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He walked back to the table and sank into his seat. “How can you know that? You’re growing up so fast. It’s depressing.”
“I’ll be thirteen in ten months.”
He looked at his mom. “I don’t like this. Make it stop.”
“Children grow up, Santiago. Sometimes they grow up and get married and have children of their own.”
He faked a smile and thought about banging his head against the table. What was going on today with the women in his life? With his luck, Emma would want to fix him up with one of her teachers. He was happily single. He dated plenty. Some would say too much. He liked his life. One day he would meet the right one and then everything would change but until then, why mess with perfection?
Noah grabbed a jelly donut then slid onto Santiago’s lap. “Can we go to the Lego store after the zoo?”
“Of course.”
Emma perked up. “And the bookstore?”
“Definitely.”
“You spoil them,” his mother murmured.
He looked at her. “And?”
She smiled. “You’re a very good uncle.”
He winked. “Thanks, Mom.”
* * *
Blowing ten grand on a five-year-old’s birthday party was beyond the definition of insane, Callie Smith thought as she positioned the car-shaped cookie cutter over the sandwich and pressed down as evenly as she could. When she carefully peeled away the excess bread, she was left with a perfect car-shaped PB&J sandwich—sans crust, of course.
The menu for the event was fairly simple, and all based on the Disney movie Cars. Small cups contained carrot, celery and cucumber sticks—aka dipsticks. Two kinds of organic punch along with organic apple juice were at the refueling station. The catering firm’s famous mac and cheese had been remade with pasta in the shape of wheels, and there were car-inspired mini hot dogs ready to go. Callie had already put half a cherry tomato and slice of cucumber to simulate wheels onto one hundred toothpicks, ready to be shoved into place when the mini hot dogs were heated and put in the buns.
The cake was an incredible work of art—a stylized twelve-inch-high modified layer cake shaped to look like a mountain with a road circling up to the top where a small car sat, along with a banner reading Happy Birthday Jonathan.
The previous afternoon Callie had filled the loot bags with Cars-related toys, and had carefully rolled all twenty-five Pit Crew T-shirts with the names facing up. Yes, each boy would get a personalized T-shirt to wear for the party and then take home with him.
Janice, her boss and the owner of the catering company, hurried into the kitchen. “I already have a knot in my stomach. The rest of the staff has a pool going on how long it takes the first kid to throw up, but I’m hoping we can get through this one without any disasters. How are you doing?”
Callie pointed to the tray with the PB&J sandwiches. “All ready. I’ll cover them with plastic wrap to keep them fresh. The hot dog wheels are done. Just have someone stick them on before putting in the hot dogs. Veggies are finished, the cake is in place and I’ve put out the loot bags. Oh, and the T-shirts are by the front door to be handed out as the guests arrive. Just so you know, there are three Brandons.”
Janice groaned. “Of course there are.” She looked around their client’s massive kitchen. “You’ve done it again, Callie. You took this idea and ran with it. I would still be trying to figure out how to pull it all together.”
Callie did her best to offer a sincere smile—one without a hint of bitterness. What was going to happen next wasn’t Janice’s fault. Instead, the blame lay squarely on Callie’s shoulders. She could whine and stomp her feet all she wanted. She could point to her ex-boyfriend, but in the end, the decision had been hers and so were the consequences.
Rather than make Janice say it, Callie untied her apron. “I need to get going. The first guests will be arriving and I shouldn’t be here.”
Janice’s mouth twisted as guilt flashed in her eyes. “I’m sorry. I just can’t risk it.”
Callie nodded. “Do you want me back at the shop to help with cleanup later?”
“Why don’t you take the rest of the day off? We have to prep for the Gilman wedding Tuesday morning. I’ll see you then.”
Callie nodded, doing her best not to calculate how much she would have made if she’d been able to stay and work the party. Being an hourly employee meant every penny mattered, but there was no way. She got that...sort of.
“Have fun today.”
Janice gave a strangled laugh. “With twenty-five little boys? I don’t think so.”
Callie got her backpack from the utility room closet, then walked out the back door. She dug out her phone, opened her Uber app and requested a car.
Normally she would just take the bus back home but this part of River Oaks didn’t have a whole lot of public transportation—especially not on a Sunday morning. So she would splurge.
Ten minutes later she was in the silver Ford Focus and heading for her more modest neighborhood. It wasn’t close to work, but it was inexpensive and safe—two priorities for her.
She had the Uber driver drop her off at the H-E-B grocery store so she could get a few things. Only what she could carry home and consume in the next couple of days. The room she rented came with kitchen privileges, but Callie preferred to use the small refrigerator and microwave she kept in her room. She’d learned that storing anything in the main kitchen was a risky proposition. House rules were clear—don’t take food belonging to someone else. Unfortunately enforcement was haphazard and Callie didn’t want to chance someone taking her food.
