She narrows her eyes as though trying to make sense of my words. The dog growls again. I take another step back, and that monster takes a step forward.
I jerk a thumb over my shoulder in the direction of my truck. “I’m with Valencia & Sons Construction. I’m looking for the Delacroix house. Maybe they’re one of your neighbors,” I say quickly, but fuck this shit. I don’t need to get directions from her. “You know what? Never mind.”
I’m already moving toward the truck, walking backward, not giving the dog my back.
“W-wait,” she says, her eyes flicking from me to my truck with its Valencia & Sons decal. “Construction?”
It’s the look on her face that makes me stop. It’s not just confusion. It’s more like…
Shock.
She bites her bottom lip, and just like that, everything in her posture changes again. She sort of just… wilts.
“Are you okay?” The question leaves my mouth, and without thinking, I move toward her. The dog growls again. I halt.
“Clarence.” She says the dog’s name again, but now the sound is so different—a plea instead of a command—both the animal and I look back at her. He trots to her side, sits on his haunches, and sniffs the air around her as if searching for something.
“Can you tell me wh-who…” I watch her swallow, her face now pinched, the wariness gone and a kind of devastation taking its place. “Who contacted you?”
I glance down, tilt the plans, and read the names aloud. “Eloise and Hudson Delacroix?” I say, hoping I’m pronouncing it right. “Do you know them?”
I flick my gaze back to her and my stomach drops. The woman has gone completely white.
Yeah, of course she’s white. But a minute ago, she was a creamy white and high on her cheeks a rosy white. Like vanilla and strawberry swirl ice cream.
But now she’s ash white. Bloodless white.
I move then because nobody can look that white and stay upright. And just when I do, her knees give. The plans and my keys fall to the ground, but she doesn’t because my left hand catches an elbow while my right arm hooks her around the waist.
“¡Ay!”
She staggers back, but I’ve got her, and I lower her to the porch steps. Her eyes are open but unfocused. On instinct, I guide her head down until it’s even with her splayed knees. Curious, but no longer threatening, the big, white Clarence hovers, sniffing, but his attention is all on her. Not me,gracias Madre Maria.
“Just breathe, okay?”
Slowly, she nods, but she’s shaking. All over.
Under my hand that rests on her back, I feel the exaggerated filling and emptying of her lungs. Once. Twice. Once more.
Then she groans.
I shut my eyes and pray she isn’t about toss her cookies on my shoes.
But she doesn’t puke. Instead, she draws her elbows in and covers her face, her body still folded over her legs.
“Jesus Christ,” I hear her whisper, but it’s no prayer. She sounds kind of disgusted, and I fight the urge to smile.
She brackets her face with her hands and straightens up.
“Ten cuidado…Easy,” I caution.
She sniffs and clears her throat. “I’m fine,” she says.
“You sure?” I realize my hand is still on her back when she rolls her shoulder to shed it. I drop it and inch back.
Clarence steps in and noses her. Still shielding her face with one hand, she lowers the other and pats him absently.
“I’m okay, big guy,” she tells him.
