She knew what Rose would say:
God sets people up to fall in love
. Despite losing Philip and Austin, even the bizarre way Leah Donavan figured into their lives—not to mention their beds—Tres was con- nected to her as well, Lily reminded herself—Rose would insist it was all part of some higher plan that shouldn’t be questioned. Mami would take that a step further and throw some magical hoodoo into the pot, and get that gleam in her eye that went all the way back to the Martinez family, but Lily believed love had more to do with biology, that pheromones plus a primal desire to better the gene pool was what drew people together—that if love was meant to be, even briefly, two people in a room of a hundred would sniff each other out and fall in
love. Like she had with Tres, twice now, which had to count for something.
She stretched her arms above her head, took a deep breath, thought about how maybe she had potential as a writer, too, and absently, with one careless finger, hit Send. But instead of delivering Blaise his message, she had e-mailed her client list and everyone at the company, too. Immediately she broke out in a cold sweat.
Good Lord, what have I done? Well, calm down, Lily, this is fixable
. Quickly she
opened the Check Mail Sent menu,
*
.
*
ed the list, and hit Unsend,
but she soon learned that AOL was so retarded one could only Un- send to another AOL user, so a few of the messages had already gone out into cyberspace. The majority hadn’t, though, and one by one, Lily deleted them, double-checking, triple-checking that she’d gotten them all—that she hadn’t burned her employment bridges just because her smart mouth had chosen today to travel all the way down to her fingers. She was heaving a sigh of genuine relief when her father opened the door and came into the room.
“Sorry. I didn’t realize anyone was in here.”
She turned away from the computer, embarrassed. “It’s okay, Pop. I was done anyhow.
Boy
, was I done.”
Her father was dressed in his work clothes, faded Wranglers and the mustard-colored Carhartt jacket that had seen a lot of trail. “What were you working on so intently?”
Up until that moment she hadn’t known exactly how to answer him, but the minute she opened her mouth, that changed. “My letter of resignation. I want to come home, Pop. Let me take over the work Shep did with the horses. You know I can handle it.”
Her father thought it over. “These are workingmen’s wages, Little Bit. I can’t afford to pay the lease on your Lexus.”
“So I’ll turn it in. I want to drive ranch trucks, Pop. And get my riding muscles back. I want to breathe clean air and break up dog- fights and listen to Mami tell me how to live my life, I’m that ready.”
Her father scratched his chin. “What about Tres Quintero?”
“If any man wants me, he’ll have to come to New Mexico. As of right now that just became part of the package.”
Chance Wilder wasn’t one to take weeks to make a decision. “All right,” he said. “Looks to me like the stalls could all use a good mucking. Call and have the feed store deliver some decomposed granite and
cedar shavings. Dig them down a good six inches, mind you. Shep kind of let that stuff go when he started getting sick.”
He paused for a moment, and Lily saw the sorrow he was carrying, that almost palpable weight on his chest. It still wasn’t the time to hug him, because comforting would only make him sadder, but there were other things she could do to ease his pain. “You bet, Pop. See you at lunch?”
“I don’t see why not, if you’re finished by then.”
Lily jumped up and did the helicopter dance of delight. Her father’s smile spread slowly around his pipe stem, and he shook his head, bewildered at her behavior. Lily turned back to the computer and still dancing, typed the real thing, the letter she had written so many times in her mind that it flew out of her fingers in a matter of seconds.
To HQ, CC: the world
Herewith find my intent to provide two weeks’ notice of my resignation of my position with the company. I deeply value the relationships I have made while a part of this family and all that I learned while in this position, which I depart only to pursue other interests. My heartfelt thanks for the wonderful working opportunity
.
It was essentially the same message she’d sent earlier, only now it was dressed in a presentable outfit. This time she hit Send with a deliberate click of her mouse, and felt a thrill when the little box announcing “Your message has been sent” popped up in the center of the screen.
“
Adios
, pantyhose,” Lily said, and went gleefully to muck out thirty-six stalls in record time.
ou
have
to come in and help, Lily,” Rose pleaded. “Two of our waiters called in sick. Benito says he’ll cover the tables if you’ll
do the wait list and seat people. I had no idea so many people went out to dinner on Christmas Eve.”
