“Me, too.” She gave a soft giggle.
“So, tell me more about your restaurant. Did you say you found a building near El Mercado?”
“I’m still looking. Downtown property is expensive, so I’ll probably have to rent for a long while.” She shifted to sit cross-legged across from Miguel.
He cleared his throat. “Have you talked to your papa about your restaurant?”
She shook her head. “We’ve been busy. And now with Mama getting sick. Maybe after New Year’s.”
“If it’s your dream, you should talk to him. He’s your papa. If he encouraged me in what I’m doing, I know he’ll support you, his daughter.”
“It’s not that simple.”
“Why not?”
“He might be encouraging, but he’s got old ideas about women running things. Sure, he’ll let me run the kitchen sometimes, but I’m not the head chef.” She sighed. “I don’t want to cause a family drama by upsetting the status quo.”
“But this is something you really want, isn’t it? You’re not causing family drama by wanting to open your own restaurant.”
“Maybe not—maybe I will talk to him. It won’t hurt. But I’m not holding my breath. I could show him the plan I wrote up.”
“So you made a plan?”
“I even made a menu.” At this, her face glowed. “Homemade soups, tortas, enchiladas, carnitas, and a whole list of tacos with fillings Pop wouldn’t dream of using. I already tried asking about adding tortas to the menu, and he wouldn’t budge.”
“Promise me something?”
“What’s that?”
“Promise me you’ll tell him your ideas.” Miguel touched her shoulder. “You deserve to have that dream come true.”
“Okay, then. I promise.” She smiled at him. “But enough about my dream. What about your ideas for Rivera Remodeling? Where are you planning to go with it?”
“I want to help families make their homes better places to live for a fair price, without giving up quality. That’s important to me.”
“Maybe you can help me design my restaurant. Your woodworking skills are awesome, and I know you have a good sense of how space is supposed to flow.”
“I don’t know much about restaurant design.”
“We can learn together. I know what works, and chances are I’ll have to lease a building that needs remodeling. So I’ll need a remodeler. Which you are.” With that, she shifted to lean against a cabinet.
He took her hand and kissed it. “It’s a deal.”
The house phone started to ring.
Gabriela shifted to her knees and pushed on the door. “Unbelievable. If Mama isn’t awake already, she will be now with the phone ringing. I don’t know if anyone turned the ringer off in the back of the house.”
She thought she heard the scuff of slippers on the unfinished floor. “Mama! Is that you?”
“M’ija? Where are you?”
“We’re stuck in the pantry.” Gabriela stood.
“Oh, my.” The sound of slippered feet came closer. “Is this locked?”
“No, Mrs. Hernandez.” Miguel joined Gabriela at the door. “The catch is stuck. If you jiggle the outside handle, it might pop and open.”
The handle wiggled on the inside. “It doesn’t seem to want to open.”
“Get a butter knife and stick it where the catch inserts.”
“I’ll be right back.” She padded off, probably to the garage and their makeshift kitchen.
“We’ll be out of here soon,” Miguel murmured and squeezed Gabriela’s hand. “I have a lot of work to do. But it was nice being trapped with you for a little while.”
“I thought so, too.” She placed a hand on the door. “I didn’t realize till now how angry I still am at Tommy, and you helped me see that. Plus—”
“Here I am,” came Mama’s voice at the door. “I think if I stick the knife here and twist the handle, then—”
The door popped open, and the sudden daylight made Gabriela squint.
“Thank you, thank you. But I’m sorry the phone woke you up.”
Mama waved her hands. “Don’t worry. It was your papa, saying he is coming home to check on me. The restaurant is slow right now, so he’s leaving Hector in charge.”
Gabriela tried not to frown, and then Miguel caught her eye. “Now’s your chance, Gaby.”
“Chance for what?” asked Mama.
“I sort of wanted to talk to Pop about some business ideas. But it’s been hard to get a chance to talk to him lately.”
