I’m American, I’d told her. I was born here in Lafayette.
She’d smiled, but it was the way you smile at a little kid. With pity. Then Mary Catherine Turner put her hand on my knee and squeezed. We can mess around Friday night at my house. My parents have a bridge tournament. They’ll be gone for hours, she’d said, her smile turning wicked. You just can’t tell anyone.
I’d stood up. My legs moved as I walked away, and the rest of me did too. But it felt like I’d left my stomach right there on that bench.
I didn’t even hit on another white girl until college and that was after a few of them had hit on me.
Millie doesn’t have a father’s disapproval to worry about. But if she has her own biases, it’ll hurt—I’m not gonna lie. It’ll hurt like a mother. But I already know how to walk away from that.
Millie’s phone pings, and I keep my eyes on the game, even though all my attention is on her.
She gasps. I don’t move.
Mattie turns. “What’s wrong?’
“Nothing,” Millie says, tapping on her screen. “Just a miscommunication with a friend.”
My phone vibrates.
Millie: GOD, NO!
I let my lungs move. I’ve been holding my breath without even knowing it.
Jesús, María, y José. Gracias. The relief makes me swallow. Realization hits me like a wave. If Millie had been another Mary Catherine Turner, I would have left more than my stomach this time.
“You have friends?” Mattie asks with ironic surprise. I tune into the sisters’ conversation, all thought of Mary Catherine Turner evaporating.
My phone vibrates again.
Millie: How could you even think that???
At the same time I read this, Millie tsks. “Of course, I have friends. Don’t tease.”
Mattie huffs. “You never spend any time with them.”
Me: Sorry, but it wouldn’t be the first time.
I look over after I hear the ping. Millie glances up from her screen and our eyes meet. Her brows knit before she looks down.
“Well, I’m busy,” Millie defends, typing. “My friends understand that.”
Millie: That’s terrible. I’m sorry.
“You should make time for them,” Mattie says. “You’d be happier.”
I bury a smirk. I really like this kid.
Me: So, what’s wrong with Mattie liking Alex?
“I’m happy,” Millie says. I know she’s read my text when she makes an exasperated sound.
“You don’t sound happy.” Mattie observes.
Me: She’s right.
It’s everything I can do not to grin like a fool right now.
Millie: Mattie’s too young to be thinking about boys.
I arch my brow over Mattie’s head. Seriously? Millie looks at me and scowls.
“You don’t look happy, either.” Mattie says. Then she gasps. “Wait. You’re not texting Carter, are you?”
My spine goes rigid.
“Of course not!”
Me: Who’s Carter?
“Good,” Mattie mutters.
Millie ignores my question, but, from what I can see, her shoulders have tensed.
In the weeks that I’ve been working at the Delacroix’s, the only other adults I’ve seen at the house have been Mrs. Chen, Mattie’s piano teacher, or parents dropping off or picking up the kids or their friends. Nobody coming to visit Millie, and definitely no Carter.
“Anyway, you should go out with your friend. Who is it, by the way?” Mattie asks, casually. “Someone at w— GO! GO! GO! ALEJANDRO!” Mattie’s on her feet, cheering with everything she’s got, and I focus on the soccer game just in time to see my brother nail a kick right past the Rams’ goalie.
I’m up—along with everyone else in the stands—clapping, cheering, calling his name. At the same time, it’s like the clapping and cheering is someone else’s, and my complete focus is Millie’s. I’m so aware of her. The tension in her body. Her distraction. The way she’s cheering too, but really just going through the motions. Like I am.
“Oh my God. He’s amazing,” Mattie gushes, still standing, still clapping, her pretty face flushed. Alex is slapping a few of his teammates’ hands when he looks up into the stands for me. I pump a fist, but his eyes slide right off me onto the fourteen-year-old vision to my left. He waves at her.
Mattie waves back, squealing as she does.
We sit, and I take up my phone again.
Me: I think someone forgot to tell her.
Millie: Tell who what?
Me: Mattie. That she’s too young to notice boys.
