Since nothing else is working, I might as well try pizza.
It’s Saturday afternoon, and the Kitchen Krew website says they’ll be holding a fundraiser in the courtyard, to raise money for back-to-school clothes.
When Nico, Renata and I walk into the courtyard, however, we find it empty. A flyer posted up on one of the courtyard trees announces that the meeting has been shut down and they’ve relocated to Clarita’s apartment. It even gives the address.
When we get to her building, someone’s just walking in. The guy glances at Nico and Renata with their pizza boxes and lets us follow him through the door.
Clarita’s apartment is on the first floor, and her door is ajar, with strains of salsa music drifting into the hallway. I hold the door open for Nico and Renata.
We walk into a bright, happy room, the walls and bookshelves chock-a-block with religious paintings, family photos, framed posters of vintage cars, and candles dedicated to various saints. The room is crowded, with maybe twenty people in there, which is a lot in an apartment the size of hers. We make our way over to the buffet table by the wall, and Nico and Renata set down their pizza boxes next to a jug of lemonade.
I spot Ariel and Marshall standing in a corner. They’re very clearly together; they might as well be the only two people in the room. Ariel is chatting up a storm, and Marshall’s gawking at her with dazed happiness, like she’s an oasis in a vast, parched desert.
Well. Glad someone’s happy. No, seriously. I truly hope that this is a love-match for them and they’ve both found what they’re looking for.
But as I scan the room, Winona’s nowhere to be seen. My heart sinks like a leaden weight.
“Excuse you?” Clarita’s icy voice slices into me. “I do not recall inviting you here.”
She wheels her way towards us, the crowd parting to let her through.
I try for a winning smile. “We just brought some pizza for your fundraiser. You’re not meeting in the courtyard anymore?”
“We’re not allowed to. We would need a permit. And this party is for the Kitchen Krew and their friends.” She narrows her eyes at me.
An idea suddenly strikes me. I can’t believe it didn’t occur to me before. “I might have a solution for the whole permit thing. And a lot of other things you’re dealing with.”
Isabella walks up, holding the hand of a handsome man with a military bearing and a high-and-tight Marine haircut, and she glances at her aunt. “I thought I heard something,” she says to Clarita. “Kind of a loud, flatulent sound. Did you hear anything?”
“Nothing worth listening to.”
“I didn’t hear anything.” Edna glares at me.
I take a deep breath. “I love Winona, and I’m sorry. If you see her, will you tell her that?”
“People who love someone generally don’t destroy their relationships with their family,” Clarita says coolly. Then she glances behind me. I swivel around to see Jorge, standing in front of a cluster of his friends. They’re holding water pistols and they do not look friendly.
I spread my arms out wide, stepping away from Nico and Renata. “Go ahead. I deserve it.”
Jorge stares at me blankly. He glances at his friends. Then they shake their heads at me and file out of the room, their arms dangling by their sides, not even looking at me.
Ouch.
I suck in a breath.
I turn back to Clarita, Isabella, Edna, Jemma, and the rest of the group, who have gathered into a small, angry mob and who are all glaring at me as one now.
“I understand,” I say. “I lost my temper, and I said things I shouldn’t have.” I look at Clarita in desperate appeal. “I’m sure in all the time you’ve been with Nestor, one or both of you have said things you regret. Things you wish you could take back. I’m just trying to get the message to Winona to tell her that I am very sorry for what I said, and to ask her to give me a chance to make up for it. And putting aside what’s going on with me and Winona, there is something I can do for you. For all of you.”
“Yes,” Isabella interjects. “You can walk out that door.”
A flare of frustration surges through me. “You’re turning down an offer that would benefit the people who turn to you for help. Single mothers, the unemployed, the underemployed, the people working five jobs, the disabled, battered women – all the people that you help. I’d like to join you in your volunteer efforts, and I have a lot of resources at hand. That should be more important than anything that’s going on personally between Winona and myself.” I pull my card out of my pocket and quickly scribble a number on it. “If you’d like to talk to me about it, that’s my personal number on there.”
“Enough!” Jemma’s ice-blue eyes blaze with anger. “I’m going to put my personal foot up your arse if you don’t leave in the next ten seconds. And don’t come to my coffee cart anymore. You wouldn’t like what I serve up.”
I set the card down on the buffet table, and Nico, Renata and I walk out of the apartment in glum silence.
“Tough crowd,” Renata murmurs to her husband.
“Loyal friends, though. It takes a really good person to inspire such loyalty,” he muses.
He flings open the door to the limo, and we pile in.
“So what’s the plan?” Nico asks.
I nod to myself. “Time to go big. I’ve got an idea that absolutely has to work.”
“What is it? Run it by me,” Renata suggests. “I’m a girl. I can tell if you if it has a fair chance of success or you’re having a massive case of the stupids.”
“Don’t worry, it’s not stupid. But it’s a surprise.”
She and Nico exchange uneasy glances.
“Damn it,” Nico sighs.
“What?” I say defensively. “Can you have a little faith? I have very good ideas.”
“Like biting your girlfriend’s head off for telling you something you needed to hear, but didn’t want to hear?” Renata scowls. I shoot her a dirty look, and she shrugs. “What? Sisters before misters. Or something like that.”
“Yelling at her wasn’t an idea. It was a reaction. A stupid, instinctive reaction. An idea is something that you plan. Something that is definitely, positively going to show her how sorry I am.” I don’t know if I’m trying to convince them or myself.
I lean back in the limo, and we fall into a gloomy silence.
My mood doesn’t improve any when I show up at Hudson’s. There’s an emergency board meeting, and I’m five minutes late. The entire board is there, staring at me with concern as I stride grimly through the door. I’m never late. Right now, with a tight band of guilt and pain wrapping around my chest, I’m finding it hard to care.
I square my shoulders as I walk to my seat at the head of the table. It’s a new chair. I bought it specifically to replace the one that my father and his father before him used to occupy. I don’t know if that was a childish gesture, or a sign that I’m remaking the Hudson legacy into something I can be proud of, but anyway, it’s done.
Earl Dempsey nods in greeting. He’s admitted to me privately that my suspicions were right. He was having an affair, and my uncle caught wind of it and tried to use it to blackmail him.