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As I wound through the streets of our neighborhood, I wondered what might have happened to Mira if I’d never met Chris and Amie.
If I’d decided to go elsewhere for college.
If I’d ended up in a different job instead of working in accounting at the hospital nearest to their neighborhood.
If I’d never met Charles at that hospital—in his perfectly tailored three-piece suits.
If I’d never moved next door to them.
If I’d never kept the house when I kicked my ex out two and a half years earlier.
I’d never grown up dreaming of a fancy house in one of the wealthiest suburbs of Denver, but the moment I laid eyes on that brick Tudor, with its beautiful garden and wrought-iron gates around the front yard, I knew it was where I was supposed to be.
Cherry Creek was a mix of elaborate mansions and older homes like mine, with established trees and a community hum that I loved.
When I pulled my car into the garage stall, I took a moment to lay my head back on the seat rest and try to make sense of what had just happened. But the moment of unsteady peace was interrupted by the door from the house opening.
Rosa had Mira perched on her hip, and the moment Mira saw me, she scrambled to get down. I opened the car door with a laugh and had hardly pulled my legs out of the vehicle before she was climbing up into my lap.
“Hey, bugaboo,” I said, kissing the side of her face. “Mmm. Someone had peanut butter and jelly for lunch.”
She nodded. “Rosa make it.”
“Oh man, I bet her sandwiches are so yummy.” I kissed Mira’s cheek again and sighed when her skinny little arms tightened around my neck.
Since the accident, I’d hardly left Mira’s side. We survived on takeout and grocery deliveries and Amazon Prime, like God and the introverts intended.
But since I’d been gone for a couple of hours, she’d likely cling to me for the rest of the day.
Or maybe I’d cling to her. It was a toss-up.
Rosa held the door open for us with a smile while I tried to navigate exiting the vehicle with my purse, the manila folder, and Mira clinging to my neck. Rosa took the folders when I held them out, and I smiled gratefully.
“How’d it go?” she asked.
I gave her a look. “I think we need privacy for this one.”
“What’s privacy?” Mira asked, playing with some wisps of hair that had escaped from my haphazard bun.
“Privacy is when someone needs to be alone, but if you want to go turn the TV on in the family room, that’s enough for me and Miss Rosa to have a very adult conversation.” I set her on the kitchen island, and she kicked her legs against the cabinets. “Is that okay?”
She nodded. “Moana?”
I gave Rosa a questioning look, but she shook her head.
I tweaked the tip of Mira’s nose. “Yes, you can watchMoanaagain.”
Hooking my hands under her arms, I set her down on the floor, and she took off running into the family room, jumping excitedly when I cued up her favorite movie.
When I got back to the kitchen, Rosa was pouring a glass of chardonnay. I smiled. “How did you know?”
“Because you look like shit.”
“Thank you, Rosa.”
She slid the wineglass across the island. Every single day, she wore her pure-silver hair back in an elegant chignon, never so much as a strand out of place. Around her neck was a ruby cross that her husband had bought her for her sixtieth birthday. Red rubies for his Rosa. I didn’t know anyone else who could pull off a ruby cross. Somehow,she did. Together, she and her husband had raised a boatload of kids and balanced successful careers. Before his death a few years earlier, her husband had been a successful ob-gyn, and Rosa had been a pediatrician until she retired.
When Chris and Amie died, she immediately stepped in to help me with Mira.
