Chapter 30
The sharp odor of disinfectant burned in Savvy’s throat. She glanced around at the people sitting calmly throughout the lobby, amazed that she was the only one who seemed to be affected.
She found Mrs. Morales perched on the edge of a vinyl seat in the waiting room of the ER, shredding a tissue.
Breathlessly, Savvy sat down beside her and took her outstretched hand. “How is your husband?”
“They still do the tests,” she said.
Savvy searched her face for more.
“It’s his heart.”
“Oh, no.”
Mrs. Morales stifled a sob. “It’s that old feud between Geraldo and your papa.”
Savvy angled her head. “What?” With a sinking feeling, she half rose, skimming the room. “Where’s Esteban?”
“He—Esteban is very angry.”
She was confused. Angry? Because his father had a heart attack? “What happened?”
“He—” She bent her head and held her tissue to her nose until she composed herself. “I don’t know how to tell you this. He heard a rumor that your papa is the one who buys our property.”
“That’s not true! Who told him that?”
“I don’t know. Some boys at the market. Troublemakers. It doesn’t matter.”
“Where is he?”
“He went outside to get some air, calm down.”
“Which way?”
The sadness on Mrs. Morales’s face gave way to apprehension. “Maybe you should wait a little . . .”
“Which way?”
Reluctantly, she pointed toward a door with her chin.
A carbon copy of the David was easy to spot, even in a parking lot the size of the hospital’s. Savvy joggled up to him and put a hand on his arm. “Esteban. Tell me what happened.”
He stopped pacing and gave her a look she’d never forget.
“How about you tell me what happened,” he ground out. “The truth, this time.”
“I don’t know what you heard, but Papa had nothing to do with buying your land. You saw the agreement. . . .”
“I saw Napa Terroir Investments. I saw the name Don Smith. What I didn’t see—what was kept hidden from me and my father—was the name Xavier St. Pierre!”
Savvy shook her head. “No,” she whispered.
“You aren’t the only one with connections, you know!” He jerked his arm away. “I have friends in this valley, too.”
She wanted to ask who’d been feeding him his information, but a budding dread told her it didn’t matter. Something her boss had said when he’d assigned her this case came back to her.
“One of the partners is an old friend of mine. We’ll work it so that you get a nice commission.”
Papa.
Esteban’s pacing skidded to a halt. “You lied to me. Made fools out of me and my family, in front of the whole town. Faked an interest in my diving, my lavender, suckered me into selling our family home, just so you could pass your first—big . . .” He hunted for the right words. “Career test!” he spat out finally.
He closed the space between them until his face towered over her. Never had he looked larger than he did at that moment.
“Let me tell you something. I never once drew my fist at a man, until you came into my life.”
Savvy could almost feel the heat from the fire in his eyes.
“In the past two weeks I almost decked two men.” He leaned in even further, forcing her head backward. “Are you that good, or am I that stupid?”
She had to make him understand. “Esteban, I never—”
“You never cared for me! It’s true what they say about the St. Pierres. They’ll do anything—step on anyone—to get what they want.
“Do you know how hard it was for me to tell you about Padre’s counteroffer? About wanting to turn our property into a lavender farm, when everyone else was scoffing at my idea? Our Plan Familiar?”
“I—I’m sorry—I wasn’t—”
“You expect me to believe you weren’t in on it? That you didn’t know? You’re a fucking lawyer!”
He whirled away, running his hand through his hair, then just as quickly whipped back around.
“You probably weren’t even a virgin that day on the beach! Mierda—it wouldn’t surprise me if you faked that blood! It was all just part of your scheme!”
His face was so close to hers now she could see the fleck of spittle clinging to the corner of his mouth.
The earth was spinning faster, faster, out of control.
Her own father had used her for his gain, destroying Esteban’s love and respect for her in the process. Could no one, nothing, be depended on?
She’d heard of people’s lives passing before their eyes. Now that was happening to her. Everything she thought she knew was wrong. Everything she’d spent her life doing was worthless.
Her powerlessness when Maman died and Papa divided her from her sisters . . . years (not to mention entire lines of letters on the Snellen eye chart) lost to mind-numbing study in her desperation to regain her self-confidence, a sense of control . . . ridiculous fantasies of developing her “nose” . . .
