Chapter Fifteen
Drea grabbed another plate of pastelito de guayaba off the counter.
Popping one into her mouth and taking a moment to savor the guava filling, she took the plate around the living room to circulate.
Thank goodness for José. She’d never be able to repay him for everything he’d done for her.
He’d refused to take payment for the food, covered her shifts for the day, and asked his cousin who ran the funeral home to make every effort to accommodate the funeral quickly.
It was unlikely the arches of her feet would ever forgive her. She was desperate to kick off the black heels.
“Andrea, pequena.”
Drea smoothed the front of her dress with her free hand. “Hey, Mrs. Hernandes. Thank you for coming.” It was a short walk from her home four doors away, but her neighbor was incredibly unsteady on her feet.
“Your young man helped me up the steps. Qué nińo tan hermoso.”
Was he ever? Drea looked over to where Cujo was leaning against the wall talking to Trent, he was a fine looking man.
Mrs. Hernandes took a pastelito off the plate, and Drea handed her a napkin. “God bless your momma, pequena. May He bear witness to her struggles and reward her in His kingdom.”
“Amen,” Drea said, because it was expected.
“You are a good girl. Una buena chica.” Mrs. Hernandes patted her arm. “You did your duty. Now, go live your life, pequena.”
If only she knew what she wanted to do. She’d been good at English, but had no real inclination to teach, like Harper did. She’d thought about writing a book once. Hmm. Maybe. She was quick on her feet with café math, but didn’t have the capabilities to go further in that field.
The house was busier than she’d expected.
Aunt Celine had arrived with some family friends.
Mr. Escudero was sitting on the sofa. Nine or ten more neighbors, Trent and Harper, a couple of people who had gone to school with Rosa, and Dina, who ran the day center her mom had gone to a couple of days a week before she got too sick.
Cujo caught her eye and tilted his head to encourage her over. The pastelitos. He’d already eaten five. She narrowed her eyes at him and he pouted. Full on, bottom lip sticking out pouted.
“Fine,” she said, walking over to him.
“See. Knew you liked me.” He popped a whole pastry into his mouth and chewed. “Man, this is some good shit.”
“Funeral, bro,” Trent said, knocking him in the stomach and pinching a pastry off the plate.
“Sorry, Drea,” Cujo mumbled.
She wandered back into the kitchen to grab another pot of coffee.
“Drea, can I have a word?” Mr. Ibarra stood in a suit two sizes too small while dabbing at a thin line of sweat along his receding hairline. He held a manila folder under his arm and smelled like bread, a by-product of his law office being above a local bakery.
“Of course,” Drea put the coffeepot back down.
“Firstly, my deepest condolences. Your mom called me several years ago, asked if I could help her get her documents in order. She had a small policy for funeral expenses.”
“What does it cover exactly?” He passed her a small pamphlet from the folder, and she looked inside.
“It’s a simple package. To cover the cost of the coffin, cremation, and such. The details of how to claim are in there.”
There was no mention of insurance in her mom’s files, but she sent her a silent prayer of thanks.
Any help would come in handy. As it was, there hadn’t been a single frill in her mom’s funeral.
She’d managed to cover the deposit, but paying the full amount had involved asking José for a large advance on her salary.
“The will is straightforward. She left everything to you. I can recommend a reasonable accountant who can help you figure all this out.”
Accountants cost money. She wondered if H&R Block dealt with stuff like this.
He slid an envelope across the table. Seeing her name in her mom’s handwriting brought tears to her eyes. “Your mom called me recently and I came to see her. She left this with us for safekeeping. This is the only copy.”
“How much does my mom owe you for all this, Mr. Ibarra?”
“Oh, no charge, Drea. My wife used to go to school with your mom. They were very good friends at one time. In hindsight, I think we both wish we had done more to help you while she was still here. I’m sorry for your loss, Andrea.”
Mr. Ibarra left the kitchen. Drea stared at the envelope he left behind. She should do another round with the coffee, but she was desperate to read what her mother had written.
Without another thought for her guests, she grabbed the letter and stepped outside. She ripped the envelope and pulled the letter out.
Dear Andrea,
I’m sorry. I should never have been your problem to care for and look after. But you did an amazing job, baby girl. I know it’s been hard. And I didn’t help when I could have, or should have. I am proud of you, the smart, capable, responsible woman you have become.
Forgive me, Andrea. I wanted so much more for you than I was able to give you. Live your life, experience the things I stopped you from doing.
I love you,
Mom
* * *
When Cujo finally found Drea, she was staring at a piece of paper. It shook in her hand, and she was biting down the side of her thumb.
“You okay, Shortcake?” He slipped his arm around her shoulder.
Immediately, she turned and wrapped her arms around his waist.
“What is it? What’s in the letter?” he asked. “Not that I’m prying if you don’t want to tell me.”
