24. Carmela
Carmela
S outhern California is exactly how I’ve always pictured it: salty ocean air and warm temperate sunshine. The soft scent of native florals mixes with the delicious aroma of passing restaurants as we drive down the highway toward a suburban neighborhood just off the beach where Anders’ home is.
Even though the scenery is soothing, anxiety is like a heavy ball of lead between my lungs and rib cage. Images of the body at Désirer haunt my every waking thought. The coppery smell of the blood. The faint ache where I was cut. It’s like a nightmare I live every waking moment of every day.
Plus, the knowledge that I’m moments away from meeting the two most important women in Anders’ life sits in my throat in the form of a softball-sized lump .
“It smells funny here,” Maya says from the backseat of Anders’ Jeep. We took the top off before we left the airport. The breezy air whips through our hair, turning it into a mass of tangles.
“That’s because New York smells like shit.” Anders laughs.
“I live in Jersey,” she sasses back. Through my side mirror, I can see her staring at the beach as we drive by. Her eyes lighting up even if she won’t admit she’s excited to be here for a few days.
“Right on the other side of the river, so the shit smell drifts over. Nothing smells as good as being on the beach, little one. Trust me, you’re never gonna wanna leave.” He smiles at her through the rearview mirror.
There’s something about the way he says it before his eyes slide to me. Our fingers lace together over the center console, his thumb gently sweeping over mine before he brings them up to his lips to press a kiss against my knuckles.
Anders asked me on the plane how I’d feel about his mom and grandma watching Maya for one evening while we’re here. My anticipation for the talk he wants to have snakes around my heart, crushing it in a vise grip.
Logically, I know it’s his mother. But Mami hasn’t even met Maya. And with everything that’s been going on lately… I know whoever is responsible for the murders isn’t here in California, but I’m still having a hard time deciding whether to leave Maya alone with people she doesn’t know.
I have enough mom guilt as it is.
All I’ve ever wanted is to keep my daughter safe. It’s led to fourteen years of working my ass off while someone else spends more time with my kid than I do. I keep saying four more years until Mick can’t hold her parentage over my head any longer, but by then, she’ll be an adult—ready to go off on her own adventures. Make her own mistakes.
And I’ll be all alone.
“I’m happy you decided to come,” Anders says as softly as he can over the radio and wind. His sweet and smoky tone is a far cry from the gravelly, anger-laced manner in which he always spoke to me when we first met.
He makes me feel like a leaf—one that has holes all over it from being thoroughly chewed up by aphids. Me: leaf, Anders: aphid. He keeps taking chunks out of my armor that will be impossible to fill when he leaves New York.
I always knew it would happen when he caught the murderer, but now that we’ve brought feelings into the mix…
“You okay?” he asks with a concerned look. “You’ve been quiet today.”
“I’m fine. Just a little nervous.” I’ve never met a man’s parents before. What if they don’t like me? “I still think we should have just gotten a hotel. ”
His smile melts my insides, full lips curving up in that damn smirk of his I love so much. “Nonsense. There’s plenty of room at the house. You have nothing to be nervous about, baby girl. They’re gonna love you.”
Looking back at the passing scenery, I catch Maya’s eye in the side mirror. She doesn’t know why we left so quickly, but I can tell she knows something is up.
“Why are we suddenly going to California? And why does he keep saying it’s his job to protect you? I thought Anders was a detective, not a bodyguard.”
My little girl is too smart for her own good.
Truthfully, Anders should have stayed in New York. It’s what he was hired to do—catch whoever is killing these men and leaving me ridiculous threats. But honestly, I don’t feel safe with anyone but him. And even though I know it’s bothering Anders to leave all the work to Martin and Nikolai, I also know he wouldn’t have sent me away on my own.
We pull into the driveway of a ranch-style home with a peach stucco exterior, red-tiled roof, and an attached two-car garage. The yard is somewhat green, dotted with low, trimmed bushes and two giant palms that help shade the house. I’m not really sure what I expected when Anders said he bought a house for his mother and grandmother, but I would never have envisioned something so domestic .
“It’s nothing like what you have in New York…bu t it’s home.” He sounds embarrassed, and the dry comment has me rushing to chase the hint of disappointment from his tone.
“It’s beautiful,” I reassure him. “And incredibly thoughtful to provide for your family. Most men would have stuck their mothers and grandmothers in an apartment and called it good.”
He shrugs, cheeks taking on a tinge of pink as he parks and turns off the Jeep. “They worked their asses off to raise me and make sure I had a good education. The least I could do was give back, especially when I was making decent money and could afford to pay for it. I wanted to give my mom a place she could call home. Get her out of the small apartment we lived in my whole life. Even though the neighbors here are close, at least there aren’t attached walls.”
