Chapter 33 Luisa #2
“Fine, you got me,” Eli says with a dismissive shrug, trying to regain his cocky Tripp persona. “I don’t remember the fucking handshake. Sue me.”
Judge Thacker steps forward, somehow even more menacing in his white suit and black Western bow tie.
“We’re gonna do a little more than that, son.
” He leans forward, hands resting over the round handle of his costume’s cane.
“If my grandson is correct, it seems that you’ve stolen this young man’s identity.
” He takes Virginia by the arm, moving her away from Tripp and toward himself.
“Georgia carries a maximum ten-year prison sentence for first offenders.” He stabs his cane in Eli’s direction. “More for subsequent offenses.”
My vision blurs. Eli can’t go to prison, I think erratically. Who will help me save the Castillos’ home? Who will take Pearl to Savannah in the fall? How will he get Mabel to Wyoming? All at once I’m dizzy, my thoughts careening into a tailspin.
“We have to do something,” I hear myself cry out in a whisper. I move toward the steps, but Holly catches the sleeve of my jacket, pulling me back.
“Where are you going?” she whisper-yells.
“We can’t let him get arrested.” My mouth goes dry.
My body is on the verge of a panic attack, but it will have to wait.
We need to intervene before the judge puts in a call to his buddy the sheriff.
“Follow me,” I say, clutching my drinks tray, doing my best to calm my wobbly legs as I take the steps, one at a time, Holly moving beside me.
“Can I get you gentlemen some drinks?” I ask, forcing my face to rearrange itself into a servile smile.
“Holly,” Griggs snarls, ignoring me. “Get security.”
“Is there something the matter, Mr. Johnson?” Holly asks, her voice remarkably measured and steady. She makes a point to glance up the steps, conveying with one look that there are other guests in the courtyard who might be listening, appealing to their need for discretion.
Seeming to read the room, Virginia nudges her cousin. “We should get out of here.” They head back up the steps to the lawn, but not before Virginia tosses one last look in my direction, her expression shaded by something like remorse.
“A fraudster has infiltrated the club,” Judge Thacker concludes, stabbing the ground with his cane.
“Just can’t trust anyone these days,” Griggs interjects, folding his arms across his chest.
“Holly,” Judge Thacker says, reaching for her shoulder. “Please call the police.”
The glasses on my tray rattle, turning everyone’s attention to me. Everyone except Holly looks genuinely surprised to see me standing there.
“María, is it?” Jim Wade says, rolling the r unnecessarily. His pale face pokes out from the toothy mouth of the giant lizard. “Why don’t you run inside and grab us a round of bourbons?” He smiles as if nothing’s the matter. As if he’s not about to wreck our lives, obliterate our futures.
“Happy to,” I manage, avoiding Eli’s hard gaze as I turn back toward the ballroom, uncertain of what to do next.
I stride across the courtyard, berating myself.
How could I dismiss Virginia’s comment about her cousin when we first met her at the derby party?
Why didn’t we cross-reference the guest list?
Why didn’t I follow up, do a deep dive? Why did I agree to this godforsaken plan in the first place?
I abandon the drinks tray at the bar, where I catch sight of Chip, the publisher of The Georgia Times, enjoying a cocktail and flirting with a younger woman, decidedly not his wife.
You won, asshole. And I should’ve fucking given him explosive diarrhea when I had the chance. Too late now.
Half an hour later, Holly and I idle in the parking lot behind the club, watching as Eli’s wrists are encased in handcuffs and he’s loaded into the back of a patrol car.
Holly asked the officer to turn off the patrol’s lights so as not to disturb the party’s guests.
I get that she’s also doing her job, but who cares about a bunch of rich hedonists when we’re now responsible for getting Eli arrested?
A crushing sense of desperation has settled at my center, wringing my chest with pain.
“What happens now?” Holly asks quietly beside me.
I know she’s not expecting an answer. I know this is one of those rhetorical questions we ask ourselves when there is nothing left to say.
But the fact that we didn’t anticipate this as a possible outcome; the fact that we are not fucking prepared for this turn of events; the fact that I was stupid enough to trust Holly when she said she knew all the rules, and we would be “in and out, with the proof we need,” makes me want to break something.
Because I know better than this. I know to always have an exit plan.
And I know never to rely on others when I should be relying on myself.
“This was such a stupid idea,” I snarl in frustration. “Why did I let you drag me into this?”
“I’m sorry?” Holly turns to face me, eyes narrowed, cheeks glowing red. “Who dragged who? You’re not putting the blame on me.”
