Chapter 35 Luisa
After my red haze of anger subsided, I called Augusto and filled him in on every detail of the last three months. He listened, asked probing questions, went over crucial details, and promised to help, before reprimanding me for being “so dumb and reckless.”
My saint of a brother-in-law worked around the clock, calling in multiple favors and expediting the investigation into Eli’s possible impersonation charges.
He met with Judge Thacker, Griggs, and the other witnesses.
Aided by Virginia’s unexpected assistance with the judge, Augusto somehow managed to convince them—or to be more precise, create the illusion that it was their idea—that it was best for the club’s reputation if they dropped the charges and buried the paperwork, or risk ending up as a headline in a major news outlet.
What journalist worth their salt would resist outing the fraudster who infiltrated one of the most prestigious country clubs in the country?
The subtext being that by outing Eli, they out themselves.
Augusto swatted away every one of my attempts to help.
You’ve done enough, Luisa, he’d said in a tone that reeked of disappointment.
His rejection was one more item on a growing list of my self-inflicted losses: Augusto’s respect, Holly’s friendship, Eli’s freedom, Pearl’s and Aidan’s college prospects, the Castillos’ home, my career, my life, my future.
Eli spent all of Sunday held at the Fulton County Jail, awaiting a Monday morning hearing.
Meanwhile, I sat on my hands, spiraling.
Alone in my room, I pulled up Gloria’s phone number a dozen times but couldn’t bring myself to dial.
It was over. Her prayers had gone unanswered, just as mine had all those years ago.
All I had left to do was question the trail of bad decisions I’d left behind since the morning my editor, Nina, fired me.
I’ve never been a sloppy investigator. I lean on facts, research, analysis. I excel at identifying patterns and inconsistencies. I’m guided by evidence and logic. And above all, I know to remain objective. Emotions are a nuisance in the news world.
Which is how, by the time the sun has set on Sunday, I have reached a self-evident conclusion: I trusted two people with my life, and yet again, everything has fallen apart.
Adult Luisa is not much different than teenage Luisa, it seems. Again I put my life in the hands of a naive woman and a con man.
And a plan, as it turns out, Chip could’ve rightly compared to a hunk of Swiss cheese.
Looking back to my meeting with Holly at Ginny’s bar, I should’ve paid closer attention to the red flags, starting with the stupid karaoke bet. Who bets their life on a song?
Apparently, I do.
And then there’s Eli. A self-avowed professional trickster. Did the man mean a single word he said to me? Were his feelings truthful? And even if they were, what’s preventing him from duping me in the future? Is this the man I want to gamble my happiness on?
I think of my mother and how much direct evidence she dismissed or outright ignored over the years.
She crafted excuses for my dad when he was away for longer than could be justified.
She blamed our friends when our landline rang, only to have the caller hang up.
She took his lipstick-stained dress shirts to the laundress, not once confronting him about it.
She actively chose to believe the lie.
I, by contrast, transact in facts.
And the fact of the matter is that I will be better on my own.
I’ll give Mami credit for this, though: she taught me how to pack up my life and start over again somewhere new.
So, yesterday, I reached out to every one of my professional contacts and applied to jobs in news markets as far as Honolulu.
I began to make plans for a future 4,490 miles away from here.
I just need a fresh start, I told myself over and over.
I could take up surfing, rent a little condo by the beach, enroll in some law courses at the University of Hawaii, and be an island girl again.
Now it’s noon on Monday—thirty-six hours since Eli’s arrest at the club.
I’m loitering in the waiting area of the Fulton County Jail, sleep-deprived, physically spent, and emotionally drained, but eager to get this over with.
The quicker I blow up the bridge between me and Eli, the sooner I can move on with my life away from here.
A guard buzzes the doors to the holding section of the building.
Eli steps out in the black T-shirt and gray sweats I gave Augusto to deliver yesterday.
His clothes are rumpled, his hair is sticking up in a mess.
He’s got dark circles under his eyes and a beard shadow.
I force my body not to respond to his physical presence, tamp down every feeling of affection, longing, and want in my heart, because now is not the time for sentimentality.
Now is the time to take care of myself, do what needs to be done, be practical, pragmatic, and get myself back on track.
“Christ, Luisa, it’s so fucking good to see you,” he says warmly, extending both arms as if to embrace. I step back, out of reach. “Did something else happen? Is Holly okay?” His expression shifts to concern.
“Let’s go,” I respond, briskly moving out the main doors into the blistering midday sun.
Eli jogs to catch up with me.
“Luisa, we’ll figure something out,” he says, falling into step beside me on the sidewalk. “I’ll help you. We’ll regroup. I had time to think, and I have some ideas—”
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 touch me. 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.
My lungs 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.