“But I only just now finished unpacking,” Lily grumbled. “Plus Buddy’s all freaked out about the snow, and Tres is coming in around midnight.”
“I know it’s not the best timing,” Rose said. “I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t desperate.” In the end Lily said she would not dress up, she would not stay all night, but she’d help out for a couple of hours so La Calaverada could serve its customers.
Rose hung up the phone, looked out through the kitchen toward the dining room, and waved to get Benito’s attention. She nodded her head, and the man she’d recently begun dating looked relieved. Then she went back to work, chopping tomatoes into a bucket-size container of what would eventually become
pico de gallo
. People were going through the stuff quicker than they could make it.
Within her first week of employment, Rose’s position as prep chef for salads and soup had been upgraded to include appetizers, and twice a week she was responsible for creating the daily special. She made
ropa
the first time, and the dish was so popular Benito added it to the permanent menu. When a customer requested her recipe for Mexican potato salad, Benito insisted that Rose go out to the table herself and talk to the woman. Rose had stood there blushing and feeling absurd while the tourist waxed on and on about what seemed to Rose
a matter of a few fresh chiles and black beans. Benito typed up the recipes on his computer, and now whenever someone asked she could just hand a printout to the waiter and stay in the kitchen, where she felt comfortable. The job was working out splendidly, and movies with Benito weren’t so awful. Rose wouldn’t go so far as to say she felt happy, but her life felt so tolerable that occasionally she found herself laughing. She knew where her children were, Joanie’s leg was healing, and she had gainful employment. Everything seemed to be moving along—at least until Austin decided to make La Calaverada his nightly dining spot.
The first time he came in, Austin ordered the
ropa
. He tasted one forkful, stood up, and looked toward the kitchen. Rose immediately hid behind Ruben, the chef with all the formal training. Ruben was huge, garrulous, great fun to work with, and continually inventing new twists on old dishes. When things got quiet, he revealed to Rose all manner of culinary secrets, like using his fingers to separate eggs so the yolks never broke, and how much elbow one needed to put into grating the zest from a lemon—very little, it turned out, because the secret was more in the wrist. Rose made notes on the kind of pad reporters carry around, which she began keeping in her apron pocket, and pretty soon she was making suggestions to Ruben.
Eventually Austin had sat back down and finished his meal. When he left, Rose asked Dolores what he’d ordered to drink. “Iced tea,” the waitress answered, and told the busboy to hurry up and clear so she could seat people at that table. Rose made mental notes of all his drink orders, but so far he’d ordered nothing more dangerous than the occasional nonalcoholic beer.
Gallons of
pico de gallo
later, she washed her hands and immedi- ately took down a clean cutting board to slice lemons, oranges, and apples to add to the spiced cider. They kept running out of that, too. It was a cold night. People needed something hot to warm them- selves up, and coffee didn’t cut it for everyone. Though not as fancy as Santa Fe’s Christmas at the Palace of the Governors, with countless
farolitos
and
luminarias
illuminating the portal and courtyard, Floralee possessed its own small-town allure that was quietly becoming a tourist draw. As in Santa Fe,
bizcochitos
and cider were staples, plus a blend of strong, hot coffee liberally doused with imported Mexican vanilla. Downtown there was storytelling going on in the old library building, and after that
was finished, over at the church the elementary schoolkids would reenact
Las Posadas
. No matter how bitter the weather outside, the church doors would stay open until two things happened: Satan made his frightful appearance, and the Holy Family arrived, triumph- ing over the fallen angel’s evil with the hope of the newly arrived baby Jesus. Rose had seen the play before, and tonight it was enough to stay busy working. La Calaverada was the first job she’d ever had where she felt creative and appreciated. All night under her breath she hummed Christmas carols.
Benito ducked into the kitchen and took the tureen of cider right out of her hands. “Better start another batch,” he said. “People are standing in line.”
Rose nodded and went to the cold room for more fruit.
