“I did need a bowl and hers are lovely.”
She squinted at him as if to see whether he was telling the truth.
He smiled at her. “Honest.” Why was she questioning his motives? They walked past a pie van. “Want some pie?”
“Sure.”
He bought them both a slice and they carried it over to a nearby seat. “Do you come here regularly?”
“It’s only on once a month, and I like to stop by to check how Daniella is doing. It can get a little boring being in a stall by yourself.”
“Don’t the other stall owners speak with each other?”
“Yeah, they do, but they’re all busy at different times.”
“How long have you known Daniella?”
“Nine years. She was one of the first foster girls we had,” Zita said. “She was only a couple of years younger than me and yet she’d been through such horrific things. I realized then how lucky I was that Mama got us out of El Salvador.”
“How old were you?”
“Sixteen.”
It must have been a hell of a thing to realize. At sixteen, he was focused on study and girls, not necessarily in that order. His only worry was getting good enough grades to get into college. But Zita had been shown a world where things weren’t so simple.
“Did you ever resent the foster girls?” It had to have been difficult if all the girls had been abused.
“Would it make me a bad person if I said I did?” Her voice was quiet.
“No, it would make you human.”
She sighed. “There were times when I was having a bad day, or needed help of my own that I resented not having Mama’s full attention. Both Carly and Bridget had moved out before the first foster girl arrived, so they didn’t know what it was like. I mean, how could I complain about a friend being nasty, or a boy not asking me to a dance, when these girls had been abused, had lived in poverty, and had undertaken the dangerous journey to the States by themselves?” She was so matter-of-fact, but there was sadness in her tone as well.
David wrapped an arm around her shoulder and pulled her closer to him. “Your life experience was different from theirs. You had the safety and security to be able to worry about things they may have considered inconsequential. But it doesn’t mean that a friend being mean to you didn’t have an impact in your world.”
“Knowing that didn’t make it a whole lot easier.”
He wasn’t sure what else to say. He would have hated anything that disturbed his perfect world.
Big, fat raindrops started to slowly fall. “It’s about to rain.”
She looked around. “Where’s the nearest shelter?”
Others had already gathered under the stall shelters. “There are denser trees over there,” he said, pointing. “They might give us better cover.”
The rain was coming faster now.
She grabbed his hand. “Let’s go.”
Together, they ran across the grass as the drops got thicker. By the time they reached the shelter of the trees, water was dripping from his hair. His coat was heavy and the occasional drip ran down his top. He dropped her hand and squeezed the water out of his hair.
Zita laughed, carefree and delighted. “We got a bit wet.”
He stared at her. Why was she laughing? “I think you’re right.” The bottoms of his jeans were also soaked and uncomfortable.
Zita took off her bright green coat and shook it. Drops flicked off, but there was no significant change in its dampness. She glanced out at the downpour, then turned to him, a mischievous grin on her face. “Have you ever danced in the rain?”
Was she kidding? It was cold, and the moment they stepped out from under the canopy they would get completely drenched. “No.”
