Total pages in book: 143
Estimated words: 136743 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 684(@200wpm)___ 547(@250wpm)___ 456(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 136743 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 684(@200wpm)___ 547(@250wpm)___ 456(@300wpm)
“Okay.” Diane looks over her shoulder toward the front desk. “I better get back, then. Thank you both for doing this.”
She walks off, and Soledad and I watch each other for a few silent seconds.
“How serendipitous that you happened to still be around to help,” she says, starting the walk to the car.
I push the cart and keep pace with her, following Harrington’s camellia-lined brick path toward the parking lot.
“You may not believe this,” I say. “But I kind of arranged to be around when you finished so I could see you.”
“No!” Soledad turns mock-shocked eyes on me, pressing one hand to her chest. “Mr. Cross. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you’re stalking me.”
“Seems the only way I’ll get to see you.”
She sobers, an apology etched on her expression. “I know it’s not ideal. I’m sorry. I—”
“You don’t owe me anything,” I say, parking the cart beside her Pilot. “It’s not like we’re in a real relationship, right?”
I regret the words as soon as they leave my mouth. She’s turned away from me, loading dishes into the trunk, and the slim line of her shoulders tenses. She pauses, dropping her arms and her head. The side-opening trunk door shields us from the school’s view, so I take a chance, gripping her arms gently from behind and bending to whisper in her ear.
“I’m sorry.” I pull her softness into my chest and fold my hands over her waist, leaning down to the curve of her neck. “I don’t mean to pressure you. You’re doing what feels best for you right now. I respect that. I just…”
Want you.
I don’t say it aloud, but the way her hands close over mine in front of her, the way she leans back into me, letting her head fall against my chest, tell me she knows. Tell me she feels it too. In her own time, she’ll know how we should move forward. I can be patient and give her that space.
The sound of quick breaths and running feet approaching makes us spring apart, but when Inez rounds the car, there is still suspicion in her eyes as she looks between her mother and me.
“Inez,” Soledad says, slamming the trunk door. “Hey. What are you doing out of class?”
Her daughter scowls, glaring at the two of us before tossing the apron to Soledad and turning on her heel.
“You forgot that!” she yells over her shoulder, taking off to run back to the school.
Soledad looks at the fabric clutched to her chest, then pulls it away and stares down at the vibrantly stitched message.
I’M THE COOL MOM.
CHAPTER FORTY
SOLEDAD
So how was school?” I ask, my tone bright and false-sounding even to my ears.
“Great.” Lupe serves herself some of the grilled chopped vegetable salad from the center of the table. “I got an A on that history test.”
“That’s amazing, honey.” I smile with genuine pleasure. “Studying really paid off, huh?”
“Yeah.” She nods. “Don’t forget I need to pay for that SAT prep class.”
“Right.” I start adding and subtracting figures in my head to make sure I’ll be able to handle even one extra expense. “We’ll take care of it.”
“I can get a job, Mom,” Lupe says, ladling some of the tomato bisque into her empty bowl. “I can help.”
“No.” I release a sigh and shake my head. “What I mean is not yet. I want you focused on school right now and all the extracurricular stuff colleges will be looking for.”
“What about this summer?” she ventures. “Deja and I thought about maybe working at Grits as hostesses.”
“I wanna be a hostess!” Lottie says, a lettuce leaf hanging from her mouth.
“Be eleven, Lottie. I’ll let you know when it’s time to be something else.” I turn my attention back to Lupe and spoon up soup from my bowl. “That might be a good idea, Lupe. We can talk about it later.”
Inez, who has not said a word to me since “catching” Judah at the car, stirs her soup, her eyes fixed on the swirling liquid. We weren’t doing anything, but my daughter isn’t stupid. She has eyes and no doubt picked up on the connection between me and the man she holds responsible for her father’s incarceration.
“What about you, Lottie?” I sip my water and smile when my youngest’s face lights up.
“This morning,” Lottie says, “Coach said my bar routine is one of the best he’s seen in a long time.”
“That’s so great.” I reach across and tug one of the braids on her shoulder. “Proud of you.”
“He says he emailed you three camps for the summer. I need to make sure I get into one if I wanna keep up,” she continues, piercing a few strips of grilled chicken on the platter and transferring them to the salad on her plate. “He asked if you got that email?”