“I trusted you with my whole fucking life,” I shriek, shaking my head in disbelief. “How could I have been so naive, so reckless?” I bark. “God, this was such a dumbass plan. And the worst part about it is I knew not to get involved—I know better.”
Holly tenses, exhaling hard beside me. “We were supposed to be in and out—”
“Stop saying that!” I cut her off angrily.
“You found Tripp’s identity—” I tick off each charge with my fingers.
“You called the house mother at Phi Delt. You dug up the details from Ole Miss.” I throw both hands in the air, exasperated.
“Why did I trust an amateur sleuth and a pool hustler, when I’m the one with the college degree? ”
Holly shrinks at the accusation. “Stop,” she tells me, “before you go too far.”
“Too far?” I gesture to the patrol car with my open palm. “It’s the end of the line, Holly. I followed your lead and look where you got us—a fucking dead end.”
Eli’s vacant stare is fixed on the windshield, his expression inscrutable.
“I’m not gonna go down this road with you, Luisa.” She yanks off the earpiece on her headset. “You’re trying to hurt me—pushing me away because you’re scared.” Her shoulders sag as she entreats, “Don’t you see?”
“Oh, I see perfectly,” I say, jaw clenched, arms folded over my chest. “I brought you in. You came up with this harebrained scheme. And now, we’ve gone from bad to dumpster fire,” I huff. “I should’ve gone at it alone.”
“This is what you do.” She splays her hands in my direction. “You push everyone away when things get too real.” Blotches of red take over her neck, blending into her silk scarf. “News flash: just because your father left you half a lifetime ago, doesn’t mean the whole world will let you down.”
“Are you kidding me right now,” I hiss back, glaring.
“You want to talk about people who’ve let their family define them?
” There’s a vein pulsing in the back of my neck, bringing on a blinding headache.
I push past it, too enraged to stop. “You’ve let your parents’ judgment define your whole life.
You’re stuck in a rut at this stupid, vacuous country club, afraid to take any risks because you still believe what your mother said about you all those years ago.
” I pause, letting my words land. “Maybe you should stop seeing yourself as a teen mom, Holly.”
Holly stares back like I’ve just slapped her across the face. She opens her mouth to respond, but a voice comes through the earpiece, cutting her off. She slips the earpiece back on with trembling hands.
“Holly here,” she speaks into the microphone, steadying her voice. She listens, her thumb and index finger squeezing at the sides of her head. “I’ll be right there.” To me, she says, “I have to go.”
“What?” I spit as she’s walking away. “Problem with the confetti cannons?” She turns, and I tap at my temple with my index finger, tilting my head as if I’m remembering something.
“Or maybe it’s the midnight doughnut run?
” I’m being a jerk. This is low even for me.
But I want her to stay and fight me. I don’t want to face this alone. Why can’t she see that?
“I’m not doing this,” she says, quietly. More chatter comes over her walkie-talkie.
“Go back to your party, Holly,” I say, despondent. “Because let’s face it, it’s not like you ever escaped the country club scene, did you? You’re still living in your parents’ shadow, hoping that someday you’ll be accepted by these people.”
She turns to leave, takes a few steps, then stops, whirling around.
“You’re wrong about us, Luisa,” she says slowly.
“Eli may not be an award-winning investigative journalist, but he is just as smart as you, and a hell of a lot more emotionally intuitive.” She lifts her chin, looking me in the eyes as she says, “And I don’t have a college degree because I had the audacity to put my son’s needs before my own. ”
As soon as the words leave her mouth, I know I’ve gone too far. I’ve aimed for the jugular and managed to wound with surgical precision.
Holly turns to leave for good. I should chase her down, apologize.
I should say that I didn’t mean it, that I’m frustrated, angry, stressed, heartbroken—all the things!
But my feet don’t move and the words don’t form in my mouth.
There’s only one thought drowning out everything else: What chaos have we unleashed with our sloppy, half-baked plans?
I’m standing alone in the parking lot as the patrol car hauls Eli to the Fulton County Jail, when Virginia appears beside me, her costume’s wig and mustache discarded.
“Oh God, I’m so sorry about this mess,” she says, genuine concern in her voice. “Is he gonna be okay?”
I can’t muster the breath to respond, because I have no idea.
Inside, the clock strikes midnight, confetti cannons go off, and the band breaks into Kool & The Gang’s “Celebration.” That’s when I do something I haven’t done in more than a decade: I pray.