Embittered Ruby (8 page)

Carmen ducked under his outstretched arm and pulled away from the cluster.

José hooted. “You gonna let her get away with that?”

This had gone way too far. “Look, you guys. No offense, really. It’s just…I have a boyfriend.”
Please let it go
.

They snickered.

Shooter smacked Marco’s back. “Guess she’s taken, Marco.”

Marco grinned, flashing a mouthful of silver caps. “Oh, well in that case…you tell yo’ boyfriend, from wherever you came from, you moved on. Believe me, baby, he has, too. Right?” Marco raised his eyebrows at his buddies. “You fine, but no girl is worth waiting around for.”

“I know that’s right.” José bumped his knuckles with Marco and then Shooter.

What a bunch of jerks! Carmen had to get away from them, no matter what.

Another arm crept around Carmen’s shoulders and squeezed her tight. She jumped and glanced back to find out the identity of her newest attacker.

Diego. What a relief. Or was it?

“Whachu doin’ messin’ with my girl, Marco?” Diego flipped the toothpick in his mouth end over end while he stared Marco down.

Marco dissolved. “Your girl? I didn’t know.” He scowled at Carmen. “Why didn’t you say so, little chica? Save us all some trouble.” He looked up at Diego. “I didn’t mean nothin’ by it, man.”

“I’ll let it go this time, but don’t let me see you talking to her again. Got it?”

Marco nodded then flashed his gaze toward Carmen and held her eye contact. There was no mistaking—he wasn’t finished with her yet. He snapped his fingers at his boys, and they swaggered away.

Carmen’s shoulders sagged, and she exhaled the breath she’d been holding for far too long. “Thanks for coming to my rescue. We can have a public breakup in a few days.”

“Oh, I don’t know. By the looks of things, you need Diego as much as Diego needs himself a piece of arm candy with no strings attached.” He shrugged. “We’ll see how it goes.”

Why? Why did Diego want to help her? Why did Marco fear him? And why did he always refer to himself in third person? Ah, the mysteries of life.

But at least she’d made it through one more day.

“I missed you a ton this week.” Carmen poured orange juice for Nate. “Our first full two-week spread between visitation weekends. Which I know you know as well as I do.”

“It sure was a long two weeks. Three total if you count since the day of the move.”

Kimberley peeked into the kitchen, squinting as the morning sun hit her face. “Oooh, I missed you, too, snookum.” She smooched the air.

Nate’s eyes twinkled.

“Kim, get out of here! You need to stop spying.”

“Spying? Um, last I checked I live here, too. Just coming in for breakfast. But with the way you two carry on, I’ve lost my appetite.” She stomped from the room.

“You should go a little easier on her. She only wants you to like her. She looks up to you so much.”

“But she’s
always
there. I need space. We need space.”

“We had some space last night.” Nate winked and pulled her onto his lap.

Carmen giggled.

Harper rounded the corner into the kitchen. “Oh gross!” She stuck her finger in her mouth and made gagging noises. “Do you two ever let up? I’m never going to have a boyfriend if I have to act like you two. Ick.”

“You’ll change your mind. Won’t she, babe?” Nate wiggled his eyebrows.

“Without a doubt. Come on. Let’s get out of here.” Carmen grabbed Nate’s hand and tugged him into the backyard, where they settled on deck chairs.

“Hey, it’s Saturday. Why aren’t you going to tennis?”

Carmen eyed him. “It’s over. Dad won’t pay for me to be an out-of-resident member. Mom can’t afford it, of course. Dad could take me as a guest, but I couldn’t be a regular on Zach’s schedule or in competition if I’m only a guest. So, there you go.” She crossed her arms and waited for a reaction.

Nate blinked. “You’re losing tennis, too? I don’t see how your dad could let that happen to you along with everything else.”

“Hi, guys!” Tiffany sashayed toward them in skin-tight white jeans and a zebra-print silk top.

“That’s how.” Carmen jerked her head at Tiffany.

“Your dad and I are going furniture shopping. Want to come?”

Do I want to take a bullet to my brain?
“No. I don’t think so. We’re going over to Nate’s.”

