by Nicole James
The next morning, the sun streaming in awakens me. I roll out of bed and go to check on ma. Her bed’s empty. “Madre?”
“Santos? I’m in the kitchen, mijo.”
I walk through the small living room to the dining room and into the kitchen at the back of the house. The aroma of what she’s making wafts to me before I ever enter the room. Her special caramel apple empanadas.
A baking pan of them is cooling on top of the oven. She’s sitting at the table whipping some handmade whipped cream. I go to reach for one.
“I’ll smack your hand with a spoon. Those aren’t for you.” She stands to hug me.
I grin and move to the table, dipping to kiss her forehead and stealing a dab of whipped cream from the mixing bowl. “You must be feeling better. Up and baking, I see.”
She hugs my waist, the top of her head barely coming to my shoulder. “I’m fine. I told you that. You make such a fuss.”
“How’s your hip?”
“It aches. I took a pill. I’m fine.”
“I’m grateful Senora Mansfield was able to come over and check on you.”
“She’s been good to me, and she’s just sick that she had to let me go after all these years. But I understand. They just couldn’t afford to keep me on any longer.”
“Well, you were the best cook they ever had, Madre. And at least you have the insurance settlement from the car accident to live off.”
“I’d give it all back to have my Angelo alive again.”
“I know, Madre. I miss him, too. Every day.” A drunk driver killed my younger brother when he was just sixteen. It was the year after our father died. The man who hit him was wealthy, and there was a large settlement; enough to keep my mother comfortable until she dies.
She waves her hand in front of her face. “I can’t talk about it.”
“I know, Madre. Sorry I brought it up. So who are the empanadas for?”
“Senora Mansfield. To thank her for coming over to check on me.”
“That’s real nice of you, Madre.”
She takes her seat again, and goes back to beating the whipped cream. “I feel sorry for her, mijo.”
“Why?”
“Being married to that low-life second husband of hers, Drake Mansfield.”
“Kami’s stepfather?” I ask,
“Yes. I owe her a lot for all she’s done for me.”
“No, Madre. I’m the one that owes her. I’ve asked her time and again to take up my slack when I can’t be here.” I rub the back of my neck.
“You okay, Santos? You look tired.”
“I am.”
“You didn’t have to come.”
“I was able to get away. I’m just glad Senora Mansfield was here for you the other night. I should have been.”
“You have a life. I can’t expect you to be here all the time.”
“Still. I’m grateful to her. Takin’ you to all your doctor appointments.”
“Things have been tough for them. Have you watched the news?”
“I caught some of it.”
“She’s going to prison on Monday, Santos.”
My brows arch. “That’s so messed up. She didn’t do anything wrong.” I’d throw in a few curse words, but not when I talk to my Madre.
“Her husband set her up to take the fall for everything he did. Oh, that man! I’d like to take a stick to him.” She shakes her fist and her face gets red. “I heard she made a deal with prosecutors though; in exchange for her testimony against her husband, which sent him to prison for ten years by the way, her own sentence will be reduced to one year. I also heard that as he was being dragged away, he was shouting how he’d get her for this.”
She makes the sign of the cross over her chest. “God forbid he ever gets out.”
“What a son-of a… sorry Madre. What about her daughter?”
“Kami? I don’t know. She graduates from high school next weekend. Can you believe it? Where has the time gone?” She clucks her tongue. “I suppose she’ll go off to college, though I heard they lost everything. This is a small town. Hard to keep anything a secret around here. The house staffs all gossip like old women.”
“Surely they had money set aside for her.”
She shakes her hands in the air. “That loser got his hands on everything, mijo. Lost it all in that crazy Ponzi scheme he was running. Half their friends lost money in that deal. They’re the town pariahs now. It’s so sad. Then the IRS got on them because he was cheating on their taxes. I heard some men showed up last week with orders to take everything of value as restitution. Filled three moving vans. Of course the cars were the first to go, but I think they were only leased anyway.”
“That’s a damn shame. Are they still livin’ in that big house?”
“Yes. Though God knows if there’s a stick of furniture in the whole place now. I wanted to send over something. She always did like my empanadas, so I made some this morning. Be a dear and take some over for me, will you Santos?”
I run a hand through my hair. Going over to the gated community on Skidaway Island is not what I had planned when I came home to check on ma. I spent more than enough time in that exclusive neighborhood in my childhood, helping my father out with the landscaping. Ma was the Mansfield’s cook and Dad was their landscaper until he died five years ago. Keeled over from a stroke on the back lawn while trimming the magnolias. It’s the last place I want to revisit, but I don’t want to tell my mother no. I sigh. “Sure, Madre. I’ll take it over, but you’ll have to call her and tell her I’m coming so the guard let’s me through.”
“I will. Thank you, mijo.”
***
An hour later, I’m pulling up the long circular drive to stop my truck at the elaborate front door of the Mansfield estate. I climb out, grab the paper bag and stare up at the grand home. Dragging in a deep breath, I blow it out and move to the entrance. I’m ten feet away when the large door opens.
“Santos, how are you? It’s been ages since I’ve seen you. Why, look at you! What a fine figure of a man you’ve grown into.”
