One Perfect Man. Lynda Sandoval
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when you live out here, you become a jack-of-all-trades without even trying.” He ran a hand slowly through his hair, his gaze on the thick black pottery Ruby bought at the last Pueblo Festival. “The Santa Clara is my favorite. So sleek and dark. Quiet. Beautiful in its straightforwardness.”
Kind of like you, Erica thought, attuned to him in a way that frightened her. A lag in their superficial conversation ensued, and she was determined to fill it. She could pull her weight in most situations, but she absolutely couldn’t sit in silence with Tomás. Not tonight. “Hope is a lovely girl.”
“Thank you. That she is,” he said, turning his attention from the pottery. “She’s been looking forward to meeting you. At least I think.” He quirked his mouth to the side. “To be perfectly frank, my Hope isn’t a girl of many words.”
“She takes after her dad.” She wondered what traits Hope had received from her mother but knew it was a question she’d never ask. “Looks like you, too. Same eyes.”
Tomás shrank back in mock horror. “Now, don’t go and tell her that. The last thing a fourteen-year-old girl wants to hear is that she looks like her father.”
They both laughed softly, and Erica felt herself loosen up a bit. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, this dinner, this evening as an outsider with Tomás and his nontraditional little family.
Just then, Hope brought Erica’s ice water and her own and claimed a spot on the chair, tucking one stocking foot up under her. Ruby pulled up in an empty spot next to an occasional table that looked to be there just for her.
“Are you going to make the poor woman stand all night, m’ijo?” Ruby asked, eyeing her grandson sharply. “My gosh, your manners. Raised in a penitentiary, I swear.”
Tomás colored slightly but recovered just as fast. “Of course. Erica. Won’t you sit. I’ll leave you ladies to get acquainted while I check on dinner. Shouldn’t be too long. I hope you’re hungry, Erica.”
She set aside her purse and portfolio, then claimed her spot in an armchair and laid a hand on her stomach. “You told me to come hungry, and I did.”
“Excellent. Finally a woman who follows instructions.”
“Don’t make us hurt you, sonny,” Ruby warned, giving him the eye. He just laughed.
Erica sat her water glass on a stone coaster, and as Tomás moved out of the room, Hope asked her, “Do you have kids?”
Some non sequitur, Erica thought. “No kids. I’m not married. I have cousins,” she offered, as a replacement.
“Oh.” Hope twirled a finger in one choppy lock of her hair. “I wish I had cousins. My dad’s an only child, and…”
An odd pause ensued.
Ruby sipped from her wineglass, and Hope gave Erica a funny little closed-lip smile. She never finished her statement, and Erica knew better than to ask, but she didn’t quite know why. For a moment, the room fell silent. Then Ruby picked up a remote, pointed it at a stack of stereo components in a carved, wooden cabinet, and pressed the button. Soft native flute music wafted through the room, and Erica’s gaze fell on her portfolio. Business. Yes. A convenient bridge over the chasms of the unsaid that seemed to flow through this house like canals through Venice. She reached for the zippered case, glancing at Hope while she did so.
“I’ve come up with a few ideas for your quinceañera, Hope. I’m looking forward to going over them with you.”
“Oh.” The girl’s gaze lit on the portfolio before sliding away evasively. “Okay. Well…we’ll wait for Dad, though. We can just…relax until dinner’s ready.”
“Of course.” Erica abandoned the portfolio and reached for her water glass. So much for that idea.
“How about dogs?” Hope crossed her other foot up under her, then slipped into a lotus position in the chair, with the ease and flexibility of the young.
A sip, a swallow. “Excuse me?”
“Do you have dogs? Or cats?”
Erica shook her head.
“Any pets at all?”
Erica’s expression was regretful. “I travel quite a bit, and when you live alone… I had a dog when I was growing up, though. His name was Spike. And a hamster, Morton. My mom has two dogs. Does that count?”
“Everyone should have a pet, right Grandma Ruby?”
The older woman shook her head, laughing tiredly. “I’m not getting in the middle of it, m’ijita, but nice try.”
Hope giggled, and Ruby looked toward Erica. “This one has been trying to finagle a puppy out of her father now for months.”
“I love puppies!” Hope threw her arms out with exuberance. “We have, like, a zillion fields. It’s not like he wouldn’t have any place to run around.”
Erica lowered her voice, sotto voce, and leaned toward Hope. “Shhh. I’ll tell you a secret. I love puppies, too.”
Hope turned a beatific smile toward her grandmother—in truth, her great-grandmother. “See, Grammy Rube? It’s so totally perfect.”
Erica wasn’t sure if Hope meant the puppy, the secret or something else. But she did know, finally and for sure, that she would make it through this evening. Tomás was right—his daughter was a wonderful young woman rather than the sullen, petulant teen Erica had feared she’d face. Childlike, yes, but definitely not a child. A budding teen, but certainly not an adult. Hopeful, effervescent and eager to please. She reminded Erica of herself at that age, and that she could handle. Easing back in her chair, Erica sipped her water and relaxed.
By the time he had served the flourless chocolate cake and poured coffee for the adults, Tomás was beginning to mellow out. Erica seemed to fit in fine, and Hope appeared to like her. Almost too much. A pang of jealousy tightened Tomás’s middle, but he tried to ignore it. Ridiculous that he should resent the fact his daughter liked the woman, when that had been his goal in the first place. He needed to chill. It was just…he and Hope had been a team for so long, he found it difficult to let anyone else into the fold. Old story.
But Hope was fourteen. Four more years, and she could be gone. For a moment, the world and his heart jolted to a stop. Horrid, that thought, and disturbing in ways he hadn’t even begun to contemplate. He didn’t want to face them now.
“How about we talk a little about the quinceañera?” Erica said. Tomás blinked at her, only just dragging himself mentally back into the room, into reality. She glanced eagerly from him to Hope to Ruby, then bent over to retrieve her black-leather portfolio.
The quinceañera. Yes. It’s what he’d hired her for, and yet they’d spent the evening eating, drinking and talking about art, mostly. Art and soccer and the godforsaken yearning for puppies, and with each bit of conversation, he’d found himself more intrigued by her. He cleared his throat. “Yes, let’s. Hope, come here, m’ija.” He beckoned her with a sweep of his arm. “Sit next to me and we can look at everything together.”
Hope stood, then dragged her chair noisily over next to him. He draped his arm over her bony little shoulders and pulled her familiar warmth against his side. Smiling into her innocent face, he asked, “You ready?”
She shrugged. “Sure. Whatever.”
“Now that’s enthusiasm for you,” Ruby said dryly. “Ach, teenagers. Pillars of zeal, I always say.”
“Great-grandmother,” Hope said, in a playfully warning tone.
“She only calls me that to get my goat,” Ruby told Erica.
Smiling, Erica opened the pages of the portfolio turning them to face Tomás and Hope. “First of all, you’re going to have to sign up for some reconfirmation classes at your church.” She glanced at Tomás. “I’m assuming you do want