Millie leans back just behind Mattie’s back and silently snarls at me. She hardly needs to go to the trouble of hiding it. Her sister can’t take her eyes off my brother.
I give her a grin that might just be a little wicked. Her eyes drop to it and shift just a little to the right. They soften.
Is she looking at my dimple? My smile strengthens. For a moment, I just enjoy watching her watch me.
And then her phone rings.
She looks down, reads the screen, and answers.
“Hey Kath… Yeah?” Millie frowns. “Oh no. That’s terrible.”
This brings Mattie out of her Alex-haze. “What’s wrong?”
Millie holds up a hand to her sister. “No, no, of course… You have to. I totally understand.” She says this and then bites her lip, giving Mattie and Emmett each a quick glance. “We’ll be fine. Don’t worry about that for another minute… Take care, Kath. Safe travels... Right… You too. Bye.”
“What’s wrong?” Mattie asks again, sounding worried.
Millie places a hand on her back. “Everything’s fine. That was just my friend Kath.”
“The one you were texting?” Mattie ask.
Millie shoots me a quick glance. “Uh… No. The one at work. The one who invited us for Thanksgiving.”
Emmett tunes in at this, looking up at her. “Are we still going to her house?”
Millie puts her other arm around him. Now she’s essentially holding both her brother and sister. “I’m sorry, buddy, but no,” Millie says, squeezing him to her. “Her mother-in-law broke her ankle, so Kath and her family are going up to Monroe so her mother-in-law doesn’t have to travel with a cast.”
Emmett blinks. “I have a question.”
“What is it, bud?”
“Is it wrong if I’m glad we don’t have to go there for Thanksgiving?”
Millie gives a flustered laugh. “I thought you said it was okay if we went to Kath’s?”
Emmett shrugs, his lips pressing together, but he says nothing.
“What are we going to do now?” Mattie asks, the worry still there in her voice but less acute.
Then Emmett’s eyes widen. “Can we go to Grub Burger instead?”
“We’re not having Grub Burger for Thanksgiving,” Mattie says sharply.
I’m really starting to appreciate the way Millie’s kid sister thinks. They are absolutely not having Grub Burger for Thanksgiving. Not if I can help it.
“We’ll figure it out, guys,” Millie says, rubbing each of their backs. “I’ll figure it out.”
Me: Have Thanksgiving with my family.
I hear her phone, but she takes her time picking it up, easing her touch from her brother and sister first. When Millie reads the message, her eyes bug. She looks up at me and back at her phone.
Millie: We couldn’t. But thank you. That’s very kind.
Her text makes irritation churn in my gut.
Me: I’m not doing it to be kind. My family would love to have you.
I know this without asking. Our house is always full on Thanksgiving. Abuela, Mami, Papi, Alex, me, Aunt Lucinda, my cousins, and their husbands and kids. Friends and the occasional neighbor. The stray Valencia & Sons employee.
My family isn’t here today because the cold is hard on Abuela and Papi, but if Mami were here, she’d be falling over the bleachers to extend the invitation. A client family and a te
ammate of Alex’s? Kids who just lost their parents? Santa Maria, she’d push me out of the way to invite them to Thanksgiving.
Millie: Thanks, really. But it’s going to be a tough holiday. Maybe best to just have Whole Foods cater it.
She’s right about one thing. It is going to be a tough holiday, but that doesn’t mean she needs to heat up her Thanksgiving dinner in the microwave.
Me: The offer stands.
Millie shifts in her seat, and I can tell she’s resisting the urge to just turn and talk to me. She looks back at her phone.
Millie: Why are you doing this? The last thing I want is people taking pity on us.
I fight a smile. Yep. That would be the last thing she’d want. It’s one of the reasons I can’t stop thinking about her. She’s so damn tough. Unbeatable. And at the same time, she’s so soft. Gentle. Fragile. I want to get between her and anything that might take a swing at her.
Me: Who did you tell Mattie you were texting?
I watch the side of her mouth curl up.
Millie: A friend.
Me: Exactly.
