Sure, Salcedo had sent it on his wedding day. She was in college. Her frontal lobe hadn’t fully developed yet. Besides, it wasn’t as if he and Eloise were having some expensive shindig at the Marietta Country Club. He’d said himself they went to see the justice of the peace and then were taking pictures in the square.
Probably at the same fountain where Eloise had posed in a prom dress mere months before.
If I thought she’d listen to me, I’d have told her to steer clear of him. She wouldn’t, though. I wouldn’t have listened at her age.
Mom had tried to tell me not to drop out of law school, said I would need a law degree to pay back my student loans. Not that she knew exactly how predatory those loans were, thanks to the fact that my father’s credit card stunt had ruined my credit.
I’d handled that situation by getting whatever debt I could forgiven and then consolidating the rest. Slowly but surely, I’d paid off those bills, but that meant I was left with deferred student loans. My father’s debts: the gifts that kept on giving.
Or taking, as the case might be.
My rage monster wanted an encore performance at the mere thought of such injustice, but she was too tired from her earlier demonstration.
A thud and a cry of pain in the breezeway had me on my feet, with what little adrenaline I had left, to see if anyone was hurt.
Could it be my neighbor? Why did that thought have me reconsidering the concept of playing sexy nurse?
No, Stella. You promised yourself a sabbatical from men. Don’t even think about it.
When I opened the door, my neighbor was nowhere to be found. Instead, an older woman half sat and half lay on the ground in a way that suggested she’d missed a step and fallen backward.
Lord, please tell me she didn’t break a hip.
“Are you okay?”
“I think so,” she said, clearly still stunned.
“Do I need to call for help?”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, no,” she said as she attempted to climb to her feet.
I offered a hand even as I wondered if she should try to stand. But what could you do with an adult who refused help?
I got her to her feet, and she tested putting weight on one foot and then the other. She gently pressed her left wrist and hand. “I think I’m okay.”
“Maybe we should take you to the doctor,” I said. “Just to be safe.”
She patted my cheek. “Sweet girl, I’m not going to the emergency room at this time of night. That would be a fool’s errand. If anything is swollen in the morning, then I’ll reconsider, but ain’t nobody got time for emergency room tomfoolery.”
“If you’re sure . . .”
She put her hands on her hips. “You are just the kindest, but I can handle myself. You’re new around here, aren’t you?”
“Stella Stark,” I said, extending my hand.
Her hand was little more than veins and sinew, but she had a hearty shake. “Marcia Quattlebaum, but you can call me Mrs. Q. I’ve been here since the place opened.”
Wow. That would mean—
“Yes,” she said, as though reading my mind. “Eighty-two years old next September. So you can see I’ve been handling myself for a good long while.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
My response mollified her. “I like a young person with some manners. Why don’t you come up and see me tomorrow? I’ve made a lemon pound cake, and I can’t eat it all myself.”
“Sure.”
“Apartment two-fourteen. Sometime after three. But before seven because I won’t missWheel of Fortunefor anything or anyone.”
