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“It was a good investment. Plus, I’m fortunate that it was in my power to give them a start.”
When his face angles from the driveway to briefly glance over at me, I smile. “You’re good to your family, Mick. They’re lucky to have you.”
“Not as lucky as I am to have them.” He lifts my hand to his lips and kisses the back of it. “Or you.”
I start to respond, to tell him how much he means to me too, to let him know how much I appreciate my second chance, but the instant he pulls up beside Victor’s sedan, Justin and Danielle come barreling out from around the side of the house.
I stare out the window at the two energetic children, bouncing impatiently, and wring my hands.
“Dee?”
I hear the concern in his voice. “I’m fine.”
He appears no more certain of that than I am. Nevertheless, I give him a faint smile, then on one, two, three deep breaths, open the door.
Maria’s five-year-old son gazes up at me in wonder. His front tooth is missing, his chin has a dirt smear, and his jean-clad knees are covered in grass stains. He’s adorable.
“I seed your picture,” he says.
I blink away the swell of tears and bend down. “I’ve seen your pictures too. You must be Justin.”
“Yup. I’m the biggest,” he boasts, standing taller. “I have a baby brother. His name’s Mason. He’s sleeping now. This is Dani.” He jerks his thumb at his sister. “She’s only four.”
“But Mommy says I’s going on twenty,” inserts the pint-size version of Maria.
I smile at the little girl dressed in a lavender princess gown that’s paired with polka-dot rain boots. She’s cute as a doll, round sun-rosy cheeks, dark pigtails, and wide, inquisitive eyes. “Hi, Dani.”
“Hi,” she says. “You’re pretty.”
“Thank you. I think you’re pretty too.”
Justin disagrees in the way of brothers by sticking out his tongue to mimic gagging. Mick swoops in with tickles that effectively distract him.
“Aunt Gabi tolded me you’re Uncle Mick’s girlfriend,” Dani continues.
“Um…yes, I am.”
She scrunches up her nose. “How come we never meeted his other girlfriends?”
Before I can think how to answer, Mick tucks the siblings under his arms like footballs. “Because your Aunt Dee is special and mine for keeps.” Then winking at me, he feigns a toss, making them shriek with giggles.
I watch him with a bitter sweetness. He’d be a great father, playful enough to make it fun and loving enough to make a child feel valued. I lift my tote bag containing gifts for everyone, and with my heart rattling in my chest, follow him and his bundles to the house.
Inside is wonderfully noisy and chaotic. Shoes litter the tiled foyer. Backpacks and jackets overflow the coat rack. Off to the side is a family room where a lived-in sectional and an area rug are scattered with toys and books. A doll sits in a high chair and there’s a Tonka truck on the food tray. Patterned overstuffed armchairs designed for comfort don’t match the couch or each other. There is no attempt at coordination or order in this room and that makes it all the more inviting.
Along the narrow hallway hang the children’s drawings, and detailed sketches that must be Dwayde’s. The aroma of good home cooking wafts through the air. I can actually identify the smell of authentic ranchero sauce. Mama T’s version was always the right balance of tomatoes, chili powder, and jalapeño to give it just enough heat. My stomach growls over the tremble of nerves. I feel excited, anxious, happy…terrified.
Mick stops when we reach the kitchen. Papa T used to call it the eye of the storm and Mama T its wind force. She issues orders in a mix of English and Spanish. “Apaga el quemador…the burner, James, turn it down…the eggs…oh ja ja! Gabi…Gabi! Dios mío. Get off the Tickie Tok and stir the sauce.”
I’ve missed this.
It’s the same in so many ways. Yet the changes are staggering. My foster sisters aren’t little girls anymore. Gabi is now a senior in high school, living with Victor and Isabelle. Maria has a husband and children. Papa T is gone.
Last week, I’d been able to explain the inexcusable and apologize to everyone, except for Maria. I’d get that chance with her today. But for Cayo Torres, I was too late.
Catching whatever look I must have on my face, Mick sets down Justin and Dani to take my trembling hand in the comforting calm of his.
The kids run in, announcing our arrival. Mama T pauses mid-stream and turns toward the archway. Escaped wisps from her long, dark braid, streaked with gray, fall around her lovely face.