She released him and handed the letter over. He read it quickly. “Wow.”
“Yeah.” Drea let out a large sigh and swept her hair back over her shoulders. “The lawyer just passed it to me.”
“How are you doing?”
“Why couldn’t she say that to me when she was alive? Why could she put it on a piece of paper and hand it to a virtual stranger? Why was that easier than saying ‘Hey, Drea’ one evening instead of asking me what was for dinner?”
He put his arms around her waist and pulled her close.
“I don’t know, Drea. I guess the most important things are sometimes the hardest to say.
I nearly gave up on us because of everything else that was going on with me.
It felt easier to put distance between us than tell you how I was feeling. Perhaps your mom had the same problem.”
“So it’s me. I’m just too hard to talk to?”
“No, Drea. It was me. I had to get things sorted out in my own mind before I could speak to you. Perhaps your mom just ran out of time.”
Drea laid her forehead against his chest.
Harper bustled into the kitchen, quickly followed by Trent. “Is there any more coffee left? Oh, sorry.”
Drea squeezed Cujo’s waist. “I’ll make some more.”
“I can do it,” Harper said, pulling the filter out and dropping it into the garbage. “Are you okay, sweetie?”
“It’s been a crazy run of weeks. With the woman and Snake and Mom,” Drea replied, rinsing the carafe.
“Where do things stand with all that?” Trent asked.
“We were at the police station just the other day,” Cujo replied. “They don’t know who the woman is yet, but they have nailed some of the other pieces.” He filled them in on Mike, Walter, and the rest of the developments.
“That’s some heavy shit, man,” Trent said. “That’s a lot for you to deal with, Drea.” Trent pulled Drea in for a hug. Cujo coughed gruffly. To see his best friend so concerned for his girl. Hell, he’d feel the same way about Harper.
“Drea. Pequena.” Mrs. Hernandez stood in the doorway.
“Mrs. Hernandes,” Drea said.
Cujo rushed to help her inside the kitchen. She patted Cujo’s cheek. “You are such a good boy. Some of us are leaving now.”
They escorted Mrs. Hernandes to the hall. Cujo stood by Drea’s side as people said their good-byes.
“Bye, sweetheart.” Mrs. Hernandes squeezed Drea’s hand. “Maybe now you can go off to college like you always talked about doing.”
“God bless your mother, Andrea. Tell me if you need Juanita’s number at college. She’d be more than happy to help you figure out how to apply.” Mr. Ibarra shook Drea’s and Cujo’s hands.
“You know Raoul’s wife just got her real estate license,” Dina said. “I’m sure she’d help you out if you decide to sell.”
They needed to talk. He had no idea what Drea wanted but it was clear everyone else expected her to go. He tipped his head toward Trent.
“Yeah, well, Harper and I will be off, too.” Trent made for the door.
“No, sweetie, we won’t. I need to help Drea tidy up.” Harper started to pick up the red plastic cups they’d used for soft drinks.
“You don’t need to do that. I got it,” Drea said.
“You sure?”
Drea nodded. “Go. I need a nap.”
Trent and Harper hugged Drea and left.
The house was silent, so very different from the rest of the day. Drea hadn’t sat down since breakfast. She’d been focused to the point of collapse.
“Leave this. Come with me for a minute.” Cujo took her hand gently and walked her through the house to the wooden steps leading to the garden. Weeds stood tall, fence panels were missing, and the concrete patio was cracked and broken in places.
“Just so you know,” he said, sitting on the steps and pulling Drea with him. “I’m glad my first impression of you was wrong.”
Drea laughed and leaned against him, her body warm. “Do I want to know what your first impression actually was?”
“Not really. I kind of want to get laid tonight. Or now. Or somewhere in between.”
“I think I was wrong about you, too.” She turned her face up to his, and he couldn’t resist kissing her.
“What are you going to do now, Shortcake? Everyone seems to think you’re going to leave.”
Drea sighed. “I honestly don’t know. For the longest time, I’ve wanted to move. I was so young when I started to look after Mom, and now I don’t really know what to do without her. Honestly though, I can’t afford to do anything yet.”
He wrapped his arm around her. “I know this is all new. You and me. But—” He hoped he didn’t scare the shit out of her. “When you do decide what you want to do, can we figure out where we’d do it together?”
“You’d leave Miami?” She sounded surprised.
“Wouldn’t be my first choice, but if it was a toss-up between staying in Miami without you or being with you, you win.
” And it was the truth. The idea of leaving his brothers, Trent, the shop weighed heavily, but it was nothing compared to the blow torch that burned in his gut when he thought of Drea leaving Miami without him.
“You’re not going soft on me, are you, Brody?”
He shrugged, deliberately nonchalant. “No, I actually think I’m going hard.”
“You really like me, huh?” Yeah, and maybe he should use the much more volatile L-word.
“Yeah, Shortcake, I do.”