She heated soup—the dented can had been 50 percent off!—then got out a four-month-old copy of Vogue that she’d fished out of a recycling bin to read while she ate. Janice only took day jobs on Sundays and the caterer was closed on Monday, giving Callie almost thirty-four hours off. At ten on Monday night she would start her other job, cleaning offices in the financial district.
She finished her lunch, then loaded her biggest tote with clothes, sheets and towels before heading to the local Laundromat. The afternoon had warmed up and gotten more humid—fairly typical for Houston in early spring, or any time of year.
The temperature inside the Laundromat had to be in the upper nineties. The crowded, noisy space was filled with families completing chores before the grind of the new week began again.
Callie found two free washers together, loaded her belongings and inserted a ridiculous number of quarters. She was lucky—she had to take care of only herself. Her bed was a twin, so the sheets were small. She could get away with two loads every two weeks, but how did people with kids make ends meet when it was three dollars to wash a load of clothes?
She went over to one of the empty chairs by the window and pretended to read her library book, all the while secretly watching everyone else.
There was a young couple who couldn’t stop smiling at each other. Newlyweds, she decided, noting the modest diamond ring on the woman’s left hand. They were probably saving for their first house. There was a family in the corner. The kids were running around while the parents carefully avoided looking at each other.
Uh-oh. They were fighting big-time. Neither of them wanted to back down. That was never good. One thing she’d learned over the years was the power of saying I’m sorry. People didn’t say it nearly enough.
“Can you read to me?”
Callie looked at the pretty little girl standing in front of her. She was maybe three or four and held a big picture book in her hands. Callie’d seen her mom come in with two other kids and more laundry than she could manage. In the flurry of finding empty washers and loading clothes, the toddler had been forgotten.
“I can,” Callie said. “Is this a good story?”
The girl—with dark hair and eyes—nodded solemnly. “It’s about a mouse who gets lost.”
“Oh, no. Not a lost mouse. Now I have to know if he finds his way home.”
The girl gave her a smile. “It’s okay. He does.”
“Thank you for telling me that. I was really worried.” She slid to the front of her chair and held out her hand for the book. “Would you like me to start?”
The girl nodded and handed over her precious book. Callie opened it and began to read.
“‘Alistair Mouse loved his house. He loved the tall doors and big windows. He loved how soft the carpet was under his mouse feet. He liked the kitchen and the bathroom, but most of all, Alistair loved his bed.’”
Callie pointed to the picture of a very fancy mouse bed. “That’s really nice. I like all the colors in the bedspread.”
The girl inched closer. “Me, too.”
Callie continued to read the story. Just as she was finishing, the girl’s mother walked over and sank down into a nearby chair. She was in her midtwenties and looked as if she had spent the last couple of years exhausted. She waited until Callie was done to say, “Thanks for reading to her. I didn’t mean to dump her like that. It’s just the boys are hyper and there’s so much laundry and damn, it’s so hot in here.”
“It is hot,” Callie said. “No problem. I enjoyed reading about Alistair and his troubles.”
“Again,” the little girl said, gently tapping the book.
“Ryder, no. Leave the nice lady alone.”
“It’s fine,” Callie told her. She flipped back to the front of the book and began again. “‘Alistair Mouse loved his house.’”
This was nice, she thought as she continued with the story. A few minutes of normal with people she would never see again. A chance to be like everyone else.
She read the story two more times, then had to go move her laundry into a dryer. By then Ryder, her brothers and her mother had gone outside where it was slightly cooler and the boys could run on the grass. Callie watched and wondered about them. Where did they come from and why were they here now? Ryder’s mother must have gotten pregnant pretty young—her oldest looked to be seven or eight. So she’d been, what, seventeen?
Unexpected tears burned in Callie’s eyes. Force of habit had her blinking them away before they could be spotted. Tears were a weakness she wasn’t allowed. She’d learned that lesson pretty quick. Only the strong survived.
She and Ryder’s mother were probably the same age or at least within a year of each other, yet Callie felt decades older. Once she’d wanted normal things—to have a good man in her life, get married, have kids, some kind of a career. It had all been so vague back when she’d been eighteen, but it had never occurred to her it wouldn’t happen. That in a single, stupid night she would destroy her future and set herself up for a life of having to explain herself over and over again.
She got her clothes out of the dryer and quickly folded them into her tote before starting the walk back to her small room. Each step on the sidewalk sounded like a never-ending refrain. Convicted felon. Convicted felon. She’d served her time, had, in theory, paid her debt to society, but she was marked forever.
She couldn’t rent a decent apartment because no one wanted a convicted felon in their building. She couldn’t work at a kid’s party as part of the serving staff because no one wanted a convicted felon near their children. She couldn’t get a job in a restaurant, despite having learned all about the food service industry while serving her time, because no one wanted a convicted felon near their customers. She’d earned her GED and had started on her associates degree while behind bars and that didn’t matter, either.
One stupid, foolish, thoughtless act—robbing a liquor store with her loser boyfriend—and her eighteen-year-old self had destroyed her future.
