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She glanced at me over her shoulder. “Something like that.”
I kissed her hair, and her fingers slipped from the tab on the Styrofoam container. “Show us how it's done then.”
In minutes, she had our feast of fajitas, quesadillas, and tacos on the table. Gabriel said grace, and my hand went into my pocket to finger Mama's rosary. The second he finished, he dived for the cheese dip, and a glob of it landed on the wood table. I wiped it up.
“I love cheese dip,” Gabriel said, and I had this odd sense of pleasure. I wanted to make this kid happy, even if it was through food. His new cowboy was sitting in the chair right beside him, which penetrated through my stone of a heart. I’d been isolated for so long, but these two were showing me maybe my soul needed some goodness, that they could see me through the tragedies I’d faced.
Holly caught me taking that in, but her expression was impossible to read. I picked up a taco shell and scooped ground beef into it, then garnished that with lettuce, tomato, and cheese. “Anything else?” I asked, and she appeared startled. My hand hovered over the dish of sour cream, and she shook her head.
“No sour cream.” I filed that nugget away and put the taco on her plate. “Thank you.”
I served Gabriel and then myself.
“Are you going to stay?” he asked, and I nearly choked at his directness. “I heard Miss Muriella tell Miss Ruby you weren't going back to Nic-Nica—”
“Nicaragua,” I finished. He sounded it out a few times until he could say the world perfectly. “That's right. I’m staying in New York.” I looked at Holly as I spoke, gauging her reaction. She'd closed off some since dinner started, and that frustrated me.
“How did you learn to speak English so perfectly?” Holly asked, suspicion in every syllable.
“My father made me learn. He was obsessed with American celebrities. I had a live-in tutor from the States who taught me not only the language but also the culture. My father felt it was good for business.” I couldn't speak of him without the bitterness creeping in, and I immediately regretted mentioning anything about our livelihood.Hislivelihood, not mine.
She latched right onto it. “What do you do?” As in present tense. I could answer that without shame.
“I'm currently having a parcel of land cleared to grow quinoa. We're in the beginning phases, but the labor is already in place. Once we begin producing, the money will be used to provide housing for the people of my country.” I'd already experimented with it in other places, and the crop was profitable. This was a way to give back to all those my father had stolen from. I wanted to eliminate the other cartels and eradicate the drugs, but I wasn't naïve. There was simply no way to stop it. While I'd cut off supplies to the best of my ability, eventually someone would find their way around it.
“So you'll be an absentee farmer?”
“Something like that. For now, it's best I stay away.”
Her brow furrowed and smoothed so quickly, I almost missed it. “Meaning one day, you'll return.”
“Never permanently.” She appeared satisfied by that response. “You can never go home.” That seemed to resonate, her eyes alight with perfect understanding. I wanted to know why she couldn't either.
“Why?” Gabriel asked, alarmed. “I never want to leave home.” I flashed Holly an apologetic look. I was going to have to choose my words more carefully.
“Baby, you never have to.” He relaxed, and she took his hand. “What have I told you?”
“As long as we're together, we're home.”
“That's right.”
“Could Mr. Carlos be home with us since he can't go back to his?” he asked hopefully. If Gabriel kept this up, he might unearth the heart I thought had disappeared when I sent my sister away.
I could have swooped in and saved Holly from having to answer the question, but I was curious as to what she had to say, so I remained silent.
“I’m sure Mr. Carlos still has to decide where he’ll settle. He’s only just moved to New York.” She looked at me with a plea to agree with her, and it made me think of how she’d said he gets attached to people easily. I swallowed down the hope I’d felt momentarily and followed her lead.
“Your mom is right. And don’t forget my sister, Muriella. Can you imagine her sad face if I left her?” I threw in apoor mepout, and Gabriel laughed. Even Holly’s face brightened. I popped a chip in my mouth, swallowed, then asked, “How long have you worked for Mulaney?”
The light on her face dimmed. “About six years.”
“Did you know the Jacobs before you started the job?” She seemed comfortable around them from what I’d witnessed.
“No.”
Her tense, clipped answers disturbed me on two levels. I didn’t particularly care to see her in distress, and I didn’t like her shutting me out. For some reason, I wanted to know everything about her.
“You’ve known Miss Jacobs my whole life,” Gabriel chimed in.