“Furniture for what?” Nate asked.

“Mainly for my dressing room. I need a vanity and an armoire. Plus maybe some office furniture for your dad. Depends if I’m feeling generous.” She winked at Carmen.

It’s
his
money!
Carmen wanted to shout. How dare she talk about being generous.

Nate stood up and put on his best politician smile. “Hey, Tiffany. Mind if I ask you something?”

Oh no, Nate. Don’t do it. Please. It won’t help. She’ll only take pleasure in knowing it got to me.

“Sure.” Tiffany batted her long eyelashes.

“What’s the deal with Carmen’s tennis? I mean, does she really have to quit completely? Isn’t there some way you could talk to her dad and work things out since she loves it so much?”

“Oh, believe me, we’ve talked about it at length. It’s probably better this way since he’s not home a lot. The club says it’s not fair to the others on the team since Carmen can only show up on the weekends anyway. So they’re happy to have her spot open for someone more regular.” Tiffany pivoted toward the house. “Gotta run. The stores are waiting.”

Like her attendance was her fault. And she was still way better than any of the others even if she could only make it on the weekends.

Nate shrugged at Carmen. “Sorry, babe.”

“At least you tried. Appreciate the effort—lost cause though. Tiffany gets what Tiffany wants, and I rank somewhere near the bottom on her list of concerns apparently.” Above garbage men but below furry animals—which didn’t say a whole lot considering the mink and chinchilla coats hanging in her brand-new dressing room.

“I just can’t believe you’re not going to play tennis anymore. You’re so good at it—and you love it.” Nate sank back into the chair he’d vacated.

“Mom says to pray about it. Anything can change.” If Nate worried so much about it now, maybe he would get her a membership once they got married. Or after the baby came.

“Yeah. Maybe.”

“What? I thought you believed in prayer and God and all that stuff.” Carmen flipped onto her stomach with a balled-up towel beneath her cheek.

“Yeah. I mean, I guess so. You know how it is. We go to church sometimes, but mostly not. I went through the classes and made my first communion. That’s about the extent of it.” He intertwined his fingers with Carmen’s.

If he didn’t really know God even though he had everything going for him, how could she ever trust the theory that some divine being watched out for
her
from up above? Nope. No doubt about it. She was on her own.

“But really, if you think praying will help you get over losing tennis…and everything else, by all means, go for it.” Nate’s eyes softened as he gazed at Carmen. “I don’t know how you can be so calm.”

Because I have a plan
.

C
onsuelo is still scrubbing the kitchen floor, so don’t go in there, okay?” Mrs. McConnell called from some deep recess of the McMansion.

“Uh. Hi, Mom.” Nate winked at Carmen.

The blond suburban queen came around the corner, drying her hands on a monogramed dish towel. “Hi, son. Hey, Carmen.” She finished drying her hands on her khaki pants and pulled her white sweater closed around a black blouse. Hillary McConnell’s cleaning outfit.

Did her smile waver, or had Carmen only imagined the kink in Hillary’s steely armor?

“What are you two doing today?”

“Just hanging out. Nothing special.” Nate gestured toward the kitchen. “She almost finished? We’re starved.”

“I think so, but who knows?” Mrs. McConnell turned to Carmen. “Hey, maybe you could ask her how long she’ll be. You speak her language, right?”

Oh great. This should be fun.
Her language
happens to be Spanish. And yes, Carmen spoke it. Carmen glanced at the ceramic tile, imported from Spain, no doubt. Maybe it would open up and swallow her whole before she had to humiliate herself. Carmen’s body moved toward the arched entrance to the kitchen as though propelled by some unseen force. Stop moving, feet. Once she arrived at the kitchen, Carmen would have to open her mouth and widen the gulf between herself and Nate’s family. Maybe it had been Mrs. McConnell’s plan all along to point out to Nate that his girlfriend was no better than a cleaning lady.