Chapter Sixteen
MILLIE
It shouldn’t, but the week of Thanksgiving catches me off guard. The clinic will be closed Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday for the holiday, so instead of taking my usual day off on Monday, I agreed to cover for Dr. Thomas so she can enjoy some vacation time.
That’s easy enough since the kids are home and no one needs to be ferried to and from school. But being home means they’re bored. Which means they text me all day long. It goes something like this:
Emmett (on Mattie’s phone): It’s me. Emmett the Great. Can Trevor come over?
Me: No, your greatness. I’m not there. See if Trevor can come on Friday. I’ll be home all day.
Emmett (on Mattie’s phone): But what am I supposed to do today???
Emmett (on Mattie’s phone): Are you there?
Emmett (on Mattie’s phone): Why aren’t you answering???
Eleven minutes later:
Me: Because I was with a client. Don’t forget I’M AT WORK.
Emmett (on Mattie’s phone): You don’t have to shout. Sheesh!
Twenty-three minutes later:
Mattie: Emmett needs his own phone.
Me: He’s too young for a phone.
Mattie: He keeps bugging me to play on mine. It’s driving me nuts!
Me: Tell him he can borrow Harry’s for a little while.
Two minutes later:
Harry: Emmett is NOT borrowing my phone. He locked me out the last time he did.
Harry: Also, can Alex come over?
Harry: Why aren’t you answering???
Thirteen minutes later:
Me: Seriously? I’m a vet. I’m at work. Why do you think I’m not answering?
Me: Alex who?
Harry: Alex Valencia. Luc said he could pick him up at lunch.
Me: No.
Harry: Why not?!
Me: It’s just not a good idea.
Harry: It’s a great idea! We could practice kicks and blocks in the back yard. Emmett can watch. Mattie can watch. Everybody wins!
Me: Not happening. No friends over while I’m not home.
Mattie: Why won’t you let Alex come over???
Emmett (on Mattie’s phone): Yeah??? Why not???
And so on.
By noon, I have a headache. I vow to myself that the next holiday break, I’ll either have to take off work on the days the kids are home or sign them up for some camps or classes so they have something to do while I’m gone.
I treat a Calico cat with a UTI, a King Charles Spaniel with a yeast infection in her ears, and prescribe Metacam for a ten-year-old boxer with arthritis in his hip.
By five o’clock, my throat burns when I swallow, and my ears are ringing.
When I get home, Luc’s truck is still in the driveway, but Sam and Donner’s vehicles are gone. I go in through the kitchen, expecting to find Luc cleaning up from the day’s work, but the space is empty.
Last week, the crew started taking out the wall between the kitchen and the dining room. It was a messy job, so they taped up plastic sheeting to seal off the kitchen from the living room and the dining room from the foyer. Today, the sheeting is down, and the only sign the wall ever existed is the raw outline on the ceiling, sidewalls, and floor.
I’d half expected the whole house to topple down and the room I’m sleeping in to come crashing into our old dining room, but Luc explained the wall wasn’t load-bearing. When I asked how he knew, he gave me a dimpled smile and said he knew because it ran parallel with the floorboards. He showed me where the joists were and how Mom had used a wall beam when she knocked out part of the wall between the kitchen and the living room all those years ago because that wall was load bearing.
I guess if the house didn’t fall down from what Mom and Dad did back then, what Luc is doing now won’t bring it down around our ears either. And I’m starting to be able to see what the finished product will look like, especially now that I have a clear view all the way out the bay windows from the spot where our kitchen table used to be.
What I don’t see are my siblings or Luc.
“Hey guys?” I call, moving into the living room. It’s empty, and the TV is off, which is almost unbelievable.
No answer.
My guess is they’ve all gone upstairs to collectively sulk in their rooms since I haven’t given in to any of their demands. But then where’s Luc?
I’m about to head toward the stairs when I hear muffled laughter and Clarence’s bark.
I turn, and through the French doors, I see all four of them, Harry, Mattie, Emmett and Luc in the yard, playing soccer. Clarence is trying to join in, running circles around them and barking. Twilight is all but gone, but the floodlights from the porch illuminate their play, and no one notices when I step outside. Not even Clarence.
