Chapter Thirty-seven Bianca
Chapter Thirty-seven
Bianca
As the Lyft pulled away from the curb and she stepped onto the porch, she was consumed by the Louisiana heat.
It was smothering. She used her key to open the door and step inside.
She stood in the foyer for a moment—listening.
The only sound was that from the central air unit making a whirring noise as it kicked on.
Downstairs she opened the French glass doors that led out to the patio.
She needed to let fresh air flow through, even if just for a moment.
Bianca found a candle, something with jasmine and spices.
She lit it and let the scent flow through the house.
In the family room, she sorted through her albums and found one that she’d taken from her abuelita’s collection.
Carefully, she placed the vinyl on the turntable.
Celia Cruz’s voice rang out from the speakers with her Spanish version of “I Will Survive.” Her strong, deep voice caused Bianca to dance around the house.
She hadn’t allowed herself to dance like that in a while, but now she found her rhythm.
In the kitchen she started pulling dishes from the shelves.
Even though the movers would arrive in the morning to pack up the house, she felt a need to do something—to busy herself.
She placed plates, bowls, and saucers neatly onto the island.
Her phone vibrated on the counter and she glanced at the text: Are you back in New Orleans?
She smiled to herself and then replied to Harry: Just got here.
His text: Enrolled Mila in school. Now we’re picking up her books and going to check out the dorms. She’s been talking about sharing an apartment with Zoe. Did she mention that to you?
Bianca typed: She did, but I think it’s too soon. I didn’t want to be the one to tell her no. Be the bad guy.
Harry’s response was swift: I will tell her no. I’ll be the bad guy. Maybe we’ll consider it next year.
Bianca smiled at Harry’s subtle protection of her. She had gone through enough with Mila—didn’t need for this to be just one more thing to draw a wedge between them. It seemed as though they were constantly rebuilding.
Bianca typed a response: I’d like for her to get a job. Learn what it means to pay her own way. Learn responsibility.
This is where she often bumped heads with Harry.
He wanted to give Mila the world, while Bianca wanted her to learn strength; to endure things that only life could teach her—like she had.
Abuelita didn’t have much money, so what she got from her were lessons.
Things she held dear. Things she didn’t know she needed until now.
When Bianca’s phone rang she was surprised to see Harry’s face on the screen. She picked up and before she could say anything …
“I admit, I do spoil her.” Harry laughed. His voice was deep, and it made her heart flutter.
“Yes, you do.”
“I, too, want her to learn responsibility.”
“Where is she right now?” Bianca asked.
Bianca wasn’t ready for Mila to learn of her many conversations with Harry in the past weeks—sometimes in the earliest of mornings or in the wee hours of the night.
Some days he had simply calmed her fears, or they’d laughed about things from the past. But she didn’t want to hear her daughter’s judgment about why they should or shouldn’t be talking.
“She’s in the bookstore, buying her books.” He chuckled lightly, understanding Bianca’s hesitation. “I’m in the car … waiting.”
“Good. I don’t need her in my business.” Bianca laughed.
“You don’t want her to know we’ve been talking?” he asked. “It’s the one thing that she’s wanted for years, for her parents to stop fighting. To get along.”
“Not just yet.”
“Your secret is safe with me, then,” Harry said. “I won’t tell.”
It wouldn’t be the first time he’d kept her secret, but this time was different.
After a pause, he said, “She can learn a lot from you, Bianca. I didn’t want to see it or admit it before, because I was just … so mad. But you are a strong woman. I think you’ve made some mistakes, but overall, you’re good-hearted.”
Her voice trembled. “Thank you,” she said softly. “I’m not proud of my past, but I’m really trying to right my wrongs.”
“I see that you are. And I’m proud of you.”
Those words pulled at her heartstrings. She found herself trying to recover as she pulled glasses from the shelf and stacked them on the counter.
Selling the house was a bold move, even for Bianca.
She’d built a life behind these walls. She’d fought cancer and grieved a man she loved—behind these walls.