Why couldn’t they have shown up at Nate’s just thirty minutes later? The last thing she needed was to have her ethnicity pointed out to Mrs. McConnell in all its Mexican glory. Nate’s parents had a hard enough time tolerating their son dating a rich Mexican girl from down the street. But now…now she was a poor Mexican girl from Hackensack, New Jersey…in a single-parent home…living in an apartment.…Carmen could only begin to imagine the way they felt about her. This little interaction with the cleaning lady sure wouldn’t help.

Deep breath.
“Cuantos tiempo?”
Carmen’s voice croaked out in barely a whisper.

The maid scooted back on her knees and continued to scrub and hum.

A little louder. “Cuantos tiempo
mas
?”

Still nothing? Seriously?

Consuelo shifted position on the floor again, and Carmen noticed the wires hanging down from her ears. Of course. An iPod. Carmen stepped in a little farther and said with force, “How much longer? Cuantos tiempo
mas
?”

Consuelo’s head jerked up as though she’d been slapped—the surprise smoothed out the deep lines on her face. They reappeared as her grin spread from ear to ear. “Carmen.
Mi chica. Es bueno verte!
” She clambered to her feet, smoothed down her light gray skirt and white apron, and pulled Carmen into a tight embrace.
“Como esta tu familia? Estoy orando para tu.”

Just ignore Mrs. McConnell’s raised eyebrows. Fraternizing with the help was bad enough, but doing it in Spanish? Carmen doubted she’d recover from this in Nate’s parents’ eyes. Not that she held out much hope before. She should have ignored Consuelo. But the cleaning lady had said she’d been praying for Carmen’s family. Carmen couldn’t snub her.

“Mas o menos.”
Carmen held up one hand and twisted it. What could she say? Of course her family wasn’t fine. But poor Consuelo with her four kids to feed and family back home waiting for her paycheck to arrive every month had it as bad as Carmen. Worse? Probably not. At least as bad. Wouldn’t it be harder to move from the lap of luxury to a bunk bed in Hackensack than to have always lived that way?

Hillary McConnell cleared her throat, and Nate shifted his feet.

Oh, right. “Consuelo, cuantos tiempo mas?” Carmen gestured at the expansive floor.

Consuelo looked at her chunky plastic watch. “Eh.
Quince minutos…aproxidament.”

“She said fifteen more minutes.” Carmen locked eyes with Nate’s mom.

“Thank you, dear. That’ll be fine.” She patted Carmen’s arm as she strode from the room.

Realization doused Carmen. Of course Mrs. McConnell understood basic Spanish. She had to be able to communicate with her own employee—if she couldn’t, she’d have hired someone else.

No matter. Carmen would have her moment of revenge. Wonder if Nate’s mom understood Spanish for
she’s having my baby
?

A
single mom with three girls? They are so going to pounce on us at church.” Carmen slumped on Mom’s bed and pulled the rumpled covers over her already-dressed body. She’d managed to keep the subject of church off the table in the weeks since their move by claiming illness, too much homework, or whatever else she could think of. But Mom sure looked determined to drag them all out for their public disgrace that morning.

“What are you talking about?” Mom finished brushing on some gloss and smacked her lips together.

“Oh, they’re going to see us as their next project. You know, those poor Castillo girls—like we’re in need.” Not that they weren’t.

“Well, aren’t we?”

“Not from a bunch of strangers trying to make some convert quota.” Carmen bit the corner of her nail too short then squeezed it tight until blood surfaced. She stared at the pooling blood like a bug squirming under a microscope. The sting reminded her she was, indeed, alive. It didn’t prove she mattered, but alive was a start.

“Just give them a chance. That’s all I ask.” Mom slipped into her heels and tightened the slingback around her slender ankles. “You might be surprised. This church comes highly recommended. A lot of my old friends go here.”

As Carmen sat in the front seat waiting for Mom to start the car, she tried to think of a way out. Get sick? Just say no. Hide. No, she was stuck. The ten-minute drive to the church on the better side of town would be nowhere near long enough. Carmen hadn’t been to her old church in a couple of years, but at least the longer drive to that one had been green and plush. Now, the drab gray of the scenery out Carmen’s window depressed her. And the bars on some of the store windows weren’t very inviting.