by Dee Tenorio
Chloe’s eyes were huge now.
Penelope got there, wrapped her arm around Chloe’s slim shoulders and pulled her back just as Ophelia touched the saint medal on prominent display at the top of Chloe’s white turtleneck. Pen didn’t care how defensive she looked, how confused Raul was as he made it past people in their direction.
Ophelia’s dark eyes, almost black with displeasure, shifted upward to fix Penelope with a militant stare. “That medal changes nothing. She’s no blood of mine. She never will be.”
Penelope looked over at Thomas, saw his grim but resigned expression, and rage like she’d never known rose up in her. Pulling Chloe close, she stared down at the sitting matriarch and did something she’d never done to another living soul in her life.
The crack of her hand across the older woman’s face finally did what nothing else had been able to—around them, people stopped moving, including Raul, who stared at her as if she’d somehow morphed into someone else before his very eyes. Maybe she had. Other eyes, every face around them, it seemed, took on the slow rising expression of anger. All except one.
Ophelia Montenga simply smiled.
Shaking, Penelope took hold of Chloe’s shoulder and pulled but her little girl wasn’t budging. Her face paint smudged, tears washing the silver to a red-rimmed edge under her eyes, Chloe clamped her hand around the medal. Giving it a yank, she looked at it one more time before tossing it on Ophelia’s lap. “If it doesn’t mean anything, I don’t want it.”
When Penelope pulled this time, Chloe came.
They pushed past Raul, who finally seemed over his shock enough to grab Penelope’s arm. “What the fuck was that?”
“Not now, Raul.” She kept walking, pushing Chloe in front of her, knowing that already people were talking. Guessing. Wondering what in the hell could have made the town doctor slap a woman more than twice her age.
“Yes, now.”
But Penelope yanked her arm free, determined to get Chloe out the door. He must have seen the logic of that because he followed her without a word. It was only when she’d ushered Chloe to her car, pushed her into the backseat and closed the door behind her, that he grabbed her arms and made her face him again. “What the hell is wrong with you? How could you slap my mother?”
“If I thought it would do any good, I’d have punched her.” She tried to push his hold off, but he wasn’t having any of it. “Why don’t you go ask Ophelia? Ask her what she said to deserve it.”
Even with only the orange parking-lot lights, she could see him losing his color, a sickened expression pulling down the lines of his face. “She said something to you?”
“Of course she did. She doesn’t acknowledge Chloe.”
He let her go, sighing. “Pen, you have to understand—”
“No, I don’t.” She circled the front of the car, needing to get out of there. Get Chloe out of there.
“Damn it, Penelope.” He followed her with thundering steps. “Things can’t just change for her overnight. She’s going to need some time!”
“She’s had time!” she yelled back, turning to take him on right there in the parking lot, her better sense completely worn through. “Years of time. Ophelia has always known about Chloe, Raul. Since she was four years old, your mother has known. And do you know what she said? For me not to mix my bastard with her grandchildren.” Too late, Penelope glanced into the car and saw Chloe watching them with huge eyes. She was crying openly now. Not because of Ophelia, but because of herself. Because of them.
Raul seemed to realize it too, because he hissed words Penelope wouldn’t repeat if her life depended on it.
Adrenaline bleeding out of her, Penelope ran her fingers over her brow, suddenly so tired she could hardly breathe. “I’m taking her home.”
“Wait for me.”
She tightened her hand on her keys, the feel of the metal jags jutting into her about the only thing that kept her from being completely numb. “Why? What’s going to be different when you get back here? Your family is still going to be thinking that what she does is okay. That the way she just treated your daughter is acceptable. That Chloe should wait her out.”
“Pen, just give me five minutes to get this straightened out.”
“There’s nothing to straighten out, Raul. I saw your father’s face. He heard her and he did nothing. After he gave me his word, he still did nothing. No one in there is going to hold her responsible but I’ll be damned if I stand by and watch my child get hurt over and over again. It ends here.”
