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“That’s fine with me.” Mom pulls out her phone, typing something, and a few seconds later another phone pings within the car. Carlos coughs and she looks anywhere but at me when I stare back with narrowed eyes.
I’ll admit to enjoying it when her cheeks pink a bit, too.
“Carlos, can you put this address into the GPS? It’s not that far from where we are now, I believe.”
“Of course, Ms. Lucas.” A red light comes up within a few minutes and he does as she asked, putting in the address she rattles off. It doesn’t take long for the signal to turn green, and immediately after merging into the turning lane a few feet away that leads into a strip mall, my guard makes a U-turn.
He follows the signs toward Collins Avenue and turns right three lights down. Then, it’s a straight shot and we arrive right before the lunchtime rush begins. There are a few people already waiting outside, waiting for the sign to be switched and the door unlocked, and we’re lucky to be the third in line to be seated.
A place has to be good if you have a small line before opening for the day.
There’s a small booth near the back and Sara asks for it, ensuring we’re near an emergency exit and out of the way of others. The only problem is the bathroom’s on the other side of the restaurant and between two unused dining rooms at the moment.
“Hi, welcome to Mi Palacio. My name is Nayda, and I’ll be your server this evening.” There’s a round of holas from the group while each takes an offered menu. “Can I start you off with a drink or appetizer?”
“A glass of water,” comes from Alejandro’s mom, and mine.
“A Coke,” is Lourdes’s choice.
“Jupiña,” I say after perusing their choices. There’s something so delicious about a cold pineapple soda. “And an antojito platter for us to start.”
“Perfect. Let me start on this and I’ll be back in a few minutes to take your order.” As soon as she’s gone, I turn to Mom and give her a sheepish look.
“Let me guess. You need to go?”
“Yeah. It’s cold in here.”
“All right, let’s go. I’m just as bad as you are.” She slips out of the booth first, and when I join her, we notice the other two giving us identical what are you two going on about expressions. “We’re just going to the bathroom.”
“Okay.” Sara looks lost, while her daughter can’t stop looking toward the kitchen entrance to see if our appetizer is ready. “Are you feeling okay? I can call my son and—”
“I’m fine. I swear.” A small snicker escapes. “We both have the bad luck of entering a cold room and needing to use the facilities. It never fails, and always when our food arrives. This is a preemptive strike against our bladders.”
“You are adorable, Miss Quintero. No wonder my son is so taken with you.”
“Thank you.” Mom and I turn to leave, my smile wide, and I pause just a step or two from the table. Something is compelling me to say what’s on my chest—to let her know how much I already feel for them. So, I take in a deep breath and let it out slow. My nerves have kicked in for some reason and they take notice, but I don’t shy away. “You have no idea how much it means to me that everyone has been so welcoming…loving, toward the granddaughter of the man that’s caused you so much pain. I’m so sorry for what he did to you. What my father is trying to accomplish on the back of a lie to further his political career. I’m ashamed to be related to them and I promise to help your son, a man I love with all my heart, right this wrong.”
There are tears in their eyes and a soft smile on each face when I turn to leave again. Mom doesn’t say anything when we head toward the bathroom and enter, but I catch the look of pride on her face a second before it becomes utter horror.
“Hello, wife…daughter.” That voice sends a shudder down my spine. He sounds neutral and calm, but when I turn my head in his direction and take in my father standing a few feet from me, I see the hatred in his eyes. The ire exuding from his body infiltrates every inch of the small alcove that holds the women’s bathroom.
The door is but a few feet from us. The front entry is a quick run in the opposite direction, but the glint of metal at his hip and the two men that appear behind us destroy any notion of escape.
Matias Quintero is here to force us back home.
“No words for me?” He’s being condescending, and I know better than to speak. Instead, I send a silent prayer that somebody comes looking for us. That our guards outside stop him from whatever he has planned. “For your dear old father who’s been worried sick.”
“Matias, leave her alone. I’m the one—”
“Shut the fuck up before I strangle you and leave the body behind for your lover to find.”
“Lover? What are you—”
“Stupid is not a good color on the first lady.” Dad pulls something from his pocket, a bundle of pictures, and tosses them at her feet. Photos after photo of her laughing, smiling, touching Carlos’s arm while doing mundane things. They’re innocent, nothing sexual, but to him and his ego, they’re ridiculing him. “Look at the last one. That’s a personal favorite of mine.”
Mom bends down and with a shaky hand, picks up the photograph he’s talking about. A gasp leaves her, her frame shaking, and a sob of no passes through her trembling lips.
There’s no doubt that the man in the picture is Carlos, and it’s the SUV Alejandro rented for our excursion while here. The front window is blown out and the man slumping with a bullet hole to his chest is my guard of many years.
