by Lea Santos
“Nope. That’s not it at all.”
Madeira smiled. Five little words grudgingly doled out, and her insides felt light. She needed some serious professional help.
“I’m just wondering why you aren’t being up front with me about why you’ve come.” Gracie’s steady gaze challenged Madeira.
“Okay, fine. You want up front, I’ll give it to you.” The gig was up. Madeira lifted her arms and let them drop to her sides. She should’ve known better than to try and snow Gracie. “I didn’t have a question; I just wanted to see you.”
Gracie nodded, lips pressed flat, a bit of sadness around her eyes. Finally, she sighed. “Oh, Maddee. You understand there’s no way—”
“Yeah, yeah. I know how you feel because you’ve made it explicitly clear. I’m not the woman for you and you’re not interested. Believe me. I get it.” Madeira leaned one hip against the wrought iron railing. “I’m not here to stand in the way of your grand life plans, Gracie, I just wanted to see you for a few minutes. Is that a crime in this country?”
“No. I just don’t get why you wanted to see me.”
“Hijole madre, are you always this skeptical?”
“I am these days,” Gracie said.
Madeira laughed, a playfully exasperated sound. “Maybe I think you’re cool.”
“No question there, but that’s beside the point.” Gracie picked at some lint on her sleeve. “I’m trying to figure out your motive.”
“People don’t always have motives, fierita.”
Her expression droll, Gracie leaned her head to the side. “Uh, yes, they do. Not always bad ones, mind you, but motives nonetheless.”
“Okay, then maybe I came to talk about the articles, I don’t know. Maybe I came to talk about the accident.”
“Did you?”
Madeira shrugged, looking into her eyes and trying to reach her, to locate and hold on to that vulnerable woman who’d clutched her pants leg and whispered, “Don’t leave me,” while they were trapped under the car. She was in there, beyond Gracie’s impenetrable protective shell. Madeira knew it. “Maybe I came because it doesn’t feel like we’re finished and I just wanted to find out why. And you call me Maddee. No one—and I mean no one—calls me that.”
For a minute, Gracie’s face softened. The vulnerable woman peeked out, her expression hopeful and raw, then ducked into hiding again. Tough Gracie scoffed. “Good line.”
Madeira didn’t even feel like joking. Why could she see Gracie so clearly when Gracie remained so blind to Madeira? “It wasn’t a line. I meant it.” Frustrated, hurt, Madeira ran both hands through her hair. “Look, maybe I shouldn’t have come. Maybe it was a mist—”
“No, I’m—” Gracie hung her head a minute, then leaned against the jamb and crossed her arms, offering a sheepish smile. “I apologize. I didn’t mean to imply you aren’t sincere.”
Madeira’s eyebrows raised in disbelief. “No?”
“Well, you can’t blame me for being a little wary where you’re concerned.” Gracie’s expression sobered, but her tone remained kind. “You do have a rep.”
“We all have reps, don’t we? What do they matter in the reality of it all?”
Gracie bit her full bottom lip and slanted an uncomfortable glance away.
“But you’re the one who said we could be friends.” Madeira softened her tone. “Remember?”
Gracie laughed nervously. “Doesn’t ‘let’s be friends’ usually mean ‘don’t call me, I’ll call you’ in player-speak?”
A pang of real hurt struck Madeira’s middle. Hurt and annoyance that Gracie felt justified in calling Madeira a player when she was the one being played with Gracie’s false offer of friendship. “Is that the way you meant it, Grace? As a kiss-off?”
“No,” Gracie said quickly. “Not really. Not at all, actually.” She sighed, removing the hair band and working her hair back into a slightly neater ponytail. “I don’t know what I meant, Madeira. I just can’t figure you out.”
“Then don’t try. Life doesn’t have to be so intense.”
“Easy for you to say.”
“Maybe it is.” Madeira shrugged without apology. “I have never agreed with people who take life so seriously that it passes them by. I have fun, Gracie, but that doesn’t make me a bad person.”
Gracie didn’t reply, and something inside urged Madeira to continue, to make Gracie understand.