As we get our luggage from the back, a petite woman with dark hair and light eyes appears on the porch. I know it's his mother from a photo he showed me on the plane. “You made it!” she cries with glee. Her round face lights up as she envelops Anders in a hug, moving slowly in a way that displays the arthritis that’s taken over her body. “Oh, how I’ve missed you. How has New York been?”
“It’s not home, that’s for sure.” Anders’ response digs into my side. I love the East Coast. And while California is lovely, hearing Anders say New York doesn’t feel like home is just another reminder of the impending disaster that will be our break up.
“Well, you’ve barely been there a couple of months and already snagged a girlfriend.” She turns to me and opens her arms. Maya stares at me while I stiffly return the hug, not used to being touched in such a familial manner. “So good to meet you, Carmela. Anders has told me so much about you. I’m Greta.” She turns to Maya. “And you must be Maya. Tell me, do you like brownies? I just pulled some out of the oven.”
The way to my teenage daughter’s heart is through sweets, so Maya has no problem following Greta. I’m a little shocked at how easily Anders’ mom treats us as though we’re already family. I fondly think of how my parents were always warm like that, too.
Warm, chocolatey goodness wafts over us as we enter the house. It reminds me so much of the one I grew up in. A wave of nostalgia rolls through me as Anders gives me a quick tour—flowery wallpaper and rooms with shag carpet, old birch plywood cabinetry, and laminate countertops.
“It has a lot of potential for a renovation, but she refuses to live in a house ‘that looks like it belongs in a magazine and not meant to be lived in,’ ” Anders whispers as we join them in the kitchen.
Maya looks like she’s already at home, which I find strange since she’s always a little more reserved around new people. But she warmed up to Anders quickly, so maybe it’s just part of his family’s charm. Greta fires off question after question, bouncing from what Anders has been doing all this time to what Maya’s favorite subjects in school are as she dishes up the thick, fudgy dessert.
A little bell chimes, filling the kitchen with a melodic ding. “I’ll go get her,” Anders says with a grin.
“Get who?” Maya asks, already halfway done with her brownie.
I take a bite of my decadent dessert, already knowing who they’re talking about. “Grandma Roe,” Greta replies. “She has no filter and dementia. So, if she repeats herself, pay no mind and just let her do her thing. If she says something rude, I apologize in advance. Please don’t hold it against her.”
“...just your lot in life, isn’t it, Andy? To be surrounded by beautiful women,” Roe’s voice floats down the hall. Anders chuckles as he wheels his grandmother into the kitchen. She’s a frail thing, head full of frizzy gray curls and so tiny her joints are pronounced. She lets out a sharp laugh. “And look how beautiful you are! It’s so nice to meet you, Carmela.”
Maya tries to hold back a laugh as Roe reaches for her. “I’m Maya. Carmela is my mom.”
Confusion flickers through Roe’s mottled blue eyes, head ticking as she turns to me. “And look how beautiful you are! It’s so nice to meet you, Carmela,” she repeats.
Above her wheelchair, Anders grins at me and shakes his head. “It’s nice to meet you, too.” I take her outstretched hand and give it a slight squeeze. “Thank you both for letting us stay.”
“It’s Andy’s house. We’re just living in it,” Roe says with more clarity than before. “Greta, dish me up a brownie, would you?” She looks at Maya. “Who are you?”
Maya looks at me for help before Roe reaches over and smacks the top of her hand. “I’m just kidding. You should see the look on your face. Andy tells me you’re quite the chess player. Care to play this old woman?”
My daughter’s face brightens up at the mention of her favorite game. She effortlessly slips into easy camaraderie with Roe, joking, “Only if you promise to take it easy on me.”
The rest of the evening flies by. Anders and I help Greta prepare dinner while Roe and Maya play game after game of chess. Half the time, Roe forgets what she’s doing, but Maya is quick to remind her, graciously letting Roe win all the games.
Most of the time, it’s just me and her, so watching her smoothly blend in with Anders’ family makes my heart happy. It makes me wonder if she’d have as easy a time with my family—with Mami and Papi .
Would they accept her? Welcome her with open arms like Greta and Roe?
Mami and Papi don’t even know about Maya. They gave me a choice when I moved in with Mick: come home and cut all communication with him and abide by their rules, or stay in my situation and have no communication with my parents.
