I stop abruptly. “I don’t need your help,” I snap, cutting him off. “I don’t need anyone’s help.” I’m breathing hard, internally gasping through the rush of rage, dejection, and grief surging inside me.
Eli examines my face, the lines between his eyebrows and forehead deepening. “You haven’t slept,” he observes, reaching for a loose strand of my hair, which is haphazardly up in a bun. “You’re not okay, Luisa. You’re a live wire.”
“I’m fine,” I insist, avoiding his touch. I can’t let him touchme. If I do, I may come undone. And I’m barely hanging on by a thread.
We stand on the blazing sidewalk in silence. Families go in and out of the building, patrol cars cruise through the parking lot, the U.S. flag ripples at the end of a post, rows of barbed wire crown the high-security wall behind it. I think back to all the hours I’ve spent in this very spot, reporting on the atrocious conditions inside the jail, holding officials accountable. But my Atlanta journalism career is over now, gone forever.
I need to move on, do what I came here to do, before he has an opening to change my mind or stop me.
As if reading my thoughts, he says, “Don’t do this.” He reaches for my hands, but I tuck them away. “We can fix this together. We’re a team.”
I scoff at the idea. “We’re not a team, Eli. Holly and I hired you to do a job. And it was a mistake.”
“I’m calling bullshit,” he says. “You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t care.”
“You don’t know me like you think you do.” I pull an envelope out of my bag, shove it into his open palm. “Here’s the rest of your payment.”
He stares at the cash, then back at me. The wounded expression in his eyes makes me want to vomit, but guess what? I’ve got nothing left inside me.
“Augusto is handling the charges,” I explain, my voice so detached it barely feels like my own. “They’ll be dropped.” I add in a more biting tone, “Virginia—of all people—came through for you in the end.” I avert my eyes from his pained expression. “So we’re good.”
He releases a heavy sigh, shaking his head at the envelope in his hand.
“You got some new clothes out of the deal. A new haircut,” I remind him bitterly. “What more do you want from me?”
“To get your head out of your ass,” Eli shoots back in that backwoods accent I used to loathe, and which, strangely, I’ve missed. “I’m not just some disposable thing,” he exclaims. “If I wanted to be used and thrown away, I would’ve called my dad.”
The accusation lands like a closed fist to my sternum. Mylungs constrict to a breaking point, but I don’t let it show. I need to get out of here, put distance between us. I remind myself again and again that if I don’t get this man out of my life now, I’ll pay for it later. Love like this doesn’t last. And the more I let him in, the more he’ll be able to hurt me.
“You’re not a piece of garbage, Eli. You’re just a silly bet,” I spit, pushing past the knot in the back of my throat. “Holly thought we could turn you into a country club gentleman. I bet her otherwise. I guess I won.”
I expect him to storm off, walk away and not look back. But he just stares down at me with those wolfish gray eyes, something like pity behind his gaze.
“Yeah, you won,” he says, his expression vacant. “I never mattered to you one bit. I reckon you should’ve just left me back at the Happy Hooker.”
Eli forces the money back into my hands. Within seconds, he’s disappeared out of the parking lot, and out of my life.
I guess I won.What a stupid thing to say.
Later that evening, someone knocks on my bedroom door, and I lift my head from my pillow, bleary-eyed and confused. I have no idea what time it is or how long I’ve been drifting between asleep and awake. I stood on that hot sidewalk for God knows how long before getting into my SUV and driving straight home. Then I climbed into bed fully dressed, sneakers still on, and passed out from exhaustion.
“Luisa?” Carola peers into my room, backlit against the hallway’s bright light. I squint, then cover my face with my forearm, sinking deeper into my pillow.
“What?” I reply groggily.
“I brought you some of Abuela’s asopao,” she says, letting herself in. “Mami says you haven’t eaten anything.” She turns on the lamp on my nightstand, then sets down a tray carrying a bowl of chicken-and-rice soup. My stomach growls at the enticing smell of sofrito, tomato, and cilantro, but it’s hard to make myself sit up. I’m so tired.
“Is this about your job?” she asks quietly. I turn my head tomeet her gaze, telepathically willing my thoughts into her mind. “Or is it about the actor and what happened at the country club on Saturday night?”
She takes off my shoes, drops them by the bottom of the bed. I slide over and make room for her beside me. Carola sits in the empty space, resting her back against the upholstered headboard.
“Eli,” I mutter, my voice croaky, my throat dry. “His name is Eli.” I curl up beside her, laying my head on her lap. “Did Augusto tell you everything?”
“Um-hum.” She runs her fingers through my curls, caressing my hairline.
“Did you tell Mami and Abuela?” I ask, resigned to have every detail of my life up for family consumption. I’m too tired to argue.
“No,” she says, surprising me. “Let’s just keep this one between us. There’s too many others involved.”