“I know. It’s been a busy time of year for us all.” Mama sighed. “Let’s wait in the living room.”
Miguel said, “I have a kitchen to work on, and an electrician to call.”
Gabriela helped Mama to the living room. “Here, you rest, and I’ll get some lunch for you and Pop.”
“I only want some tea.”
“All right, then.” Gabriela went to the garage and tried to put something together. Some tamales that Nadine had made would be perfect for Pop. She tucked them into the microwave and went to fetch her business idea folder.
Pop finally arrived, and she brought him his lunch while Mama sipped her tea.
“My two ladies of the house, how are you?”
“I’m feeling much better, even though I’m tired.” Mama smiled at Pop, and Gabriela saw the love pass between them, even after more than thirty years of marriage.
“Pop, I know you don’t have long, but there was something I wanted to talk to you and Mama about.” Gabriela clutched her folder.
“What is it? What’s that you’re holding?” Papa asked between bites of tamale.
“What would you say about me not moving out?” She paused for their reaction.
“M’ija, this will always be your home, and as long as you want to live here, we’re happy to have you.” Mama’s expression was full of questions.
“I—I have some ideas.” She opened the folder. “I wasn’t sure what you’d think about it, and I tried to talk to you about a few of the smaller ideas, Pop.”
“The tortas?” Pop frowned. “I thought I already said I didn’t want to change the menu.”
“Um, actually, I was thinking of something bigger than changing the menu. I—” She sensed Miguel’s presence in the doorway. “I want to open La Cocina del Mercado.”
“Another restaurant?” Pop placed his plate on the coffee table, stood, and started pacing the room. “It’s risky, especially now.”
“Going into business is always risky. You knew the risks when you bought the first La Cocina.” Gabriela sat up straighter on the love seat. “And here you are.”
“Yes, here I am.” Pop stopped at the fireplace mantel. Someone had draped it with artificial pine garland. Who had, Gabriela didn’t know. Tommy?
“I have some money saved, the money I was going to use as down payment for my house. It’s not enough for a restaurant, but if I could find some backers, I can get started—”
“But why at El Mercado?”
“It’s a popular area, but it’s far enough from the Riverwalk that it wouldn’t compete with your La Cocina. I want to do upscale street food.”
“Let me see your plan, and if I think it’s a good idea, I’ll match what you’ve saved.”
Gabriela’s hands shook as she handed Pop the folder. “You would do that for me?”
“You are my daughter; of course I would. What wouldn’t I do for you?” Pop’s eyebrows shot to the top of his forehead. “Is this what you have been trying to tell me about for the past few weeks?”
She nodded. “There was never time.”
“We should have made time.” Pop sat down and snatched one of the tamales with his free hand and balanced the open folder on his lap.
“Pop, do you like the idea?”
“M’ija, the kitchen at La Cocina is crowded. I’m not ready to retire, and you’re ready to run your own restaurant. Too many chefs in the kitchen, as the saying goes, and there can only be one head chef.”
Pop paged through the folder, nodding. “I’m not promising I’ll back the idea. We may need to do some refining. Many things to think about when opening a restaurant. But this is nice, very nice.”
“Oh, gracias, Papi.” She shot from the love seat, managed not to trip over the coffee table, and hugged him. “And I already have a contractor, when the time comes.”
“Now why does that not surprise me?” Pop said in her ear.
Someone had been digging in his trash can. Miguel paused outside his apartment. Maybe it was a kid, or someone wandering by looking for who knows what. He caught a whiff of old coffee grounds combined with the contents of leftover take-out, and wrinkled his nose.
He clamped the lid down more securely and glanced around. The other residents’ trash cans sat undisturbed by their back doors. Maybe he was being a little suspicious, but he knew some people would stoop to anything. Identity theft happened too frequently.
As soon as he entered his apartment, his phone started ringing. “Rivera Remodeling.”
“Brother Miguel! How are you?”
“I’m fine, Brother Pete.” He tossed his keys onto the counter.
