by Lea Santos
“What does she like to do?” Paloma interjected.
Iris’s forehead crinkled. “Huh?”
“Hobbies, interests. Find out what she likes to do and ask to join her. Better yet, join her without asking. That’s usually your M.O., right? Maybe she just doesn’t feel comfortable enough to do all the planning at this stage.”
Iris rolled her eyes. “Yeah, that would seem natural. ‘Torien, I heard you were into stamp collecting and, well, I just happened to be in the post office…’”
“Okay, true. Too contrived,” Paloma conceded.
“Besides, I’ve been working in the garden with her.” Iris didn’t want to force herself on Torien any more than she already had. “I’ve made it abundantly clear I’m interested…in not so many words.” Her skin flushed. Actually, in exactly those words.
“Slow your roll, sister. You came on to her?” Paloma rasped, leaning forward until the lamp light shone on her auburn hair.
Chagrined, Iris said, “Ah, I…I guess I did.”
Paloma clicked her tongue. “Iris, darlin’, take a lesson from babies, girl. You gotta crawl before you walk. Pull back and be her friend before you jump her gorgeous bones. She’ll come around eventually, guaranteed. What’s not to like about you? And I’m not referring to your career, fame, money, success, freakish beauty—”
“I get it,” Iris said, with a soft laugh. She smiled across the table at her friends, warm in the circle of their caring. Her chin quivered and she bit her lip. “You really think that’ll do it? I don’t have much time before I leave for my assignment.”
“Yes!” Paloma exclaimed, just as Emie added, “Of course!”
The three of them laughed at their all-too-familiar habit of talking over each other, then Emie said, “If you really like this woman, then take the chance. If it works out, it will be worth it.” She spread her left hand flat on the table and smiled down at the shiny new commitment ring nestled on her third finger. “Take it from me.”
All three friends stared down at the ring on Emie’s slim finger. Her nails were manicured short and buffed to a smart, natural patina. Paloma, who had been more married for the past twelve years than any stupid legal document could assert, placed her hardworking hand alongside Emie’s, comparing the mellowed shine of her own ring. Iris placed her ringless, flawless, short French-manicured—despite all the recent gardening—hand fingertip-to-fingertip with them and realized just how much hands said about a person. She pulled away first, not thrilled with the message hers conveyed.
Soft, pampered, empty.
Maybe that was the real reason Torien showed zero interest in her. And yet, Iris wasn’t that woman. Soft, pampered, empty. Was she? She pressed her lips into a grim line, rattled by the realization that she wasn’t sure of the answer, but determined to prove to Torien—and herself—it wasn’t true.
*
“Torien? Toro!”
A loosely packed wad of tierra jardín smacked Torien in the side of the face and crumbled, some of the dirt cascading down the back of her neck inside her collar. Torien spun toward Madeira’s straight-from-the-belly laughter, simultaneously shaking the dirt out of her shirt and brushing it from her neck and ear. “What the hell are you doing?” she growled.
“Trying to get your attention, you bullheaded woman, like I’ve been doing for the past five minutes. You’re a million miles away.” Madeira spread her sculpted, deeply tanned arms and, for emphasis, she glanced around the field, freshly tilled for their newest community garden. “Life goes on around you, hermana. Have a look before you miss it.” Madeira grinned, giving a small jerk of her chin. “¿Qué mosca te ha picado?”
“Nada, Mosquito,” Torien said, but the corners of her lips lifted grudgingly. “We have a lot of work to finish, if you have not noticed.” She could never stay angry at her charmer of a sister, especially when Madeira had a valid point. Indeed, all around them, women and men laughed and worked. A jet left a fluffy white trail in the rich turquoise sky above. Car horns tooted, sparrows chirped, hot cumbia rhythms thumped down from a nearby window. Yet all of it had faded while she stood there like a statue in the middle of the work site, her thoughts consumed by Iris and their difficult conversation in Moreno’s garden.
Not that she’d admit that to Madeira.
