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CHAPTER12
Kicking off her dirty cleats,Sylvie dropped into one of the loungers around her parents’ enormous pool. The over-the-top remodel was supposed to be a tasteful nod to Grecian design. It ended up looking more like Caesar’s Palace in Las Vegas. The swim-up bar in the shape of a Roman temple, complete with statues and fountains coming out of everywhere, was probably the biggest eyesore. Although The Birth of Venus replicated in tile at the bottom of the pool was pretty bad too.
“Your mom made sangria.” Regina handed her a glass full of white wine and fruit chunks. The sun setting behind her gave her soft face a gentle glow.
“I guess that’s one good thing that happened today,” Sylvie joked, accepting the drink.
“Why don’t you want to go inside?” Regina sat in one of the chairs next to her.
Sylvie turned her attention across the pool and beyond the outdoor kitchen under the terrace. The full wall of sliding glass doors revealed the rest of the Campos’ eating and drinking.
“Don’t take it so hard mi vida. It’s just a silly game.”
“Yeah, that we keep losing. Doesn’t it bother you Madrina?”
Her godmother laughed. After a sip of her drink, she crossed her legs. Unlike Sylvie’s, her white uniform was still clean. “Do I care about a competition that means absolutely nothing in the real world? No, Mamita. I really don’t and you shouldn’t either.”
Sipping the sweet, fruity concoction, Sylvie blew by Regina’s response. “I couldn’t get anybody to tell me anything about the lawsuit.”
“Is that what’s ruining your mood?”
Sylvie shrugged. Combined with having lost to the Machados again, failing to make progress on her search certainly didn’t help matters.
Guzzling the sweet wine, Sylvie’s mind churned. “Did you see how insufferable she was?” When her godmother didn’t respond, she continued. “Lauren,” she clarified. “She could’ve killed me, you know? I could’ve been concussed.”
“You didn’t get in the ring with Mike Tyson. You tumbled on the ground.” She laughed. “I remember the time you two had that dance recital. You couldn’t have been more than six or seven. Do you remember that?”
Sylvie gulped her wine until the rattling ice hit her in the face. She didn’t know where Regina was going, but she wasn’t going to fall into her set up.
“You were so cute.” Regina chuckled, her hand tucked under her chin. “I don’t know who was supposed to be where, but one of you stepped into the other’s space.” Her cheeks turned red as her chuckle exploded into a fit of side splitting laughter. With great pains she managed to squeak out the rest. “It’s probably the first time Señorita Ximena’s dance class turned into a brawl between two little girls dressed in pink tutus.”
“She started it,” Sylvie grumbled, even if she couldn’t recall the details. All she remembered was trying to tear out Lauren’s bun. The chances were good that it was Lauren’s fault one way or another.
“Have you ever thought about why you girls have been at each other’s throats for so long?” Regina asked when she regained control of herself. “You know what they say, there’s a thin line—
“Madrina, don’t you dare finish that sentence.” Sylvie would’ve lunged forward and covered her godmother’s mouth if she wasn’t so sore and tired.
“I’m not the first one to say that, am I?” Her blue eyes gleamed, giving away her mischievous thoughts. “You must have thought about it—”
“No way. Never.” The lie sputtered out too loud and too high pitched to sound true.
“You can tell me,” her godmother pressed. “I’m good with secrets.”
“Speaking of secrets.” Sylvie shot to her feet, desperate to get away from the conversation. “I need to go check for something.”
Regina shook her head. “Let sleeping dogs lie,” she warned, but Sylvie was on a mission.
Inside, tiny speakers peppered in the ceiling of the open concept kitchen and living room played an old Celia Cruz song. The uplifting, trombone-heavy, dance song crooned by the Afro-Cuban queen of salsa had half her family dancing around in their softball uniforms.
Sylvie skirted the dining table packed with catering trays and dodged her father’s attempt to get her to dance with him. She didn’t have time for games.
In her white socks mottled with orange clay, Sylvie slid over the highly polished, white marble floors. On the far side of the house, divided into two enormous halves by the kitchen and living room that could easily be a single family residence on its own, Sylvie passed the media room and gym.
At the end of the long corridor, she entered her parents’ home office. Covered on three sides with built-in book shelves packed with volumes no one read, it was meant to look like a very serious English gentleman’s study. Or that’s how she assumed her mother’s interior decorator had pitched it.
There was a full wall dedicated to the family’s achievements, including Sylvie’s college degrees, her softball and swimming trophies, and all the academic honors and accolades she’d received since elementary school.
To spare Junior’s feelings, his little league participation trophies stood next to Sylvie’s nomination to Phi Beta Kappa. As if the two could ever compare. As always, he hadn’t had to do anything but show up to get his pat on the head. Sylvie had to work herself to the bone to get into the country’s oldest and most prestigious honor society.