By the looks of it, the twins are one team and Luc and Emmett are the other. No one’s really defending a goal. They’re all just jostling for possession, kicking and chasing. The real contest seems to be between Luc and Harry, but as I watch, I see that as defenders, Mattie and Emmett aren’t making it easy for either one of them.
Even if the teams weren’t evenly matched, it wouldn’t matter. Their smiles are like beacons. Great lighthouse smiles calling me ashore.
In a stealth attack—probably thanks to his size—Emmett snags the ball from Harry, and Mattie whoops in surprise. They all laugh. Emmett makes a deft kick to the far side of the yard, apparently into the imaginary goal, and Luc roars in triumph.
I get a moment to watch them all. Beaming. Breathless. Happy. My heart bobs like a buoy, floating effortlessly for the first time in months. And I feel everything.
This is exactly what they need.
I love this.
It won’t last.
And as that thought plunges my heart back into dark waves, Clarence lifts his head, spotting me. He barks a greeting and bounds toward me, surprising everyone. I bend down to pet him, hoping to hide all the emotions—so stinkin’ many of them—on my face before anyone can see. I swallow against the lump in my throat and feel a deeper soreness there.
“C’mon,” Luc pants, beckoning everyone toward the house. “Let’s say hi to your hermana.” I’ve gotten so used to his subtle accent, I almost never notice it anymore. Except when he slips into Spanish. And then the sound of it shapes his words in a way that reminds me of his kiss.
Don’t think about that now.
As a body they climb the porch steps, panting, flushed, and all smiles. That is, until Luc focuses on me.
“You okay?”
I nod. “Yeah, fine,” I say, but the pain in my head is now cinching in tight.
“You look pale,” he says, frowning.
Harry snorts. “She always looks pale.”
Luc’s frown etches deeper. As always, the scar in his brow makes his frown look scary, but I now recognize the look in his eye as concern.
I wave it away. “Just a long day.” I tear my gaze from his and take refuge in Emmett’s beaming face. “It looks like y’all were having fun.”
“It was the best!” he cheers, collapsing against me in a clumsy hug. I have to brace myself to keep us both upright. He’s getting too big for this.
“What’s for dinner?” Harry asks. “Can we have Cane’s?”
The thought of getting back in the car to pick up dinner is nearly enough to bring tears to my eyes. And that’s not normal. It’s probably time I faced it. I’m coming down with a cold. Probably from freezing my butt off all Saturday morning at the soccer game.
“We can have Cane’s tomorrow night,” I promise. “Tonight, I need something that delivers.”
It’s just a cold. I’ll feel better tomorrow.
When my alarm goes off at six-thirty Tuesday morning, I keep my eyes shut and swallow. Then whimper. My throat feels like I’ve chugged a shot of broken glass. I’m pretty sure there’s an SUV parked on my forehead.
“Dear God,” I plead with whoever’s listening. I slap my alarm to kill the fiend and press my hand over my eyes. My skin feels sandpapered. My bones have to be swollen. There’s no other explanation for this full body ache.
I keep my eyes shut and assess what’s possible. Advil is possible. Taking two will make me feel better. A shower. A shower is definitely possible. And coffee. Yes, I can handle coffee. It’s my friend.
Breakfast is not possible. The thought of chewing and swallowing anything solid makes my stomach shrivel. And a smoothie is out of the question. Too sweet. Too cold. Definitely too cold. I shiver under my sheets and quilt.
So in that order, Advil, shower, coffee, I make it out the door. I’m wearing my gray thermals under my scrubs and my fuzzy socks stuffed into my sneakers, so I’m not shivering anymore.
I can do this.
If I have to pull the chute and call Dr. Loftin later today, I’ll do it. But, for now, I can do this. I’ll feel better once the caffeine kicks in.
I fire up the Infiniti, crank up the seat warmers, and take a sip from my travel mug. It’s a close call, but the hot coffee is just a little less stabby than swallowing the Advil. Maybe if I keep taking small sips, the warmth will ease my throat, and I’ll feel better.
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