“Mrs. Mansfield. Good to see you again.” I smile. She’s a pretty woman in her early forties, with blonde hair pulled back in a French twist. They obviously didn’t take her wardrobe. She’s got on a classy white blouse with a simple long gold chain, a pair of designer jeans and snakeskin heels. The outfit probably cost more than my mother made in a week.
I hold out the bag. “My mother made these for you and your daughter. She knows you love them. Her empanadas and homemade whipped cream.”
She takes the bag and clutches it to her chest. “They’re my favorites. Oh, your mother is an angel.” She steps back. “Please, come inside. We’ll have some.”
“Oh, that’s okay. I should get back.” I hitch a thumb over my shoulder.
“Nonsense. I insist.” She loops an arm through mine and pulls me inside. “I’ve been dying for some company. It’s been quite lonely in this big house lately.”
I pick up on her vague reference to her situation. I’m sure all her friends have dropped her like a hot potato since news hit. I scan the travertine-tiled entryway, now bare of the usual tables, gilt mirrors, art and vases of flowers.
We walk through the house, and I see every room is bare.
“Sorry about the lack of furnishings. I’m sure you’ve heard our story on the news. They took most everything. But don’t worry. We can eat in the kitchen. The IRS left us that table at least, that and our bedroom furniture.”
I follow her without saying anything in response. What can I say?
She gestures to the glass table and we sit.
“How is your mother feeling?”
“She’s better. Her hip hurts, but she was well enough to be up cooking this morning.” I lift a hand to the bag she’s already digging into. She pulls out the tin of empanadas and the tub of whipped cream, and then moves to a cabinet to get down plates.
“I’m glad to hear it. Do you take your coffee black?”
/> I nod. “Sure.”
She busies herself with making it, chattering away. “I was heartbroken to have to let her go, you know? And I know the circumstances were not great, but I was glad to see her again.”
“I owe you one, Mrs. Mansfield,” I begin, but she cuts me off.
“Please, call me Barb. I don’t ever want to hear that last name again.”
“All right. I just want to thank you for the way you’ve taken care of Ma. And not just for the other night. For when she was sick… getting her to all her chemo appointments last year. And then when her hip flared up with arthritis…”
“Now don’t you go on about it! She beat the breast cancer, and that’s all that matters. I was happy to help. I’m just glad she’s okay now.”
“Well, thanks for checking on her.”
“You’re more than welcome.” She finally brings the plates and coffee over, taking her seat. She smiles at me and pops the tin open breathing in the delicious aroma. “Oh, I’ve been craving these.”
“She knows you love them.”
We each eat two with a big dollop of whipped cream. I sip the expensive rich coffee she served me in the dainty porcelain cup and saucer.
“Oh, my God, these are to die for,” she moans around her final mouthful. She wipes her mouth with a napkin and sips her coffee.
There’s an awkward silence and, draining the last of my coffee, I’m wondering if I’ve stayed long enough to be polite or if I need to have another cup of coffee with her. She looks sad, and I feel for her.
“I’ll miss them. I’ll miss a lot of things.” She gets a faraway look in her eyes as she stares out the windows to the back gardens.
I clench my jaw at the wretchedness of it all, and then speak my mind. “You don’t deserve to pay for that asshole’s crimes, Barb. I wish there was something I could do for you.”
She hesitates a long moment, then looks at me. “Do you mean that?”
“Of course. I always mean what I say.”
“There’s only one thing you can do that would help me; help both Kami and I.”
“What’s that?”
“I don’t know if you’ve heard, Santos, but I go to prison on Monday.”
I swallow. “I heard you made a deal.”
“Yes. They reduced my sentence to a year.”
“That’s…” I bite off my words. What do I say, that’s good? A year in prison is no ones idea of good.
She waves her hand, seeing my struggle to comfort her. “I’ve come to terms with it. But it’s Kami I worry about. Sometime this weekend the Department of Children and Family Services will show up to take custody of Kami and make her a ward of the state.”
“What? There’s no one to take her?” I thought of the child with the innocent smile I remembered from years ago.
“No. Unfortunately not.”
“Goddamn, Barb, that’s awful.”
“Yes. I’m heartbroken for her.”
“What will happen to her? Foster care? A group home?”
She waves a hand in front of her face, her eyes filling with tears. “I can’t even contemplate it. And she’s innocent in all this. It’s so unfair.” She covers her mouth, muffling a sob.
I reach across the table and squeeze her hand. “I’m so sorry, Barb.”
“She’ll be home soon. She’s at graduation practice today. I don’t want her to see me upset.” She pulls free of my hand and wipes her eyes.
“You said there was one thing I could do to help you. After all you’ve done for my family, you know all you have to do is ask.”
She nods, looking down at her hands, her fingers fidgeting. “Yes, but it’s a big ask.”
“I’ll do anything I can to help you. If you need me to help you find a …”
She cuts me off, staring up at me with red puffy eyes. “Marry Kami.”
My mouth drops open and I’m sure I didn’t hear her correctly. “Do what?”