“Let me ask you this, and please be honest with me.” Madeira narrowed her gaze on Gracie, intent on picking up every nuance of her body language. “If the newspaper thing had never happened, if you’d just looked for the woman who had crawled under your demolished car that day and found me, would you be this opposed to our friendship? Do you find me that unlikable?”
“I don’t find you unlikable at all.”
“No?” Madeira stepped back and feigned fear. “What do you do to your enemies? Shoot them on sight?”
Gracie regarded her drolly. “Do you want an answer to the question or not?”
Madeira inclined her head, allowing Gracie time to formulate an answer. She watched a cloud move over Gracie’s expression as she pondered her question. Finally, this enigmatic woman sighed. “No.”
Madeira blinked with confusion. “No, what?”
“I guess I wouldn’t be opposed.”
Arms spread, Madeira smiled. “Then forget it ever happened that way. Let’s start over, Gracie. As friends.”
Gracie studied Madeira from beneath thick, black lashes. “Just friends? You ever been friends with a woman before?”
Madeira’s heart leapt, and she jacked up the flirt-o-meter a notch or two to test Gracie. “Sure. Just friends…or whatever you want. I aim to please. If I fail to please, I re-aim.”
Gracie’s gaze tangled with Madeira’s for a few seconds before she huffed and shook her head. “You’re persistent.”
“And persuasive, no?” Madeira grinned.
“Don’t push your luck,” Gracie said, playfully vehement. “Friends or not, flirting will get you nowhere with me.”
Madeira laughed, relieved they’d released some of the tension that stretched taut between them. “Fair enough.” She glanced over Gracie’s shoulder into the house. “So…can I come in? Hang out? Get this friend thing started?”
“Oh, um…” Gracie straightened, as though suddenly remembering where they were. Shooting a worried glance over her shoulder, she worried the corner of her lip between her teeth. Easing out onto the porch, she pulled the door mostly closed. “Actually, you see, I’m in the middle of cleaning house.”
Madeira shrugged. “So? I’m not an inspector. See?” She held up her hands. “No white gloves. I can even help if you want.”
“No, that’s okay.” Gracie seemed to cast about for a logical explanation.
“Then take a break from cleaning.”
“Well, if you must know, Lola and I moved back home when my grandmother started having health problems, to care for her. This is my grandmother’s house.”
“That’s good of you and Lola. But what’s your point?”
“Well, they’re both inside, and after all the excitement over the articles this morning, now’s not the best time to—”
“Graciela?” The door squeaked open. A tiny, brown-skinned, white-haired woman peered out as she wiped white flour from her palms onto her apron. She reminded Madeira of her own abuela, and Madeira warmed to her immediately. DoDo’s gaze widened as she took in Madeira, her remarkably smooth face showing surprise for a moment before her lips spread into a grin.
Madeira smiled back, bowing slightly. “Buenas tardes.”
DoDo started to answer then turned a chiding look on her granddaughter. “Graciela Inez, where are your manners, making this young woman stand out on the porch when she comes to call at our home?”
The chastisement came as a surprise, and Grace’s face flamed. Wasn’t it enough she had to face Madeira looking like a bag lady who’d gotten rolled for her best clothes and had t
o resort to these? Now DoDo had to point out her rudeness. “I wasn’t—”
“You should be ashamed of yourself. Did I raise you in the penitentiary?” She harrumphed and smacked Grace lightly in the shoulder. “And look at your clothes, m’ija. She’s gonna think you’re from the streets.”
Affronted, Grace blinked down at her outfit, then looked helplessly from her grandmother to Madeira. Maddee merely stood there grinning—no help at all. Grace felt compelled to defend her questionable fashion choice. “But, DoDo, I was cleaning hou—”
“Oh, never mind. I’ll deal with the hospitality.” DoDo bestowed a weary, conspiratorial glance at Madeira. “You want something done right, you gotta do it yourself, m’ijita, no? Oy yoy yoy.” Shedding her apron in record time, DoDo balled it in her able hands as her deep blue eyes studied Madeira. She smoothed the skirt of her housedress, then propped her fists on her rounded hips and released a decisive breath through her nose. “Now. Let me get a look at you.”