She wasn’t up for the jeers and innuendos. In truth, she had not told anyone, not even Madeira, that she had even met the superstar. Frankly, she could think of no good reason to do so. It wasn’t as if Iris would ever come into contact with her family and friends. She rolled tension out of one shoulder, then the other. She merely indulged Iris’s desire to garden because it was the polite thing to do for a guest of la patrona. There was nothing to her relationship with Iris beyond that. Well, friendship. And perhaps a sting of awareness, which was quite normal for healthy young women. But it didn’t mean anything. Who are you trying to convince, Toro?
Quieting her conscience, she let herself picture Iris with the sun on her back and determination in the set of her jaw. Pride swelled in Torien’s chest. For a soft, mujeril woman, Iris worked impressively hard. Torien could close her eyes and see the perspiration traveling from her neck down her chest, carving small trails through the dirt clinging there. Her lips twitched into a private smile at the image. Iris somehow managed to get dirt everywhere, even when she only pulled weeds. Her face, her chest, the top of her head. Torien never saw Iris turning somersaults through the soil but couldn’t figure any other way she’d get so dirty.
“That spaced-out grin has ‘lovestruck fool’ written all over it,” Madeira drawled, planting her fists on her hips. “You got something to tell your sister?”
Torien’s stomach contracted as if Madeira had punched her. “Lovestruck? Don’t be ridiculous.” Her annoyed glare shot to Madeira, shorter than Torien by four inches but more muscular by half. Her good-looking sister had always had a way with the ladies, but Torien? Not so much. She was too stern, too serious, too…unlike Madeira…for most women. Lovesick? ¡Ay! Mosquito had lost her mind if she believed it.
Torien gulped past a throat tightened with guilt.
Hijole madre. Am I that transparent?
Torien yanked up the handles of a wheelbarrow, avoiding Madeira’s narrowed scrutiny and her own inner turmoil, and pushed it over the uneven surface of the dirt with jerky motions. “I’ve been working too hard to collect women or secrets,” she tossed over her shoulder. “You should try doing the same.”
“Being a smart young player, I make time for both.” Madeira untied the bandanna she wore around her neck and mopped her forehead. “If you cannot have women or secrets, what’s the point of living? I’ve been trying to tell you that, Toro, since puberty.”
Long before that, Torien mused. She stopped to load jagged pieces of concrete they’d unearthed into the wheelbarrow and cast a feigned crabby glance at Madeira. “And I’ve been trying to tell you life is about more than making love and killing cervezas for just as long.”
“Once you prove it to me, I’ll stop. Until then”—Madeira winked—“too many ladies, too little time, no?”
Torien snorted. “Someday you are going to pass up the right woman in your rush to get to the next one.”
“I’ll believe that old wives’ tale when it happens.” Madeira crossed over to help with the concrete. “Until then, I’m testing the waters.”
A little flash of admiration struck Torien, and she ducked her face to hide her smile. At twenty-four, Madeira was seven years younger than she. But sometimes Torien thought her sister had grasped the nuances of living life to the fullest straight out of the womb. She envied Madeira her zest, daring, and outgoing—even audacious—personality, but those were traits and privileges reserved for the younger sister, she supposed. As eldest, Torien’s familial responsibilities outweighed her desire to cut loose like Madeira, the quintessential life of the party. Torien raised her eyebrows and inclined her head. “Do what you must, but don’t forget, I am older and smarter.”
&nbs
p; Madeira snorted. “Older is obvious. You talk like a white-haired abuelita.” She waved at Torien in disgust. “Keep it up and I’m going to buy you a house dress to match your attitude.”
“¡Cállate!”
“You always tell me to shut up when I hit a nerve. You’re predictable as a lapdog. And about as interesting.” Madeira puffed with pride as she studied Torien with renewed interest. She narrowed her eyes and chewed on the inside of her cheeks. “Mmm-hmm, it’s obvious.”
Torien sighed. “What now?”
“Something is making your brain soft. Don’t bother denying it.” She knocked her fist against her chest. “I’m your hermana. I know you better than you know yourself. I’d bet you two cold cervezas it’s a woman.”