Past, present, and future swirled together, snaking and twisting their way down some vast vortex. The parking lot beneath her feet swayed, sending her hands spreading for balance. She hoped Esteban was too distracted to notice. She had to get out of there before she collapsed on the pavement. If anything could make this worse, it would be diverting to her the attention that belonged to Mr. Morales.
Esteban’s mouth was moving again. She struggled to understand the words on his lips. “I want out of that sales agreement.” He pointed at her for emphasis. “I’ll hire my own lawyer and sue you to get out of it if I have to.”
He started backing up, as if she were toxic. “And stay away from my family, you hear? You’ve already done enough damage—counselor.”
The world was disintegrating around her, leaving her lost . . . adrift. Somehow, she staggered back to her car.
Her hands knew what to do with the ignition button, to grasp the wheel at ten and two, but her mind spun like a pinwheel in a tornado. She forced deep breaths, trying to calm down enough to drive without getting in an accident, adding to her string of casualties.
Jeanne was at the front door wearing a concerned expression when Savvy arrived, alerted by the electronic tone that sounded whenever a car pulled onto the drive.
“Ah, mademoiselle, I have been talking to Maria.”
Savvy burst out bawling. “Everything is so messed up.” Her sobs echoed throughout the spacious marble foyer.
“I know. I know.” Jeanne stroked Savvy’s hair and let her weep.
“It’s Papa again. Just when things were going so well, he has to screw everything up.”
“Shhh . . .”
“And now”—sniff—“now Esteban thinks I was in on it the whole time.... He didn’t believe me when I said I was as surprised as he was....” She wiped her eyes with her sleeve. “Where is everyone?” she hiccupped.
“Char went somewhere with Ryder. Meri is staying in the city for the weekend. It’s only you and me.”
“Where’s Papa?”
“Did you forget? He went to Los Angeles.”
With everything that had happened, she had forgotten. Papa often flew to L.A. during this slow time of year.
She clenched her jaw. “I need to talk to him.”
After visiting the hospital early Sunday morning, Esteban accompanied Madre to Mass. While she kneeled in prayer, Esteban sat on the stone-hard pew, gazing up at the stained-glass windows in the apse of St. Apollinaris. “Thank you for not letting him die,” he prayed—just in case He’d had anything to do with it.
The doctor had confirmed what he already knew. The shock that Esteban had unwittingly sold their family farm to his worst enemy had triggered a severe spasm of Padre’s right coronary artery. The good news was he didn’t need surgery. The bad—his farming days were over. The less stress he had, mentally and physically, the longer he might live.
It seemed like a good sign when Padre had asked him to elevate the head of his bed earlier, when they’d entered his hospital room. Madre had guided the straw from his big Styrofoam cup of water to his mouth.
“How you doing, Papi?”
Lying there sucking obediently on his straw, he’d looked shockingly old. You could tell they had him all drugged up.
When Madre had forced as much liquid into him as he could take without bursting, he lay back on his pillow, licking his dry lips.
“Envidia.”
“What’s that, Papi?”
“Envidia,” he rasped. “Those matóns at the market. They were jealous. Of you, with your high-class chula. Of all of us, for getting such a price for our land. Much more than it’s worth.”
Madre eyed Esteban uneasily.
“Are you saying I didn’t deserve Savvy?”
“No!” said Madre, with a reassuring palm on Esteban’s arm. “That’s not what he means. Not what envidia means.”
“Then what?”
Padre blinked and nodded to Madre, as if to say, You tell him. I’m too tired.
“Ahem.” Madre cleared her throat and turned to Esteban. “How do I explain to you? It’s not spoken of so much, here.... I haven’t heard of it since we left the Michoacán.”
She looked to Padre for the right words, but his eyes had closed. “It’s not that you are evil when something unexpectedly good happens to you. It’s when certain people—could be anyone—see that you have more than they do. They become jealous. Give you the evil eye, which in turn gives you bad luck. To balance the scales, so to speak.”
Esteban turned to Papa, incredulous. “You think you had a heart attack because people envied you?”
Padre opened his eyes, but they had a faraway look. He seemed to be looking only within.
Esteban had already concluded Padre was on some heavy-duty meds. He went to the bedside. “Don’t worry, Papi. I’m going to get our land back.”
“Now, now, let’s not talk of that today,” said Madre, fussing with the sheets, rearranging the things on his tray. “All your padre needs to think about now is getting better.”
But Esteban had to think about it. If he didn’t, who would?