“Torres sisters never sink,” I said it anyway.
She almost laughed. It was wet, broken, and the most beautiful sound I’d heard all day.
When she pulled back, I told her. The job—Christopher Vale’s grandmother needed a chef, the pay was good, and the position included housing. I would be working and earning while Sazón was being rebuilt, and every cent I didn’t spend on rent was a cent I could send to Vicky for legal fees, for groceries, for Eloise’s school, for whatever she needed.
“I’ll take care of things,” I said, smiling. “You focus on the case. You focus on Eloise. Let me worry about the money for a while.”
Vicky looked at me. Her eyes were red and her nose was running, but she was still the most stubborn, beautiful, brave woman I knew.
“Torres sisters never sink,” she said.
“Even when the water’s ugly.”
Something close to a smile reached her eyes. “Even when the water’s ugly.”
That evening, Eloise fell asleep in Vicky’s lap during a movie. After Vicky carried her to bed, I sat on the couch with a cup of tea and the TV on low. I wasn’t really watching until the entertainment segment came on and a familiar face filled the screen.
Christopher Vale.
The anchor was reporting that Christopher had officially stepped down from the Ethereal Vanguard, the period drama he’d been attached to for months. It was confirmed that he was transitioning fully into the role of interim CEO at Vale Industries. The segment included clips of him entering the Vale Industries building in a suit, looking nothing like the man who’d been swimming in a pool in shorts a few days ago. Or the man I’d driven home from the lounge.
I set my tea down and leaned forward.
The anchor played a brief clip of a statement Christopher had released, professional and composed. He talked about family responsibility and honoring his father’s legacy, and every word sounded right and none of it sounded like him. It didn’t carry the conviction his acting usually did.
The Ethereal Vanguard was the project he’d talked about with excitement in interview after interview.
He’d given it up.
Was he really okay?
Vicky came back from putting Eloise down and saw the screen and said, “Isn’t that the guy who almost died in your restaurant?”
“That’s the guy who gave me a job.”
She looked at me. Then at the TV. Then back at me. “You’re working for Christopher Vale?”
“For his grandmother. It’s a cooking job, Vic.”
“It’s a cooking job for the family of the most famous actor in the country who you’ve had a poster of since you were sixteen.”
“I did not have a poster.”
“You had a poster. It was on the inside of your closet door so Aunt Eliza wouldn’t see it.”
I took a very long sip of tea. “That poster was for research purposes.”
Vicky laughed. “Torres sisters never sink,” she said, wiping her eyes. “But this one is about to drown in something. How did you make it happen?”
“Shut up.”
“I’m just saying.”
“Shut up and drink your tea.” I said, my lips twitching, holding back a smile.
The weekend passed. I packed. I called the contractor about Sazón and got an update that was cautiously optimistic. I calledAnna, told her about the job, and she said “This is either the best thing that’s ever happened to you or the beginning of a very expensive disaster” and I replied “Those sound like the same thing” and she laughed and whispered, “Exactly.”
Monday morning, I loaded my bag into the car.