CHAPTER THREE
Kami—
I file into the big gymnasium that smells of dirty gym socks and sweat. A smell not even the Dior perfume I wear can mask. I move to take my numbered seat. The rows of folding chairs have all been carefully marked so we’ll match the order of our names being called out when we walk across the stage and get our diplomas.
I sit waiting for the assistant principal to finish with the instructions on how we are to file out and walk, exiting to the left and then circling around the back to return to our original seat in the same neat line.
“Why is she even here? How can she show her face?”
In the row in front of me, Cassandra whispers about me, but I overhear every word, as I’m probably meant to.
I hear a titter of laughter in response from Rachel Ann sitting next to her.
If I’ve any doubt its me they’re discussing, Cassandra turns and glares at me.
Ignoring her, I stare at the Wilton Wildcats emblem painted high on the wall. Wilton Academy, the private high school I’ve attended the last four years, has been my kingdom, and I its reigning queen. I had it all, status, popularity, wealth. I suppose I coasted along on that. Life’s always been easy for me. Well, until four months ago when my stepfather ruined everything. Now my life has been turned upside down, and I’m not sure how to handle it. I went from having it all, to having nothing. No car. No college. No future. No family. No home.
I stare unseeing at the chair in front of me as the row behind mine stands and files out to the side aisle.
When they move away I glance back and focus in on the girl two rows behind me now staring back at me with no one between us. Her row has just filed back to their seats.
Mary Elizabeth, my former BFF. She lives on the same street as me and we grew up together. We were as close as sisters until I dropped her for the more popular girls at Wilton. Mary Elizabeth was not cute enough or popular enough for them, so they insisted I choose—them or her. I chose wrong. I picked the popular clique, the ones who have now dropped me like I’ve got herpes, the ones who are right now in the row in front of me snickering.
Mary Elizabeth doesn’t look at me with disdain, even after how horribly I treated her. No, she just looks at me with pity now, and I don’t know which is worse.
I wish I could talk to her, tell her how sorry I am, but I think it may be too late to make amends.
Mary Elizabeth is quiet, smart, a bookworm who’s never been smug about her parents wealth. She never cared that she wasn’t in the ‘in crowd’, not like I did. For me, high school has always been the end-all, but I think Mary Elizabeth has always wisely known that it’s just a wayside stop on the way to bigger and better things in her future.
I smile at her, wishing she’d smile in return. Instead, she whispers, “What happens when people don’t think you’re “all that” anymore?”
Like I said, she’s smart, and she’s seen right through me again.
I stand with the rest of my row and follow them out. When it’s my turn, I walk across the stage and shake hands with our gym teacher, who’s filling in for the principal, and take the rolled up piece of copy paper that’s meant to be a prop for our diploma.
I hear snickers move through the crowd of my classmates, and turn to see them laughing at me. I lift my chin, swearing I will not cry in front of everyone.
I return to my seat. Now that everyone’s walked across the stage, kids are getting antsy and begin quietly talking about all the after parties that will be taking place graduation night. There was a time when I would have been the ‘it’ guest, on the top of everyone’s invite list. Now no one even looks at me, let alone invites me. Other than to make fun of me, its as if I don’t exist anymore.
Some students begin talking about what colleges they’ll be attending in the fall. Just another reminder of all I’ve lost. It’s a place I won’t be attending.
My life has become hell, and the worst is yet to come. Soon my mother will be leaving me.
“Where’s your Porsche, Kami? Oh, right. They repos
sessed it,” Cassandra teases me.
My life is officially screwed. I’m on autopilot now, with thoughts of nothing past getting through this day. I just want to go home, lock myself in my room, put my headphones on and listen to music…and pretend it’s the past…back before my stepfather stole all our money and our friends’ money too; back before we lost everything; back before this nightmare began.
Thirty minutes later I climb from the Uber, and head into the front door of our soon-to-be ex-home. The emptiness of the huge rooms is depressing, heaping more on my already downtrodden emotions. I’m halfway to the staircase, thinking of nothing but collapsing on my bed in fatigue when I hear my mother call out.
“Kami, I’m in the kitchen. Could you come here for a minute please?”
I trudge in that direction, wondering if there are any snacks in the house. Maybe a pint of Rocky Road will make me feel better. I push open the swinging door and stop short, staring at the man seated at the table with my mother.
Santos.
He’s tall, dark and handsome, just like the cliché. My eyes skate over him, from the strong jaw and intimidating scowl to the wide muscular shoulders, I miss nothing. His brutal good looks are stunning, as is his penetrating stare, the one that’s always seemed like he could see right into my soul. Like the time when I was nine and he was fourteen and I’d climbed up the huge Magnolia tree in the backyard and gotten stuck.
Eight years ago…
I cling to the limb, suddenly frozen with fear, unable to move as a panic attack sweeps over me and I wonder why I ever climbed the stupid tree in the first place. Oh, right—to spy on our gardener’s cute son.
Santos is raking leaves while his father trims bushes.
A light rain starts up and I know I have to call out for help, as humiliating as that will be. When I finally get the courage to do so, Santos drops his rake and approaches the trunk of the tree, looking up at me.