“I told you, there is no—”
“Relax. I understand your reluctance to tell me, Toro.” Madeira flipped her palms forward and turned her head to the side, playing at nonchalance. “You are afraid to bring the lady around the ladróna de corazones.” She flared her nostrils with mock arrogance and sniffed. “It is wise of you to worry that I might steal her heart. How could I fail?”
Torien laughed out loud. “Any woman I would be interested in wouldn’t be fooled by your flexed muscles and flirting, serpiente. And I don’t have time for a cerveza tonight, so you can keep your bet.” She shook her head, unsure whether to smile at her sister or slug her. It had always been this way, since they were barefooted, tree-climbing girls.
“Okay, no woman. If you say so. But whatever is making you look so dreamy and eager, Toro, keep with it as long as it’s legal.” Madeira jerked her chin up. “Oye. Is it legal?”
Torien gave her the evil eye. “¿Quién te mete, Juan Copete?”
Madeira struggled for a look of innocence, her shoulders hiking in the manner of the unfairly accused. “Is it so wrong for me to wish my sister happiness?”
“Mosquito—”
“You take life too seriously.” Madeira rapped her on the shoulder with the back of her knuckles and lowered her tone conspiratorially. “Take a lesson from your hermanita. I know lots of ladies who would be glad to break you out of your—”
“I get the picture, no? Not interested.” Torien grabbed a fistful of her sister’s T-shirt and pulled her face closer. “And when the day comes that I need my baby sister’s help with my love life, you’ll be the first to know. Now, drop it and help me finish.”
Amusement in her thickly lashed eyes, Madeira nodded slowly, straightening her wrinkled shirt with exaggerated motions, but respecting Torien’s request. Whether joking or serious, that impenetrable bedrock of respect supported their relationship and kept them close.
For several minutes, they worked side by side, loading all the cracked concrete into the wheelbarrow and carting it to the battered Chevy pickup they used for trips to the dump. When they’d cleared the lot of debris, they sat for a moment on the tailgate of the truck, sharing Madeira’s last Pepsi between them.
“Working for la mujer rica again tonight?”
“Sí.” Torien ran her hand through her hair acknowledging, for the first time, her bone-deep exhaustion, how utterly out of sorts she felt.
Partly, it was the long hours.
Partly, it was her. Iris…untouchable Iris.
“Every night. Between this job and that, I hardly have time to remember my name.”
“But that one pays the bills.”
“I know.”
Madeira’s forehead wrinkled with worry. “We need more help, Toro. I want this garden to be our most beautiful, considering”—she gestured toward a painted brick townhouse to their left—“it will be the view from our front window.” She quirked her mouth. “I shouldn’t play favorites.”
“I understand. I feel the same.” Torien gave Madeira a half-smile. “Octavia said she would bring more people next week. Natán is bringing his new wife, Judit, and her sister. I put an ad in the Spanish papers calling for volunteers, too. We’ll make it work.” A beat passed, sister to sister, so much being said without the hindrance of words. “Haven’t we always?”
“Mmm. I just keep wondering when our luck will run out.”
Torien drank deeply from the can, then handed it back. “Not until we give up. Moreno said I could borrow supplies from her sotechado, so that will help.”
Madeira grunted in acknowledgment. “What does she have?”
Torien almost laughed at the question. “Everything. And more. As long as it stays in good condition, we can use it.”
“¡Bueno! We’ll start with it right away.” Madeira regarded her sister with laser scrutiny. She whistled between her bottom teeth. “No offense, Toro, but you look like a mutt that’s been tied to the back of a moving truck. ¡Qué lástima! Forget what I said about you having a secret woman on the side. She’d have to be toothless and blind to want a bruja vieja like you.”
Torien expelled a little amused gush of air. “I told you, I’m working hard. I don’t have time to primp and pamper like you and your pretty friends.”
Madeira laughed. “Speaking of la pandilla, last chance to tip a few back with us at the club. What do you say? It’s obvious you need it.”
“Can’t. Too much to do at the estate.” It wasn’t the whole truth; she’d gotten a lot done this past week with Iris’s help. But admitting that she just wanted to…be there would require an explanation about Iris, and Torien wasn’t ready to share what little she allowed herself to have of her garden angel. Not with anyone. Not even with Madeira, the person she felt closest to in the world.