“So how’s that kitchen remodel going?”
“Great, even with a few delays I think we’ll still be done next week, as promised.”
“You sound like something’s on your mind.”
“Yes, and no.” He sank onto his lumpy living room chair. “Last Sunday night, after church, someone found me from my old days.”
“How did that go? Did you have a hard time?”
“Not as much as I thought I would. It was Santos. He wanted to sell me some product, but I told him no.”
“Good, good for you. Praise God. But there’s more to it than that, right?”
“There’s this woman. …”
“Ah, I see,” said Brother Pete. “Is she someone you recently met?”
“No, I’ve known her since I was a teenager. In fact, her brother and I used to run around together—back then. He’s—he’s in a wheelchair partly because of me. There was some bad blood between me and his family, for a long time.”
“Is she still angry at you?”
“I—no, she’s not.” Miguel swallowed hard at the recollection of what happened in the pantry. “If anything, I think we’re, well—we’re friends, maybe more.”
“Take your time, Brother. You don’t have to love her to make up for what happened.”
“It’s not like that. Gaby is a giving, caring person. Would do anything for her family.”
“She likes to rescue people, doesn’t she?”
“She does like to help people.”
“Give it time. Make sure she’s not trying to rescue you and mistaking that for love.”
“I don’t need rescuing. I’m not the man I was, but I know I’m a work in progress, like they say. She accepts me in spite of the past, and maybe, one day, we’ll have a future.”
“Good. That’s good to hear you say that. I’ll be praying for you both.”
“Thanks, Bro. Thanks.”
He ended the call and spent the rest of the evening rattling around his apartment. The pot lights were functioning in the Hernandez kitchen, plus the granite was installed and the new sink. The backsplash and tile floors were next. Christmas was coming, and he had a promise to fulfill.
Brother Pete’s words came back to him. He meant well, and Miguel knew him enough to trust his words. Gaby, a rescuer? She always defended the weak and the underdog.
Was that him? A weak underdog? He thought of Top Gun Travis from church, who’d probably never gotten a speeding ticket. Not that there was much of a comparison between him and the air force officer, but he shouldn’t put himself down.
Because Gabriela had chosen him. If she’d really wanted to be with Travis, then she would be. And she hadn’t been locked in a pantry with the man, either. He was proud of her, standing up for herself and talking to her papa tonight.
Miguel took the latest receipts and started adding them to his expense list. And he smiled the whole time.
Chapter 8
Christmas crept closer, and Gabriela lived up to her promise to Nadine. She made gift certificates for her family, good for one gourmet meal during the next year. She made one for Miguel, too. Maybe it wasn’t the most personal of gifts, but he was a man, and he definitely liked to eat.
In fact, she thought she’d surprise him with an early present by making dinner and bringing it to his apartment tonight. She put together a fresh molé verde, with beans and rice on the side, and headed toward his place. He’d already left for the day, and said something about having a quiet night at home. He looked quizzical when she asked if he planned to be there.
She found his apartment complex, a simple group of buildings in a row, each with a pair of parking places in front. His red truck was close to his apartment’s front door.
Marcy was right. This Christmas had turned out to be something new, different, and she loved it so far. She’d heard it said before that Christmas was really about God reaching out to man, and offering ultimate reconciliation. No more walls. She liked the sound of that. It looked like the same was happening for her and Miguel. Humming, she carried the insulated dish up the sidewalk to his front door then paused. Yellow police tape blocked her path. What on earth?
Did she have the right place? There was his truck, and she double-checked the address she’d written on an index card. She stared at the yellow tape.
Then his neighbor’s door opened, and an elderly Mexican woman peeked through the crack. “Señorita, you look for Miguel?”
“Sí, sí.” Gabriela switched to Spanish, and the neighbor told her everything she knew.