Lily arrived wearing skin-tight jeans and a pair of gorgeous black knee-high cowboy boots that somehow made the jeans look formal. She’d thrown on a black velvet shirt cut low enough that her cleavage was duly advertised. “I figured this was expected in a hostess,” she said. “Tell me what to do, and get me out of here by midnight. I have a date with the man of my destiny, and I don’t want to keep him waiting.”
“Nice boots,” Rose said. “Did you buy them local?”
“Santa Fe, all the way. I used a little bit of my bonus. Well, a lot.
It’s my Christmas present to myself. You like?”
“Oh, Lily, I
adore
. Someday I want a pair with bucking horses and rows of stitching and the whole nine yards.
If
I can ever afford it.”
“
When
,” her sister insisted. “Maybe. You look happy.”
“The funny thing is, I am,” Lily said, as Benito dragged her back to the entrance, where customers were waiting to put their names on the list. “I don’t miss wearing high heels at all.”
Rose figured if things got too crowded, Lily would seat people with perfect strangers, introduce them, and like the communal table at Pasquale’s in Santa Fe, they’d have a memorable dining experience on this holiday eve and walk away with new friends as well as full bellies.
Shortly after Lily arrived, Austin showed up, working his way through the tables, obviously intent on finding Rose. While Rose peeked at him over the tall counter that separated the kitchen from the dining area, Ruben took her by the shoulders. “You want me to throw that
pendejo
out in the snow, Rose Ann?”
Was he drunk again? It seemed he’d been doing so well. “No, it’s okay, Ruben. Probably he just wants a cup of coffee.”
Lily seated him square in the middle of the restaurant. Austin sat there staring into his mug, sipping slowly. Rose continued working. Sweat beaded up on her forehead. The smell of roasting corn and chili was thick in the close air. Mountains of dirty dishes had piled up, and the dishwasher was off somewhere smoking a cigarette. Rose’s calves ached. If she had a Christmas wish it was for two minutes to stop and drink some of the aromatic cider herself while she put her feet up, but the break never came; they were just too busy.
About ten-thirty Benito came back into the kitchen and stood be- hind her, rubbing her shoulders. Rose groaned and said thanks. Out of the corner of her eye she noticed that Austin hadn’t moved from his chair. The restaurant was three-quarters full, but it was nearly time to close. They didn’t want to make a bunch of entrees that had to be thrown away, but they didn’t want to come up short, either. “How about we shut down the entrees and serve only dessert?” Rose suggested.
“Can’t not have salsa,” Benito said.
“Then we’ll keep making salsa until our hands are raw,” Ruben said, and he and Rose returned to work, seeding tomatoes and chopping onions.
When Benito left, Rose lifted her hands to show Ruben. “Mine already are.”
“Catch,” he said, and threw her a pair of plastic gloves.
A few minutes later, Austin stood up. He’d finished his coffee and the refill Lily had poured him. He left the cup at the table and called out, “Rose! Cut a man a break. It’s Christmas.”
The restaurant went silent. People froze in their conversations. In a few seconds, Austin had dismantled the merry ambience and re- placed it with a sense of impending dread.
“I have to take care of this,” Rose said to Ruben. She stripped off the gloves, straightened her apron, and hurried out, hoping to quiet him down without too much of a scene.
“Hallelujah!” he announced to the restaurant as she approached the table. “Mrs. Flynn graces me with her presence!”
Rose tried to steer him toward the exit, but he refused to go. “Austin, lower your voice.”
“Why should I?”
“You’re making a fool of yourself.”
“I don’t give a damn. I’ll stand here and yell all night if that’s what it takes to make you to listen to me.” His words weren’t the least bit slurred. Rose was the one making the effort to keep steady.
She folded her arms across her chest. “You don’t have to shout.
I’m here and I’m listening.”
He threw his hands up in the air, and Rose shied. She could see Lily and Benito frowning over by the entrance, where they were stacking up menus. Rose held up her hand to let them know she was okay.
“What the hell do I have to do, Rose?”
“I guess that depends on what it is you want.” “You know what I want.”
“No, Austin, I don’t.”
“I told you at Shep’s service. I tried to tell you a bunch of times.