“What ends here?”
Ignoring the pain in her heart, especially the small voice in her mind whispering that she was making a critical mistake, she said the most painful word of her life. “Everything.”
“Pen.”
She turned away, got into the car and ignored his hand knocking on the glass. Ignoring her own instincts as well, she pulled out and left him behind.
Her regrets she took with her.
Chapter Eleven
Raul stalked back into the auditorium and, wouldn’t you know it, not a single damn person had left. Of course not. There was still drama to be had. He made it almost all the way back to his parents before his brother stepped into his path. They weren’t all that different in size or height, but Raul was thirteen years younger and for the first time in their lives, that might be an advantage.
Thomasso shook his head. “This isn’t the place, Raul. Don’t make a scene here.”
“That part's been pretty well taken care of, don't you think?” He moved past his brother, trying to get a hold of his confusion and his anger because they were twisting together and he didn’t know who to direct either of them at. Penelope’s pale face kept flashing in his mind, but so did his mother’s, her cheek turning red and that strange smile on her lips. As if she’d been saying something to Penelope that only the two of them knew about.
Because she’d already had her say with Penelope.
The horrible truth stole the breath from his lungs. His steps felt jerked as he walked up to his parents and crouched down in front of them. Thomas’s expression looked strained but his hand was tight around his wife’s. Ophelia watched him, a small frown on her face. Did she know what he was going to ask? Did she think he could possibly accept this?
“How could you, ’Ama?”
“No hice nada—”
“She’s just a little girl.” His little girl, but he could see that didn’t matter to her. She wouldn’t let it matter.
Ophelia’s mouth tightened into a hard line when he stood up again.
“When you’re ready for all of us, Mama, we’ll come back. But until then, I’ll be with my family.”
“¿Cómo que family?” Ophelia stood up, her tight expression demanding he come to heel. “Nosotros. Somos tu familia. Tu sola familia.”
Raul backed away, hating the position she was putting him in. Us. We are your family. Your only family. They were, but no matter how much he loved his parents, his siblings or their kids, they weren’t the family that mattered the most. “Not anymore.”
He walked out, feeling hollowed and sick, his only goal to get back to Penelope and Chloe.
“Mijo, don’t do this.”
He turned, stunned to realize his father had followed him. Thomas suddenly looked every one of his seventy-four years.
“Don’t walk away from us again.”
As if he wanted to. “It’s not me, ’Apa.”
Thomas shook his head. “This is my fault. I shouldn’t have tried to make your mother talk to her. I knew it the second I said anything, but it was too late. I’m sorry.”
God, if there were ever words he’d never wanted to hear come out of his father’s mouth, it was those, especially not with that almost broken sound to them. “Dad, no.”
“She took this off.” Thomas raised his hand, a tremor running through it, and Raul felt even shittier seeing the lights glint off the medal and chain tangled in those gnarled fingers. “Tell her it means something. Te
ll her that her abuela was wrong.”
“She is wrong.” Raul knotted his own hands not to take the necklace. It belonged to Chloe, but he couldn’t force her to take it. It was a gift that had to be given wholeheartedly. That necklace would only hurt her now.
“She needs time.”
Raul winced at the words he’d said only minutes ago. A lie they’d all been telling themselves for decades. Time wouldn’t change this, that much Penelope was right about. “No, she has to understand that Chloe is part of her family. Part of her. And that this damned prejudice of hers isn’t something we can allow anymore.”
“Raul, please.”
“Ask her how long she’s known Chloe was mine, Dad.”
Thomas’s brows crashed together. “What?”
“Ask her how long she’s known. Ask her what she said to Penelope. Then tell me I need to give her time. Then tell me you’d give up your child and tell any of us to wait for her to love us.”
Thomas’s hand dropped.
“You spent my whole life telling me that when I was a man, my family would be the most important thing in my life. That they needed to come before everything else, period. That time is now, ’Apa. This is something I have to do.”
