A rumbling laugh escaped his mouth. “You don’t need them. I can tell you that it was definitely that good.” He straightened and let her go, although all he wanted to do was pull her tighter against himself. “Let’s go talk to Ronnie about getting a one percent discount per ghost and we can pick Rosie up before heading back to my house to make a plan.”
She nodded and stepped back, but Saint just couldn’t forgo contact completely, so he grabbed her hand and interlocked their fingers, his proclaimed desire for mere friendship clearly in the rearview mirror.
Shortly thereafter, they were back at Saint’s place, all engaged in different things, but still together. There was a sense of belonging with Lola here that made him equal parts nervous and excited.
Saint looked down at Rosie. She was lying across the couch with her head on the throw pillow in his lap. She was smiling about whatever was happening in the princess movie she was watching while he looked at the blueprints for the supposedly haunted building on his computer. She laughed and then looked up at him to see if he thought it was funny too. Saint smiled even though he had no idea what had just happened. Then put his hand in her hair and started twisting a curl around his finger. She’d always loved that. Sometimes it was the only way she could fall asleep. She smiled at him and then snuggled closer.Love you, Papishe mouthed at him.
“Love you too, baby.” And oh boy did he love this little girl. From the moment he’d heard her heartbeat he’d known that he’d do absolutely anything for her. He was beginning to feel the same way about the woman sitting nearby.
Saint looked over at Lola. She’d lost her shoes and blazer at the door and was curled up on the chair in the corner with her laptop, a notebook in her lap, and a pencil in her mouth as she typed. She was obviously deep in concentration, staring intently at the screen with a little frown between her brows. She scrolled down to read something. Then she plucked her pencil from between her lips and scribbled something down. She turned back to the laptop, scrolled down on the trackpad a few times, scribbled something else down in her notebook, and then went back to typing on her laptop. Back and forth she went. Her head and hands constantly in motion. Her silky hair had started to fall out of the loose messy bun she had put it in and her lipstick had worn off long ago. Because the pencil was no longer in her mouth, she began to chew on her bottom lip. Saint wanted to offer to do it for her, but of course he wouldn’t. Not with Rosie right there.
Things were complicated enough between them. Saint wouldn’t confuse the situation more until he was certain Rosie could handle it.
She had an appointment with the therapist in a few days. Maybe once she was actually diagnosed and receiving care he could mention it to her therapist and see what they said.
Until then, anything more serious than a few stolen kisses was off-limits.
14
There were plenty of other things Lola could be doing on a Sunday night before a week off work, but here she was at the senior center helping old people pick out costumes to wear before they got on the tiny stage to sing karaoke. Honestly, there was nowhere else she’d rather be. Not when she got to spend quality time with Benny and Saint, Rosie, and Papo. Leo Vega was there too.
“Traigo yerba santa pa’ la garganta...”
Lola watched Doña Olga shake her hips to the music as she sang the popular Celia Cruz song with more energy than skill. At least the woman had stage presence. She had everyone in the audience singing along.
Even Lola couldn’t hold back. She might not sing, EVER, but she would dance. So she grabbed on to either side of the black and bright floral skirt of her long, button up maxi-dress and swung them back and forth as she cha-cha’d by herself.
“Wepa! Dale, muchacha!” she heard Papo Vega say from her right. She turned her head and found him smiling at her and giving her two thumbs-up from where he stood with Saint and Rosie.
Lola smiled back, winked at him, and then completed a spin before going right back into her cha-cha.
“I didn’t know you two were so friendly,” Benny said in Spanish.
Lola looked at her grandpa but didn’t stop dancing. “Why do you sound so upset about that? Am I supposed to hate him irrationally just because you do?”
“My hate for him is not irrational,” he grumbled. “He sewed all of my underwear together last week. It took me an hour to get it undone.”
“And what did you do to him first?”
Benny smiled. “Dumped out his hand sanitizer and put clear glue from the art room in the bottle.”
Lola rolled her eyes. These two were loving this game way too much. She wondered if either of them realized that. “You still won’t tell me the rational reason for your hate.”
“He’s a traitor to his people, but everyone acts like he’s the greatest thing ever.”
“A traitor to his people?” Lola asked, only momentarily puzzled before it made sense. When Benny was a baby his father had been severely wounded when Puerto Rico’s Insular Police, under direct military command from the US-appointed governor, opened fire on peaceful protesters. The Ponce Massacre. After that, Benny’s father became an active member of the Partido Nacionalista de Puerto Rico. He viewed members of the police force and anyone who served in the military as traitors to Puerto Ricans, the punishing hand of the government that was actively oppressing the people. He’d raised Benny with that same philosophy. “You don’t like him because he’s an army vet,” she concluded.
Benny didn’t respond, but he didn’t need to.
She knew she was right, just as she knew that there was more to it than that.
Everyone acts like he’s the greatest thing ever.
“Who thought Papo Vega was great?”
He growled. “Todo el condenado mundo.” He affected a high, womanly voice as he continued in Spanish, “‘How talented.’ ‘Look at those beautiful eyes.’ ‘I love his voice.’”
Aha. Lola knew that Papo had been part of a popular band, but there had to be a specific woman Benny was thinking of. There was only one person it could be. “Benny, was Abuela Manuela a fan of Papo Vega?”