No, he wasn’t there. Yes, the police came and took him. No, she wasn’t sure why he was arrested. All she knew was they’d asked if he was Miguel Rivera, and when he said yes, they showed him a piece of paper and pushed inside the apartment. They made him sit in the squad car for a long time, while some of them were inside his house. Drugs, maybe, the woman wondered.
“Gracias, Señora.” Gabriela’s breath came in short gasps. Miguel, arrested? No way. Had that Santos guy come back and caused trouble somehow? She hugged the casserole dish and trudged to her car.
What to tell Mama and Pop?
She tucked the casserole onto the front seat next to her. Last week, she’d been locked in the pantry with Miguel, and she’d wanted nothing more than to get away—at first. But now?
Oh, Lord, be with Miguel. I don’t know what’s going on, but You do. This can’t be another disappointment. It can’t be true.
It figured. His past had been dragged out again. Miguel sat in an investigation room in one of the San Antonio Police Department’s precincts. Outside the thick glass window that faced the office, someone’s tabletop Christmas tree sparkled, looking out of place in the serious setting.
His head ached. “Yes, I am Miguel Rivera. No, I did not purchase those items. I didn’t write those checks, either. That’s not my signature.”
Detective Dominguez of the SAPD looked across the table at him through narrow eyes. “Miguel Rivera went to Electronics Haven, purchased over three grand of audio and video equipment using this checking account last week. Here’s the signature on the merchant copies of the receipts. Then yesterday he hit up a men’s clothing store and later bought himself a sweet little MacBook Air.”
“Detective, I don’t want to give you a hard time. But I’m not saying anything more until I talk to a lawyer.” Miguel knew the system could eat up both the innocent and the guilty, and all those in between, like him.
“Do you want to call anyone?”
“Sí, I do.” Miguel swallowed hard. He thought he’d been done asking for help in situations like this. Brother Pete would listen to him. But maybe someone else could really help him.
He dialed the number on the precinct telephone. Not his sister. He’d tired of the disappointment and wariness in her voice, although she’d been happy to hear about
his project at the Hernandez home.
“Señor Hernandez?”
“Sí—Miguel? Why are you calling from the police? What has happened?”
“I’ve been arrested, but I didn’t do it. They’ve got the wrong man, but they won’t listen to me.”
“I believe you. My Nadine is married to a lawyer. I will see what he can do.”
“Please, pray for me. And tell Gabriela to keep believing in me.”
“I will. I will. Should I have Bryan call this number?”
“Yes. Someone will be able to tell him what to do.”
Detective Dominguez stood. “Okay, Rivera. Time’s up. Your lawyer can get here in the morning.”
“Señor Hernandez, I need to go. But please, pray for me.”
“I will, I will.”
Miguel hung up the phone. He didn’t want to let the receiver go, his lifeline to the outside.
“Up you go.” The detective took his elbow and helped him to his feet.
Miguel knew the drill. Don’t fight. Don’t struggle. Go along and keep your mouth closed. He clenched his jaw and refused to hang his head low. No weakness. No fear. God, You knew this would happen. Deliver me. Help me be strong.
Gabriela would know about this soon, if she didn’t already. He should have called her, to explain, to see if she could help. But her papa—his opinion mattered.
“So they’re saying Miguel wrote a bunch of hot checks?” Gabriela hugged her cup of coffee. The night had been long, but she was glad the entire family had rallied around Miguel.
Bryan, her brother-in-law, sighed. “Yes.” He’d spent several hours at the precinct.
“But he couldn’t have. Don’t they have security camera footage in those electronics stores?”
“They do, and it shows a Hispanic man, about Miguel’s height and age, entering the store.”
“I know he didn’t. He couldn’t have.” Gabriela sat down and rubbed her arms. “Besides, didn’t the store realize it was someone else and not Miguel?”
“They have those electronic point-of-sale terminals where you sign the screen. They didn’t bother to check the man’s ID, or if they did, not very carefully.” Bryan accepted the cup of coffee Mama offered him. “Thanks.”
A Riverwalk Christmas: Four-in-One Collection Page 18