“I’m Consuelo, the housekeeper.”
“Right.” Lola offered her hand, which Consuelo took while offering Lola a warm smile.
“Nice to meet you,” she said, then turned her attention back to the eggs crackling on thepan.
With a sidelong glance Lola saw them. The eggs were perfect. The garlicky smell danced its way into her nostrils, a painful reminder of her to-dolist.
“I hope you like huevos rancheros.” Consuelo grabbed the spatula from a spoon rest next to the stove. “I asked Jack what you liked, and he saideggs.”
“Thanks. I usually try to make my own eggs.” Try being the imperativeword.
“Nonsense, child.” Consuelo flipped the eggs and signaled for her to sit with a hand gesture. “Eggs are my specialty. Along with anything buttery.”
Lola pulled a chair out and sat. She glided her hands on the table, remembering the previous night. Memories of him tasting her, kissing her, impaling her… her underwear! Anxiety cooled her thoughts. Where were her panties? She looked under the table, and her gaze roamed the whole kitchen. After their relapse, it hadn’t even occurred to her to come back and fetch her G-string. Her mind had been too preoccupied with how small he’d made her feel afterward. Cruelty served Jack-style. Fries optional.
Consuelo placed a dish with two warm tortillas and an exquisite omelet in front of her, along with a glass filled with orange juice. Oh. My. God. Did the housekeeper findit?
She cleared her throat. “You know, Consuelo, I washed some clothes last night and might have dropped a couple of pieces on my way to the laundry room…” Turning around to catch sight of any reaction on the woman’s face, she lifted her head. “Did you by any chance . . . see anything?”
Consuelo scratched her chin. “You mean like jeans and shirts? Or socks?”
“Maybe a couple of socks.” She cleared her throat. “Oh, and some underwear.”
Consuelo narrowed her eyes for an instant. “I saw something… a tiny piece of fabric I put inside the machine just in case. It was so small though, it could be a sheer napkin.”
Heat filled Lola’s cheeks. “Thank you. I guess no socksthen.”
“No socks. They’ll turn up though, mija.” Consuelo winked at her. “They alwaysdo.”
Lola wrapped the corn tortilla and lifted it to her mouth. The seasoned eggs, smothered with hot salsa rolled down her throat. Flavors of chili, cilantro and tomatoes teased her palate. Just eat up yourembarrassment.
Watching her with interest and a half-smile, Consuelo pulled the chair in front of her and sat, with folded hands on her apron. “Jack tells me you two are still married, but not in the way it counts.”
“Right.” Lola cleaned her mouth on the napkin. “But not forlong.”
“Does that mean you’ll be fully married again?” The housekeeper raised an eyebrow, with straightened shoulders and a flicker in her eyes hinted she wouldn’t let him off the hook. “The way two people are supposed to be when they takevows?”
Lola almost choked on her second serving, and reached for the glass of juice. Were she and Jack ever fully married? The idea brought a bitter aftertaste that no amount of juice could get rid of. “No… we’ll get divorced after I open my bed and breakfast. It’s a long story.”
Consuelo gave her a couple of patronizing taps on her hand. “You should fight harder. We Mexicans don’t give up easily.”
“I guess.” Upon the confused look on Consuelo’s face, she decided she best explain herself. “I don’t know for sure who I am. My dad adopted me in Texas, then moved to California shortly after. I assumed my parents were Mexican, but no one really knows forsure.”
“It doesn’t matter how you got here, does it?” Consuelo stared at her, studying Lola’s features.
Lola shifted in her seat, suddenly uncomfortable. “It shouldn’t.” Lola injected energy in her voice, afraid the woman would discover something about her that she herself hadn’t been able to in all those years of looking for answers. Nonsense. And time to change the subject to something less unnerving. “I don’t remember you working here when I last visited Red Oak, a couple of yearsago.”
A kind smile creased the lines around Consuelo’s mouth. “I’m from El Paso. I had other jobs like midwifing, preschool teaching. Then I retired and wanted to cook and clean, my cheap form of therapy.”
Lola played with the tender, thin layer of tortilla. “My therapy used to be shopping and reading Celebrity gossip magazines,” she said, more to herself than to Consuelo.
Consuelo chuckled. “I love telenovelas, but suppose you don’t watchthem.”
Lola shrugged. “I don’t have to. My life has become one.” The words rang in her ears barely after they left her lips. Living with her soon-to-be-but-not-yet ex-husband while she tried to start a B&B in Texas had soap opera written all over it with fluorescent markers.
“Did you ever meet Jack’s parents?”
“I met his dad before he died,” she said, remembering the few summers she visited her father at the ranch. Back then, she and Jack had an unspoken agreement to stay out of each other’s way, especially after she tried to throw a party once when her Californian friends had come for a visit. She had been fifteen, and her friends got way too rowdy.
