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“A broken leg,” Amelia concluded. “My mama wants the downstairs office for her to live in so she won’t have to climb the stairs.”
“Is your mom going to move back home?”
Amelia frowned and shook her head. “No way. My grandmamma’s home is nothing like your mansion.”
“What?” Natalia asked with a pout.
“She has a barn attached to the side of her home, but that’s the extent of privacy. Nothing like your place where your whole family lives under the same roof, but you guys can go days without running into one another.”
“The grass isn’t always greener,” Natalia said, glancing down at her hands in her lap.
“I like my privacy, Natalia. I grew up in Southwood, a pretty much one-streetlight town. Everyone knows everyone.”
“Sounds cozy.”
“Not when you’re the one person everyone hates.”
Natalia glanced up, her features softened. “What?”
“Never mind. Look, I have a month to get everything ready. Mr. Kelly said as soon as I take care of things back home, I can come back to work. I am going to get the porch steps lowered or put a ramp in there. Grandmamma will have a fit either way, so while she’s recuperating in the hospital, I’ll take this time to go down South for repairs.”
“Good thing MET hosts a bunch of remodeling shows,” said Natalia. “You can get any of those guys to fix up the place for free. Hell, you should even turn it into a show.”
“We’ve been spending too much time togethe
r,” Amelia said with a grin, rubbing her hands on the front of her dark-wash denim jeans, “trying to find the television angle for everything.”
“Well, I have to come up with something. I am afraid to ask, but is this my fault?” Natalia pouted her glossy bottom lip again.
Although her friend was wearing so much makeup, Amelia chewed her naked bottom lip. Normally she brushed her lashes a few times with black mascara and maybe a colored, flavored lip gloss and called it a day. “Sweetie, it is,” Amelia said dryly. Then Natalia’s frown deepened and Amelia let her off with a half smile and a slight push against her shoulder. “I’m kidding.”
“I’m so sorry about your grandmother.”
“You’re not to blame for what happened to her or what happened with my job,” Amelia sniffed, pushing the pity party out of her head. Christopher claimed he wanted Amelia to use her hours upon hours of leave time wisely. Just as she’d proven herself in the past to be a dedicated employee at MET, family meant everything to him. Mr. Kelly made it clear for her to enjoy her time with her family and to not be distracted by anything at work. Amelia was prohibited from contacting anyone from the network, so the idea of having help was null and void. Southwood was small enough she could find someone to assist, provided she was allowed to tell her folks what had happened. But Grandmamma wanted to keep the incident a secret. Amelia inhaled deeply. “I am to blame. You were my responsibility.”
“But still,” Natalia whined. “I do apologize.”
Amelia liked to think of herself as a forgiving kind of gal. “Make it up to me by telling me who this mystery man is?”
A part of Amelia wished she had gotten the conversation on film. When Natalia’s aunt, Yadira, had approached MET about getting the network involved with their lives, Natalia had already turned eighteen. So there wasn’t much that was known of her teen years.
“Stephen and I go back, way back,” Natalia explained as her heavy lashes fluttered dreamily. “He’s an ex who is practically Villa San Juan royalty. I was glad when his brother contacted me and said he needed to talk,” Natalia moaned.
“What happened?”
“Let’s just say if Tía Yadira had the ability to arrange a marriage, it would have been between us.”
“A marriage made in Puerto Rican heaven,” Amelia teased as her eyes glazed over, imagining the ratings they would have received. This would have been a perfect angle for a reality show for MET. A multicultural wedding was right up their alley. She pictured in her mind the memo she’d have written:
Dear MET executives,
We’ve watched her grow up; now let’s follow the road to the Ruiz wedding.
Sincerely,
Amelia
“Hey, didn’t a mass school shooting happen there about ten years ago?” Other than the tragic ending to a school year, Amelia had heard nothing but good things about Villa San Juan, the small island off the coast of Florida. It was on her lists of places to visit once she gathered some vacation time. Maybe once she made sure Grandmamma was okay, she’d check it out and come back to MET with a follow-up story on the tragedy. For a moment Amelia’s eyes glazed over. She wondered if anyone had done a follow-up story. Where were the students now? Had they gotten over the trauma?