She only hoped that the couple who had made her a full cash offer just last night would find the same peace that she’d found here.
She wouldn’t take everything to Bodega Bay, just her essentials—clothes, a few dishes, her living room furniture, beds, artifacts.
Everything else would go into storage until she could make time for an estate sale of some kind, or purge.
If simplicity was what she was really going for, it needed to start now.
“Mila’s coming out of the bookstore,” Harry said quickly.
“Okay.”
“She’s hanging out with friends later. I’d like to take you out to dinner if you’re free or even up to it. Maybe to your favorite little Cuban spot in Mid-City.”
“You hate that place,” she said.
“I don’t hate it.” Harry laughed. “I just got sick of eating there so much. You wanted to eat there every other day.”
Her mouth curled into a smile. “I love my favorite little spot in Mid-City. And dinner would be nice.”
“Pick you up at seven, then?”
“Yes,” she said. “I’ll be ready.”
In the garage she started her car. It hadn’t been driven in a while, so she let the engine roar until it settled into a soft hum.
She sat for a moment, hands on the wheel.
Then she backed out of the driveway and headed toward the French Quarter.
She needed to check up on Chic Threads and see how the shop was holding up, and how Amelia was doing without her.
She merged onto I-10, slipping into the rhythm of the freeway. The city unfolded around her, the skyline beaming with the morning sun, traffic pushing forward the way it always did. It was after rush hour, so there was no stress.
She pulled into a narrow spot just down the block from Chic Threads.
The storefront looked the same as when she left it—gold lettering on the windows.
The new styles had arrived, and Amelia had done well with dressing the mannequins in the window.
They were dressed in bold summer prints. A small OPEN sign hung on the door.
Bianca smiled. She really missed her place.
Inside, the familiar jingle of the door chime greeted her, followed by the scent of a woodsy candle.
Amelia hadn’t seen her coming—not at first. She was engaged with a customer, one of their regulars who was known for being difficult, always looking for a discount.
The woman was also always trying to return items to the store—sales tags still attached and reeking of her perfume.
There were countless times Bianca had to firmly tell her no, she couldn’t return things after she’d worn them.
It was a fight that she’d grown tired of having.
Bianca wished she could’ve just banned her from the store altogether.
But Amelia handled the woman with her usual style and grace, smiling, although she wanted to scream.
She looked up and realized that Bianca was watching.
She gave her a warm smile. Bianca winked.
Bianca busied herself by straightening clothes on a rack and refolding clothes on a table.
“Welcome home, stranger.” Amelia was finally able to pull herself away once the woman left.
Bianca embraced her. “It’s so good to see you.”
“Good to see you. You look good. Healthy,” Amelia said.
“Thank you. I’m feeling pretty healthy.” Bianca smiled. “Everything seems to be in order and running smoothly. But I know it’s overwhelming sometimes, doing it by yourself. Maybe we can talk about hiring someone to help out.”
Amelia sighed. “Yeah, things have picked up. Those summer tops you ordered are flying off the shelves. I can’t keep them on hangers. And there’s a long waitlist for the pink ones.”
“A shipment’s coming. It’s just delayed.”
Amelia nodded. “So, you’re really doing it … moving to California?”
“I got an offer on the house last night. We’ll see if it pans out. And I’m closing on my home in California in a couple of days.”
“Wow, Bianca,” Amelia said, a smile on her face. “If you’re happy, I’m happy for you. You know I’ll hold it down here until you figure things out.”
“I appreciate that, more than you know.” Bianca headed toward the door. “I’m not going to stay. I just wanted to drop by. Check things out.”
“Of course. Take care.” Amelia hugged her tightly. “Mila doing okay?”
“Yes. In fact, she’s transferred schools. She’ll be at LSU now.”
“Really? Wow.” Amelia laughed and said, “Well, get her over here to work part-time.”