“Ah, me first,” Madeira said.
Grace watched in mute horror as Madeira flashed her octogenarian grandmother a brashly flirtatious once-over, ending her perusal with a grin. “This must be Graciela’s sister, Lola, verdad? I can see the family resemblance.”
Grace winced, expecting DoDo to call down all manner of punishment on Madeira for her lack of respect, but it didn’t happen.
“Oh, you silly thing, flirting with an old woman.” DoDo ducked her head and tittered behind her hand. “Your mamá ought to tan your shameless hide.”
Grace froze, gaping at her grandmother.
DoDo tittered.
She actually stood there in the doorway fucking tittering while a lovely girlish blush rose to her face. This was insane! Realizing that the ball had already been set in motion, Grace slammed her jaw closed, swallowed,then mumbled her way through the common courtesy thing. “DoDo, this is Madeira Pacias, the woman who helped me after the accident.”
“Of course, Graciela,” DoDo reprimanded gently. “I recognize Señora Pacias from the news.”
“Por favor, call me Madeira.” Maddee lifted the older woman’s fingers and bussed her knuckles with her lips.
Grace actually felt a coil of jealousy that Maddee’s mouth wasn’t on her. How twisted was that—jealous of her own grandmother? On the other hand, part of her was pleased at the way Madeira treated DoDo with extreme deference. DoDo seemed to like her. Too much for Grace’s own good, actually. She flipped her hand toward her grandmother. “Anyway, Madeira, meet my abuela, Dolores Obregon.”
Madeira inclined her head. “Mucho gusto en conocerla, Señora Obregon. The honor is all mine, I assure you.”
“Oh, you.” DoDo kept hold of Madeira’s hand in her iron grip, tugging her over the threshold into the house. “Come on. And call me DoDo, m’ijita,” she said, beaming as brightly as if the Pope had come calling. “Family calls me DoDo, and from now on, after the help you gave our Graciela, you are familia.”
“Yes, ma’am. Again, I’m honored.” Madeira tossed a bewildered but amused glance over her shoulder. Grace just shrugged in defeat and made desperate shooing motions with her hands to indicate it was out of their control now, and Maddee should simply follow DoDo. She supposed this was inevitable. Might as well get it over with.
DoDo fawned. “It’s so wonderful to finally meet the woman who snatched my Graciela from the jaws of death.”
Grace trailed helplessly behind, rolling her eyes at her grandmother’s gushing melodrama.
“Ah, actually Graciela was the brave one that day, not me.”
Grace blinked, surprised to find that Madeira seemed uncomfortable with the praise. How odd. Madeira might not have snatched Grace from death, as DoDo had romanticized it, but she certainly had kept her calm that day. Maddee deserved the praise. She’d earned it.
Still…brave? Grace?
Grace smiled. It pleased her to know that Maddee hadn’t thought she’d acted like a big baby that day. She continued on behind them, a little lighter in her limp.
DoDo led them into the living room, jabbering all the way, and stopped by the arched entrance into the dining room. “Excuse me a moment,” she said, pressing the button to the totally outdated intercom she’d had installed when Grace and Lola had been in high school. She’d used it mostly to order them to turn down their music whenever it threatened to vibrate her precious knickknacks from their wall-mounted, shadow-box displays.
Finger on the button, DoDo leaned toward the box. “Lolita?”
“Is lunch ready, DoDo?”
“No,” DoDo said, her tone almost singsongy. “But Graciela’s friend is here.”
“Grace’s who—ohmigod!”
Grace groaned. Brrrrother, here came the tornado. Just as she expected, Lola’s footsteps pummeled the stairs as though death itself nipped at her heels. She skidded to a stocking-footed stop on the hardwood landing at the bottom.
“Ohmigod!” she squealed again, hands pressed to her cheeks. “You’re even hotter in person! You’re an absolute goddess. Grace, why didn’t you tell me that the pictures didn’t do her justice?”
Madeira laughed, meeting Grace’s gaze pointedly. She straightened her collar with a smart snap of her wrists. “Now there’s the way a woman likes to be greeted.”