Torien didn’t even know if Iris would return after what had happened last night. Stabbed with regret, she tried not to think about it and knew damn well she must keep the whole sordid mess to herself. No matter how she explained it, Madeira would blow everything out of proportion, embarrassing Torien as well as Iris. Nothing could come of this powerful attraction. Why make it worse by wrapping the futile situation in words?
“You’ve been putting in too many hours here. I can come by the estate to help if you’d like.”
“No,” Torien said, a bit too quickly. She cringed inwardly, knowing Madeira had caught the rapid response by the curious expression she wore. “You’re too young to spend all your time working,” Torien added, by way of explanation.
“That’s the thing,” Madeira said, in a rare serious moment. “So are you.”
“Tell that to mamá and las mellizas when I don’t earn enough to send one month. It’s not just about me, Mosquito. I do not expect you to understand, but—”
“No worries.” Madeira clapped a hand on Torien’s shoulder. “Another time, then.”
Torien gave a noncommittal nod.
Madeira offered the last bit of soda, but Torien waved it off.
As Madeira leaned her head back to drain the can, Torien added, “I plan to stay at Moreno’s tonight, probably tomorrow to catch up on things, so you’ll have the place to yourself.” She paused for emphasis. “Don’t make your little sisters lose respect, serpiente, or your mamá cry.”
Madeira crushed the can in her palm, cocking a brow. “Should I give you the same admonition?”
Probing again. Torien favored her with a droll stare meant to show Madeira how well Toro knew her game. “Don’t fool yourself into thinking that sharing a cold drink will make me want to swap love stories with the likes of you.”
“You think that’s why I shared the Pepsi?” Madeira exclaimed, trying to look hurt. Unfortunately, she couldn’t hold back her amusement at having been caught in her ploy. “You insult me,” she said, between the laughter.
“Sure I do.” Torien shook her head with feigned disgust, a smile quivering the corners of her mouth. “Don’t forget, you cannot fool the hermana who once diapered your bare brown ass.”
Chapter Five
Much to Iris’s surprise, Torien was already hard at work when she padded out to the terrace the next morning, a cup of steaming coffee in her hands. Damn. Painful talons of unsatiated desire gouged into her at
the mere sight of Torien. She wondered briefly why Tori wasn’t at her volunteer worksite that morning, as usual, but mostly she was excited to have her nearby.
They needed to talk.
Understatement.
Unfortunately, her chicken-hearted soul prevented her from simply walking downstairs to face Tori, woman to woman. Granted, Tori hadn’t said Iris shouldn’t come back to help in the garden, but Iris had decided it would be more comfortable to have Tori walk up on her rather than the opposite. After all, Iris was the one who’d been snubbed. She didn’t think she could take it again.
She watched her from a semi-hidden spot on the terrace, biding her time. Finally, around noon, Torien threw her arms up in the air, then stalked away from a piece of equipment she’d been tinkering with for an hour. Iris watched her pull that tall, muscular frame into the cab of her truck and slam the door. The engine growled to life. Off to purchase parts, Iris assumed, since Torien hadn’t put her tools up for the day, and the woman was nothing if not conscientious. Iris listened to the truck rumble away, and then leapt on the chance.
Heart pounding, she raced to her suite and pulled on her rattiest holey, cut-off sweatpants, red Chuck Taylor high-tops, and a faded, paint-stained black T-shirt that read: EARTH IS FULL. GO HOME. She wound her hair into a messy wad and secured it with a couple of clips, then pummeled her way down the stairs, out the door, and into the garden. She hoped for a few solitary moments to school her features into a mask of nonchalance before Torien returned.
She knew she’d promised to work in the garden only when Torien was there…but she had a decent argument for believing she’d be right back. As Iris set about weeding a bed of multicolored lupine and soft blue perennial flax, she wondered what her next step would be. She hadn’t thought that far ahead, and only hoped her ratty, careless attire would convey the message that Iris Lujan was no soft, pampered, empty slouch. She wanted Torien to know she had no problem whatsoever looking like crap and toiling in the dirt with the best of them. And liking it.