“I was thinking the exact same thing,” she told Amelia. “A good way to start learning responsibility is with a job.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” Amelia said. “I’ll teach her the ropes when she’s ready.”
Bianca opened the door, and it jingled. “I’ll keep that in mind,” she said before stepping out into the Louisiana heat.
She walked a few blocks down the street, the air humid and thick with the scent of fried seafood.
Zydeco music spilled out from open doors along the way.
She stepped into one of her favorite eateries.
She didn’t need to look at the menu; in fact the woman behind the counter already knew what she wanted when she walked in.
Bianca ordered her usual sandwich with the Italian meats, cheeses, and olive salad soaked into the bread.
It was one of the things she would miss about home—a killer muffuletta.
The oil was soaked through the paper bag as she left with it and hopped into her car.
She couldn’t even wait until she got home before ripping the bag open.
Back at home and out of the heat, she relaxed with a glass of lavender iced tea before finally dozing off for a few hours. She was awakened by an anchor on the six o’clock news discussing crime in the city. She pulled herself together. Harry would pick her up soon.
The summer dress she’d chosen to wear was one that hugged her curves in every way. It was off the shoulder and floral, short enough to reveal a set of great legs but not too much. She wore flat sandals with lacy straps that weaved their way up her calves like vines.
When the doorbell rang she gave her neck a quick spritz of perfume and then rushed downstairs to answer it.
It had been a while since she’d last seen Harry, but now, standing on her doorstep, wearing khakis and a polo shirt, he was even more handsome than she remembered.
The touch of gray in his beard and along his temple.
The beard and the gray were something new, hadn’t been there the last time she saw him.
“Wow,” he said, his eyes giving her a sweep from head to toe. “You look great.”
“Thanks.” She smiled and grabbed her purse next to the door. She stepped out onto the porch and locked the door behind her. “Let’s go.”
Bianca sank into the leather seat of Harry’s sports car. She slipped a pair of Ray-Bans from her bag and onto her face. He made the short drive from uptown to the Cuban restaurant in Mid-City.
The café was a converted pink house with unmistakable charm. Inside the dining room was a cheerful mix of mismatched chairs in pink, yellow, and turquoise. Caribbean music played from the speakers, and the scent of rich spices—cumin and garlic—drifted from the kitchen and throughout the space.
They started with mojitos and a plate of green plantains to share.
She also ordered Caribbean chicken soup.
It was her favorite. She wished she could package up an entire batch of it and take it to California with her.
She would miss this place after she had relocated to the West Coast. Harry ordered his usual, the lechon amado—Cuban-style slow-roasted pork.
“This is definitely your spot,” he said, looking around with a half smile.
She couldn’t count the number of times she had dragged him here when they were together.
“I know I used to drive you crazy here in the past,” she said with a soft smile, “so thank you for bringing me back.”
He smiled. “I admit they have great food.”
“The best.” She relaxed in her seat and enjoyed the live music being played in the corner of the room.
They spent the evening catching up, laughing, reminiscing, and slipping back into that familiar rhythm that came so easy for them. The hours passed without either of them noticing. Every now and then she caught him watching her across the table.
A few mojitos later Harry drove her home.
He walked her to the door. “I had a great time tonight,” he said.
“Me too.” She gave him a gentle smile.
“If I’m ever in California—”
She finished the sentence, “Come see me,” she said, and kissed his cheek. “In fact Remi’s soft opening of her winery is taking place soon … in a couple of weeks—a tasting.”
“Is that an invitation?” Harry asked.
“Could be.” Bianca smiled. “Good night, Harry.”
“Good night, Bianca.”
She watched as he left her front porch—which was once their front porch—and made his way down the flight of stairs and hopped into his car.
She went inside, warmed up her leftover soup in the microwave.
Tomorrow would be the start of something new—something exciting. Her belongings would travel cross-country and meet her in California in a few days. She’d close on her new home in Bodega Bay in just two days, and everything in the universe would be just as it should be.
And she was ready for all of it.