Callie gave herself the entire walk home to mentally beat up on herself but once she walked into her room, she drew in a breath and changed the subject. She’d learned that, too. That a downward spiral was nearly impossible to stop, so she had to make sure she stayed positive as much as she could. She had a plan. It was going to take a while, but she had a plan.
She was saving every penny she could while working two jobs. When she had the money, she would buy a small condo that would be hers—no matter what. Right now having a home was priority one. She hadn’t figured out exactly what she wanted to do, career wise, but she was open to possibilities. As for the great guy and a couple of kids, well, that was unlikely. She was wary of men and not very trusting of anyone who was willing to accept her past, so she was mostly alone, which was fine. One day it would all be better. It had to be. It just had to be.
chapter three (#u3d8ccde5-67ec-5c12-9000-a4f15836f45a)
Mornings at the coffee stand were crazy busy, with only occasional lulls. Delaney worked efficiently, her gaze drawn again and again to the building’s large glass doors. Okay, yes, she and Malcolm had flirted on Friday. Big whoop. There was no reason to think he would acknowledge her in any way when he arrived this morning. There’d been an entire weekend between then and now. He could have totally forgotten her or gotten engaged. For all she knew, he was married.
No, she thought. He wasn’t an icky guy. She had a feeling he was single—he just didn’t strike her as the type to two-time. Although she could be totally wrong about that. From when she was sixteen until two years ago, there had only been one man in her life, so she was hardly anything close to a good judge of male character, but still. She didn’t think Malcolm was involved with anyone or—
She glanced up from her place at the cash register and saw him walking through the building’s large lobby. For a second she thought he wasn’t going to acknowledge her, but then he turned in her direction and winked. A silly gesture that took a nanosecond and meant nothing yet had happiness and anticipation and bubbly excitement flooding through her. Oh, man, she had it bad, and for someone she barely knew.
She smiled at him before returning her attention to the next customer. Three people back, she spotted one of her favorite customers.
“Luzia,” she called and nodded toward the preteen in a school uniform.
Luzia took Delaney’s place at the cash register. “Is she your sister or something?”
“No. Just a friend.”
“You take your break with her every day.”
“I know. It’s fun.”
Two months ago Keira had walked up to the counter and demanded a double espresso. Delaney had laughed and offered hot chocolate instead. There had been a few minutes of quiet so they’d talked. Delaney had learned that Keira was twelve, new to the area, starting at the exclusive private school across the street and didn’t have any family, save a brother and grandfather.
Over the past few weeks, she and Keira had formed a friendship of sorts. Keira opened up about her disdain for the school uniforms: “Seriously? Plaid? What? Are we in a porn movie?” and her dislike of her, as she called him, “asshole brother.”
Delaney couldn’t help thinking that underneath all that attitude was a scared little girl desperate to be loved. Not that she had any kids of her own, so maybe she was totally off base. Still, she couldn’t shake the feeling that despite having family, Keira was way too alone in the world.
Delaney finished making a large hot chocolate with extra whipped cream, grabbed a black coffee for herself, then went around to one of the small tables at the side of the coffee stand where Keira was already seated.
“Thank you,” Keira said, taking the drink from her. “How was your weekend?”
“Good. I mostly studied. What did you do?”
“Nothing. I stayed in my room and read and watched movies.”
Which is pretty much what Keira did every weekend, Delaney thought anxiously. The preteen needed more in her life.
“What about friends? You’re making them at school. You told me. Didn’t you want to do anything with them?”
Keira, a pretty girl with big blue eyes and freckles, looked at her. “You do realize that would mean someone driving me somewhere. It’s not going to happen. I’m not sure if my grandfather is still allowed to drive. Don’t they take away your license when you get to be really, really old? I guess I could ask Carmen. She might help me.”
“The housekeeper?”
Keira nodded. “She’s nice and she cooks great. As for my ass—”
Delaney cleared her throat. “We agreed you weren’t going to call him that anymore.”
“But he really is one. I can prove it.”
Delaney looked at her without speaking.
Keira groaned. “Fine. Fine. Can I call him my A-brother?”
“As in A+?”
Keira laughed. “Not that. Never that. A+. That’s funny. How’s biology?”
“Good. Scary, but good. I got a B on my first test.”
“That’s great! You were afraid you wouldn’t even pass.”
“I know. College is harder than I remember from the first time.”
“You’ll get it.”
Keira was a sweet kid, Delaney thought. Funny, smart and, despite her feelings about her brother, kind. She always asked about Delaney’s life and remembered what they’d talked about.
From what Delaney had pieced together, Keira had moved to Seattle from Los Angeles where she’d been living in foster care. But after that, the details got fuzzy. Apparently she lived in a big house with her grandfather, her older half brother and a housekeeper. Why the older brother wasn’t on his own but instead lived with his grandfather was something of a mystery. Delaney wondered if maybe there were mental or emotional issues, which might explain his inability to connect with his sister.
“About your friends,” Delaney began. “Are you hanging out with different people every day, like we talked about?”