Please. Did Maddee have to flirt with everyone, including her sister and her freaking grandmother? “Lola? Show some class. And, Madeira? Have you no shame? This is my sister, you’ll recall. The one who practically destroyed our lives?”
“Oh, what do you know?” Lola flicked her nails at Grace, her close scrutiny never leaving Madeira. “Clearly not a good woman when you see one.”
Madeira glanced at Grace in surprise.
“Hey, I warned you about her.” Grace peered at Madeira with a “you’re on your own, babe” expression, then walked over to the couch and sank onto it. This little impromptu visit might actually work in her favor. Sure, they’d agreed to be friends, but how realistic was that? Her heart couldn’t handle palling around with a woman to whom she was so attracted. Only the worst could come of that arrangement.
Don’t picture it.
But the beauty? None of it mattered now that DoDo had busted them on the stoop. Once Madeira was exposed to a full-blast dose of Lola and DoDo, she’d be ass over teakettle in her urgency to escape. Then and only then would Grace be safe, she decided. Smug, she sat back to watch Madeira craft her exit.
Instead of stammering her excuses and fleeing from the house, Madeira grinned at Lola. “Little Lola Obregon,” she drawled, spreading her arms for a hug. “The woman responsible for reuniting us. Come here and let me thank you properly.”
Lola laughed and accepted the embrace, mouthing “Oh my GOD,” to Grace over her shoulder and shaking her hand as though to convey Madeira’s “hottie” status.
Grace wanted to flip Lola the bird, but DoDo was watching, and she didn’t relish the thought of getting her ears boxed. Instead, she cleared her throat. “Maddee can’t stay. Right?”
Madeira turned toward her and bestowed a glittery smile, despite the fact Grace’s announcement had been rather rude. “Actually, that is right.” She peered down at the face of her watch. “I just stopped by to see if Grace had seen the articles.”
“We all saw them. I thought they were terribly romantic,” Lola offered.
“Gee, what a surprise,” Grace muttered.
Lola made a face. “Killjoy.”
“Flake.”
“Pessimist.”
“Sap.”
“Mule.”
“Whore.”
“Girls!” DoDo dispensed with a glare that shut them down immediately. She peered down her nose quite effectively at Grace, despite her four-foot-ten stature. “Con esa boca comes, Graciela? You can eat with that mouth?”
“I’m sorry, DoDo. I got carried away.” She probably shouldn’t have resorted to calling her sister a whore, not in front of DoDo.
“I’ll say. Using such language in front of guests
,” DoDo muttered. “Street urchins.” She pointed at Grace, then at Lola. “You two apologize to Madeira.”
Grace felt ten years old and now really regretted her word choice and immature display. But Lola started it! What the hell, it wasn’t her job to impress Madeira Goddamn Pacias. She wasn’t the most mature woman in the world either.
“Maddee doesn’t care.”
DoDo loomed ominously. “I care. Unless you wanna be on the outside lookin’ in, you start spouting the apologies.”
With a sigh, Grace glanced at Lola. Lola shrugged. “Sorry,” they chimed listlessly, in stereo.
Madeira simply stood there, lips twitching, doing her best not to laugh.
The tiny general turned toward their guest, all sweetness and adoration. “Now that we’ve cleared that up.” She knotted her gnarled hands. “Please stay for lunch so we can get acquainted.”
“Oh. Well. I don’t know.”
Grace could tell Madeira felt supremely uncomfortable disappointing DoDo. Part of her wanted to pity Madeira until she reminded herself, Madeira brought this on herself stopping by uninvited and stirring up her life. So there.
Still, Grace watched Madeira, wondering how she’d get out of it. The more she watched her, the more it became about watching her. Grace sighed. Lola was right—the pictures didn’t do her justice. With her work-honed muscles and carefully casual clothing, Madeira made Halle Berry look like a BEFORE picture. That took some doing.
Had Madeira really stopped by just to see her? Her stomach toppled with flattery. She’d been so surprised, so psyched, so dismayed, so elated, so scared when she’d opened the door and seen Madeira standing there. None of it made sense. Madeira was a dead end. Grace knew she shouldn’t see her, as friends or otherwise, yet deep inside it just felt right.
