and glanced around the room for an escape route. Could she leave to go to the bathroom? No. Everyone would look at her, and she’d make a spectacle of herself. What if she just sat down? Was there some rule against sitting if you weren’t pushing a walker? She could check her text messages to pass the time. Surely Nate had written. He’d better have—not one message yesterday. First time he’d missed a day in the history of their relationship. Hopefully the last time.
“Thank you, worship team and band. You can all be seated.” The silver-haired pastor held his hands out in front of him and gestured downward.
Finally.
“I’m privileged to introduce our guests to you today. They’ve come all the way from Colorado to share the ways God has touched them and is now touching lives through them. I could ramble on and on…”
I’m sure you could.
“…save as much time as possible for our guests to share with you. I’d first like to welcome Ben Bradley, director of Diamond Estates.”
A wavy-haired guy in a shiny gray suit took four steps—more like leaps—and bounded onto the stage. He pumped the pastor’s hand and flashed a full set of sparkly whites at the congregation. Oh boy—one of those.
“Before I begin, let’s put first things first and pray.” He lifted his arms toward the ceiling and looked up. “Father, I come before You surrendered as Your servant. Please grant me the words to say to reveal Your heart to these precious people, and please open their hearts and minds to Your touch. Amen.”
Hmm. Figured he’d be more wordy.
Ben ran his fingers through the silver-peppered hair above each ear then looked out at the audience with kind eyes. “Today’s teens are hurting. Sometimes so much so the only way to get them grounded in faith and teach them how to make good decisions is to pluck them out of their current environment completely. We’ll call it a reboot.”
Several people laughed—not sure what was funny. Carmen felt like her life had been rebooted already, and it hadn’t been fun at all. What was this guy trying to sell? Whatever it was, Carmen wasn’t buying.
&n
bsp; “At Diamond Estates we work to uncover God’s most precious gems from the deepest mire. Teen girls come to Diamond Estates and live there for approximately a year. They’re immersed in Bible study, prayer, worship, service, and everything else that goes into a well-rounded faith walk. Plus they participate in several counseling sessions every week—personally, in a group setting, and by Skype with their families. The goal is for the girls to return home with a new faith, vigorously ready to walk with Jesus and face the world with a family prepared to support her.”
Quite a lofty goal.
The congregation broke into applause.
“These girls come to us with all sorts of issues: promiscuity, drug and alcohol abuse, sexual abuse, and anything else you can imagine. You’re going to get the opportunity to hear from two of those girls today. One of them is already a graduate of Diamond Estates and lives in Colorado. The other is one of our longer-term residents who is about to graduate and go home to her family. I’ll let them tell you their stories themselves.”
He smiled and nodded at a girl in the front row. “First, I’d like to welcome Julia Hernandez to the stage.” A tiny Mexican girl popped out from among the group of teens. She’d fit right in—like she’d belonged there. Well maybe she could take Carmen’s place. Maybe they could trade.
“Hi. I’m Julia. Peeps call me Ju-Ju. I’m going to start by telling you a little bit about my background. This part is always the hardest. So I hope you understand if I stumble around a little.” Her hands shook as she tucked her wild curls behind her ear.
“The story starts before I was born—don’t they all? I mean, we’re all born into trouble of some kind, no? But for me, my life consisted of gangs and a ‘hood full of violence.”
Much like Carmen’s new home, probably.
“My mom tried really hard to shield me and my brother from everything, and we did pretty good until…well, until I turned twelve.” Ju-Ju’s knuckles turned white on the sides of the podium.
“Mom and Scotty were shot in a drive-by while watching TV in our apartment.” She took a ragged breath. “I was in my room asleep when it all went down. I woke up and—you know how it can take awhile for you to figure out what the noise you heard while you were sleeping actually was?” She raised her eyebrows until some people nodded.
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