His father felt strangely frail when he gave him a brief hug, then got into his truck and pulled away.
The miles took forever to cross, but finally he was able to park in front of Penelope’s house. By the time he had his hand up to knock, though, the door was already opening.
“That certainly took you long enough.” Lorna stepped back to let him in, already reaching for her coat. “I’ve already told you that I’m useless to her in these situations. Your response time needs work, Captain.”
He couldn’t quite work up a grin for her, but Lorna didn’t seem to need one.
“They’re upstairs.” She walked past him and down the walk, leaving him to close the door. He watched her pull out from the driveway, the red lights from the back of her car out of sight within what seemed like seconds. But he knew he’d probably been watching a few minutes, because he wasn’t looking forward to heading up the stairs and fighting with Penelope. Even more, he wasn’t looking forward to having Chloe look at him with betrayal all over her face.
Still, eventually, he had to close and lock the door then start up the stairs. He heard their voices, soft, low sounds, as he walked up to Chloe’s open door. Chloe was already in her bed, her face washed clean, but her hair wasn’t so lucky. Though wet, a liberal amount of silver still stained the sable lengths. Penelope was sitting on the edge of the bed, leaning close while they talked. He almost hated to interrupt, but he couldn’t have Chloe falling asleep thinking he hadn’t supported her. He knocked on the lintel and the two of them turned to look at him in surprise.
“Dad!” Chloe cuffed Penelope’s arm. “See, I told you we should have waited.”
Raul would have gotten hopeful if Penelope’s surprise wasn’t instantly covered with that damn unemotional mask of hers. He was seriously sick of that defense.
“No, your mom was right. You didn’t need to deal with that mess.”
Chloe squinted at him with eyes that were still a little puffy. “Is, um, your mother okay? Mom really whacked her one.”
Penelope’s mask could only hide so much and her flinch wasn’t on the list. “There are about eight million reasons why it was wrong of me to do that, Chlo.”
“So why did you?” Chloe crossed slim arms while Penelope struggled for an answer.
“Because there was one reason why it was right,” Raul answered for her, earning him a look he couldn’t interpret. Maybe she wasn’t sure what she felt about him saying it either. He came into the room, knowing he wasn’t going to get an engraved invitation anytime soon. “When you get older, you’ll figure out that sometimes that one reason doesn’t outweigh all the other reasons why what you did was wrong, but every now and then, you do things without thinking it all through.”
“Like whacking your mom.”
“Like whacking my mom,” he agreed, wishing one more time that Chloe had taken after her mother a little more in the decorum department. “The important thing is that you understand none of what happened tonight is because of you. Not you as a person. My mother doesn’t know you that way. She has…” Hell, how could he explain?
“Issues?” Chloe supplied easily and he frowned. “Duh, have you met my other grandma? Believe me, I’m used to old ladies with issues.”
He squinted at her. Unbelievably, she wasn’t taking this as hard as he thought she might. “You’re really okay about this.”
She gave him his own half-shrug, that little chin rising. “No, but it’s kinda dumb to sit here and cry about it. It won’t fix anything.”
It hit him then that she probably didn’t get that fortitude from him. He reached out and touched her cheek with the backs of his fingers. “I’m sorry, mijita. But I promise you no one else feels that way. Everyone in my family loves you, especially me.”
Her lip wobbled, but she didn’t cry again. “I wanna go to sleep now.”
Or she wanted to cry in peace. Since her pride had taken enough of a blow for one night, he nodded and stood. Penelope looked like she might stay, but he took hold of her arm and pulled her to her feet. She could be as mulish as she wanted, they were working this out. Tonight.
{{{
Raul didn’t lead her to the bedroom like Penelope expected. Actually, so far nothing had gone as she’d expected. Now that the fear and adrenaline had stopped flowing, her rational mind was starting to click and the whole night seemed a scene of one mistake after another.
