I feel my heart stutter, and I’m not sure how to reply. Is he suggesting that something has changed? Could that “something” possibly be me?
“What I wanted to tell you,” he says, breaking the silence, “is that when I heard your voicemail—”
“You mean my five-minute rant?” I ask, then let out a heavy sigh.
“It wasn’t five minutes, and your words were so genuine, so deeply felt,” he says. “I experienced this rush of recognition, and of gratitude for my own mother. I suppose what I’m trying to say is that I understand.”
My heart wells with emotion, the sort that only comes from unsolicited kindness. I feel tears in the corners of my eyes, and I worry that one might spill over.
“And I still want to help, if there’s any way that I can,” hesays, reaching into his jacket pocket to pull out a clean white handkerchief, perfectly pressed.
Who is this kind ex-punk sitting beside me on a park bench, handing me a fancy handkerchief to wipe my tears?
“Thank you for your offer to help,” I say. “But now that I know you have a criminal record, you probably shouldn’t risk getting thrown back in jail.”
He laughs again, his head thrown back, and stretches his left arm across the bench.
“I’m not joking,” I say.
His arm brushes my shoulder. He doesn’t move it.
“Neither am I,” he replies. “I’ll do whatever you need.”
“We might be in over our heads,” I say. “But I think it will all be over soon. Just a couple more weeks.” My fist flexes around the crisp linen of his handkerchief. “I’m trying not to stress too hard until then.”
“Then might I at least offer a distraction?” he asks. “A night on the town?”
“Like, a date?” I reply.
“I was thinking an actual date, notlikea date,” he teases.
“Okay then, an actual date,” I reply.
“Perfect,” he says, his voice so lovely and smooth that I find myself wishing he were the kind of man who stayed in one place.
CHAPTER 27Luisa
My stomach flutters irrationally, as I ready myself to knock on Eli’s front door.It’s just an afternoon cookout, for Chrissake. Why am I so nervous?
The exterior of the house is charming and inviting, with bright white siding, a vibrant yellow door, and a set of colorful, hanging flower baskets that have been artfully tended. Eli’s truck is in the driveway, and the mere sight of it sends fresh frissons through my gut.
After our first date ended at the White Windmill—now a week ago—Eli drove me home, then walked me to the porch. We stood staring into each other’s eyes for a long beat, the promise of a kiss lingering between us—that is until Mami abruptly turned on the porch lights and scowled at us through the sidelight window by the door. So much for privacy.
Holly burst out laughing when I told her what happened. Luckily, she won’t have a nosy Puerto Rican mother lurking about for her date tonight with the professor.
Meanwhile, I’ll be at Eli’s—meeting his sister for the first time. When Eli texted me midweek to invite me over, I relished the idea of a break from the all-consuming money laundering and embezzlement investigation. I’m turning into quite the expert, if I say so myself. Maybe I should take Mami’s advice and get that law degree after all.
But even though I was looking forward to a night off from sleuthing, I was so nervous about the prospect of meeting Eli’s only family that I finally asked Carola to make good on her promise of a makeover.
Now here I am, sporting a fresh blowout, feeling restless. I run my newly manicured hands over the pleats of my dress, thinking for the hundredth time that I’m overdressed. I should’ve worn jeans. I should’ve worn that new pair of jeweled sandals. But just then, the door swings open and a young woman beams back at me.Too late now.
“You’re Luisa,” she exclaims, pulling at the screen door to lead me inside. “I’m Pearl. You like chocolate cake? Eli wasn’t sure. Went ahead and made it anyway! Mamaw’s Coca-Cola cake. It’s Eli’s favorite. I hope you’ll like it.” She says all of this in one breath, then lifts a cake platter. A lopsided three-tiered cake is festooned with cherries, marshmallows, and rainbow-colored sprinkles, like something out of the Mad Hatter’s tea party.
I’m perplexed by the cake, and by Pearl. She’s an explosion of color in a red scarf, wrapped over two long braids of wispy blond hair, and a pair of navy coveralls coated in vibrant paint spatter. The jumpsuit is unzipped at the top, hanging around her waist, a worn Pink FloydDark Side of the MoonT-shirt underneath. And I am so, so overdressed.
“So good to meet you, Pearl,” I say warmly, stepping inside the house. “And yes, I love chocolate cake.” I smile, my gaze roaming the room in search of Eli.
“He’s on the back deck,” she says. “On grill duty.” She stands by the door, smiling and staring, her slanted cake propped between us. “You have a very pretty face,” she observes matter-of-factly. “You remind me of an Amrita Sher-Gil portrait. Must be the red mouth.”