I made my choice, knowing that even though Mick wasn’t going to publicly announce Maya as his, he’d never leave us, and she’d always be taken care of—that she’d grow up under my gentle guidance to make her own decisions, instead of the strict rules that were forced upon me.
“Anders spends all his free time at the beach,” Greta is telling Maya when I snap out of my thoughts. “He lives on the water.”
“I want to learn how to surf,” Maya says as she looks at me. “Can we go tomorrow?”
“No, we’re going to Universal. But if your mom says it’s okay, I’ll take you out on the water before we leave.” I blanch at Anders’ comment, and multiple bad thoughts go through my head simultaneously.
Sharks, riptides, getting pulled under a wave and hitting the reef. Are there reefs here? Did I mention sharks?
I settle with, “We’ll see. Now, get to bed. We have an early day tomorrow, mijita.”
Maya says goodnight to everyone and goes to her room after giving Roe a high-five .
“I thought I heard a little bit of an accent in your voice. Where are you from, dear?” Roe asks once we hear Maya’s door shut.
Smiling politely, I tell her, “New Jersey. Born and raised. My great-great-grandparents immigrated from Cuba.”
She barks a laugh and smacks Anders in the arm. “She’s spicy! You need a spicy woman to keep you in line, boy! Don’t let this one get away. You hear me?”
He smiles apologetically at me and jokes, “I have plenty of spicy women in my life to keep me on my toes, Grandma. You and Mom aren’t exactly the sweetest.”
“Hey, now!” Greta exclaims. “You better get to bed too, young man, before I show you just how spicy I can be.”
Anders and I share another look, trying not to laugh. I feel like a teenager who just had dinner with her boyfriend’s parents for the first time. Greta and Roe remind me of my family. Stern when they need to be, but above all else, kind and caring.
After we say goodnight, we linger in the hall outside the room Maya and I are sharing. “See? I told you they’d love you,” Anders whispers against my ear. His hands encircle my waist as my back presses against the wall. The space between us is thick with tension—a crackling cocoon of kinetic energy that follows us as he slowly guides me to his room.
“Anders, we can’t.” I make no move to stop him, but hooking up with his family just two rooms away doesn’t seem respectable.
“You’re so wound up with anxiety. I think you need a stress reliever.” The back of my knees hit his bed, and he locks the door before resuming his mission. “Can you be quiet, Cara?” His lips brush over mine while he holds his weight over me as we inch toward the headboard.
Liquid heat settles between my legs at his heady tone. Somehow, trying to be quiet makes his voice rougher, and the gravelly notes wrap around all the right places, making my nipples harden into stiff peaks and the space between my legs grows slick with desire.
“Relax, baby.” His whispers ghost over my legs as he removes my shorts and underwear. “Let me take care of you.”
As he lowers his head between my legs, our eyes lock. His tongue is deliberate. Languid and methodical as he brings me to the edge of release. I’ve never experienced an orgasm from such a slow build-up, but my climax still hits with the same toe-curling pleasure Anders always pulls from me.
There’s something else this time, though.
A fluffy, sweet cloud has settled over us. Filled with feelings that remind me of a romance I once longed for. The words are on the tip of his tongue as it curls against mine—I can feel it. Words I don’t know that I’m ready to hear. A sense of domestication I’m not sure I can handle.
I’ve dedicated my entire adult life to my child and the man who first stole my heart. But I’ve also had this other life where I can pretend I’m someone else for a little while. Acknowledging the feelings growing between Anders and me, admitting the emotions swirling around my chest, and trying to find a way in—I don’t know if I’m ready for it.
“Cara…” His voice is guarded as he brushes my hair out of my face. “There’s something I wanted–”
“I’m exhausted,” I interrupt as panic seizes my lungs. “Thank you for the stress relief, but I should get to bed.”
His brows furrow, his turtle shell orbs darting back and forth between mine. A long blink carries away the puzzlement in his gaze. “Okay…” The bed dips as he rolls onto his side and watches me get dressed with a clipped, “Goodnight then.”
“Goodnight,” I say over my shoulder, refusing to look back. Because if I do, I might just let Anders say what he wants to say. And if he tells me what I think he wants to, my world will turn upside down.
My life is in New York. His is here in California.
I don’t want to have my heart broken once he returns here, and I can’t move Maya across the country. Mick said he would never allow it.
Especially not now that he wants to tell her he’s her father .
I softly open the door to my room, sneaking in as quietly as I can. I crawl into bed with Maya and gently pull back the curtain of hair covering her face.
She is my priority. Her present. Her future. She’s my everything.
I refuse to be selfish and upend her world for my own happiness.
Anders will understand.
He has to.