He extended a hand to the kitchen table by the windows and she sat uneasily. “Tea?”
She didn’t know what else to say, so she nodded. Within a few seconds he had water boiling on the stove and was moving around her kitchen without hesitation. He gathered the tea and honey from the pantry—selecting the right box, she noticed—and mugs from the shelf. He moved as if this were his home. As if he were as comfortable here as in his apartment. When had that happened? Was it in the last several weeks that he’d been her lover? Or the whole two months that he’d been trying so hard to be a father?
“Where did my mother go?” she asked into the silence.
“She left as soon as I got here.”
Penelope frowned, unable to reconcile his words with her mother’s general behavior. Whenever drama happened, Lorna always waited around to remind Pen what behavior was acceptable and what was not. “That doesn’t make any sense.”
Raul raised a brow before bringing the two mugs to the table. “Maybe she thought we needed our privacy.”
“My mother doesn’t believe in privacy.” Duty, honor and guilt, yes. Privacy, no.
“You know, I’m starting to think that we don’t know your mother as well as we think we do.”
“You thought you knew my mother well?” Penelope couldn’t help the wry twist of her lips. No one knew the whole truth about Lorna Gibson, not even the daughter who guarded her from the dislike of an entire town.
“Well, no, but I knew her well enough not to mess with her.”
That didn’t bode well. “And now you plan to mess with her?”
He smiled, that devilish glint in his eyes while the dimples in each cheek grew slowly deeper. “Don’t worry, I’m pretty sure she won’t mind. She loves me.”
“Er…”
“She loves you too,” he added conversationally. As if it weren’t the most absurd thing in the world.
“I know that.”
“Do you?” The smile wasn’t devilish anymore. He sobered, his expression softening into a serious look of concern. “Did you know that she came to me like a mama bear, ready to tear me three new assholes if I dared hurt you?”
“Excuse me?” If he’d suddenly started speaking Russian, he would have made more sense.
“She did. That day I got the bruise on my leg. She came to the firehouse, ready to run me out of town on a rail if I w
asn’t serious about being with you this time. But I managed to convince her that my feelings for you are real. That I’m committed to you and to Chloe. Which makes it a little strange that I can’t convince you.”
“I’m convinced that you’re committed to Chloe,” she hedged, her emotional balance swinging wide. Lorna had done that? For her?
“And to you. I’m extremely committed to you. Some might say a little obsessed. But God forbid we talk about that, right?” If only it didn’t sound so important to him that she believe him.
He’d know if she lied and this time, she didn’t think he’d let her squirm out of the conversation. “Raul—”
“Uh-uh. We’re talking about this. All cards on the table. How I feel and how you feel about me. We’re not going to cloud this with sex or responsibility either. It’s just you and me, being honest with each other. For once.”
Penelope contained a bristle, but just barely. “I’m always honest with you.”
“No, you’re not. You’re not even honest with yourself.” He set the tea down carefully. “You can’t tell when someone loves you. When anyone loves you. Maybe it’s because everyone you’ve ever loved hasn’t given you what you needed. Your dad died, your mom became an iceberg and I disappeared on you. I’m afraid to ask who else hurt you, but I know the three of us probably did enough damage all by ourselves.”
“Is the point of this discussion to call me an emotional cripple?”
“No, it’s to tell you that you’re a beautiful, loving, vibrant, special woman with so much to give but, for whatever reason, you lock everyone out. You want love, but you don’t seem to believe people when they try to give it to you. And if we’re going to make it, that’s got to change.”
Penelope tapped the mug with her nail, wishing there were a crack in it that she could pick at. If he were angry when he’d said that, she’d be justified in stalking away, but he was as calm as he’d been pouring the tea. Meaning she had to treat this as a conversation instead of a cavern full of man-traps ready to rip her to shreds. She lifted her chin at him, resolved to deal with this as calmly as him. “I’m loved.”