Chapter 32
Esteban tore the GOING OUT OF BUSINESS sign next to his family’s market stall out of the ground. Because they’d be back. Next week, and every week after that.
He jerked together the canvas-covered legs of the portable market canopy, impatient to finish cleaning up so he could get to the work that needed doing back home. The canvas felt even heavier than usual this morning, soaked with dew from sitting out overnight. Thankfully, their neighbors at the next stall had crated up all the Moraleses’ unsold produce and taken what money was in the till home with them for Esteban to pick up later.
He loaded the unsold food back into the truck. They’d lost a lot of money by having to leave right in the middle of one of the busiest market days of the year. He should be calculating their loss. But all he could think about was Savvy.
He pictured her the day they’d met. So poised behind those black frames. Big contrast between her then, and the way she’d become so flustered in the greenhouse when he’d hidden her glasses. He’d only teased her a minute, but there was no faking that kind of terror. Come to think of it, she’d looked just as scared in the hospital parking lot yesterday. . . .
Angrily, he brushed away any hint of sympathy he might feel for her.
Shane and his gang were right. How had he ever believed there was any way in hell he could be with Sauvignon St. Pierre in the first place?
He grunted as he heaved the heavy canopy into the truck bed, trying awkwardly to maneuver it to where it wouldn’t crush everything else.
She was the devil’s daughter. Sizzling hot, smart, rich . . . and totally out of his league.
Resting a hand on the edge of the truck bed, he peered around at the deserted stalls. A cumulous cloud passed over the sun, bringing with it a sense of cold, hard reality.
He’d been deluding himself. Trying to grow lavender in clay? Believing for one second that the son of an immigrant truck farmer could be enough for a wine heiress?
He got into the truck, his face hot. He’d been such an idiot. No wonder people had laughed at him.
All that was over now. That was someone else. A man who hadn’t yet had his heart ripped out of his chest. Hadn’t seen his father collapse onto the pavement in front of half the town, heard his mother’s screams. With all that had happened since yesterday, Esteban almost didn’t recognize that man anymore.
Jeanne was layering turkey and cheese on a sliced baguette. “I am taking Maria a little lunch. She’s spending long hours at the hospital. Maybe you would like to come?”
“I’d love to, after the way I dashed out of the ER yesterday. But I can’t. Esteban has banned me from seeing his family.”
“Esteban won’t be there. He went to the market to collect all their things.”
Savvy took a shaky breath, considering. She was dying to see Mrs. Morales.
“Maria asked about you.”
“Really?”
Jeanne nodded, smearing her special sauce along the sandwiches. “You would prefer to wander around this big house alone all afternoon?”
“I’m going to the office.”
Jeanne scowled. “Today—Sunday?”
“There won’t be any distractions there today. No bosses, no phone calls. I need to do some research without anyone looking over my shoulder.”
“You could stop at the hospital on the way. It will do both you and Maria good.”
When they arrived, Maria Morales stood to welcome them to the cardiac floor’s reception room with kisses and hugs.
“He is sleeping,” she said softly, as if her husband could hear them.
“Good. You can have a bite while he rests,” said Jeanne, handing her a brown bag and a to-go cup of coffee.
“You are so wonderful,” said Mrs. Morales, “but I don’t think I can eat right now. Would you mind . . . ?”
“Of course! Eat it whenever you like. I made enough for Esteban, also. What are the doctors saying?”
Hooded black eyes darted between Jeanne and Savvy. “The doctor says Geraldo can’t work anymore.” She wrung her hands. “Esteban says his padre can retire and he will do all the work himself. But that’s not possible. It’s too much for one man alone, even a man as strong as my son. And we can’t afford to hire outside help.”
“It seems Esteban is making these decisions very quickly. Why not wait a bit, see how Geraldo progresses?
“You know how stubborn he can be. Just like his father.” She shook her head. “Such a shame. His lavender plants were finally growing. . . .”
Savvy shrank with remorse and regret.
Mrs. Morales reached for Savvy’s hands, layering them between her own. “Don’t feel bad,” she said. “I always try to encourage Esteban, but it’s hard to watch his disappointment these last months, when the rains keep coming and coming. In the end, it’s probably for the best that he gives up on his lavender. He does everything he can to fix it, but it’s just not the right kind of soil where we live.
“And another thing,” she said, squeezing her hands again. “I know you would not lie on purpose. I believe you when you say you didn’t know your papa was behind the offers from the beginning.”
At least someone did. “Honestly, Mrs. Morales, I feel terrible. I should have known, but I didn’t. I would never have believed Papa could stoop so low.”
Mrs. Morales took a seat, Jeanne and Savvy flanking her. “Between you and me, I was getting a little excited about those houses at Verdant Acres,” she said wistfully. “Fireplaces . . . laundry rooms right off the master bedroom. One whole room, just for the laundry. And the walk-in showers! But then, I think about how much I would miss my chicas . . .”
“What will be, will be,” said Jeanne soothingly. “For now, you should concentrate on getting your husband better.”
“Yes, but then there’s the doctor bill, and the hospital.... I can’t begin to imagine what they will be like. . . .”
An RN carrying a tablet strode briskly down the hall toward the nurse’s station.
“There is Sophia, Geraldo’s nurse,” said Mrs. Morales, rising again, looking after her anxiously. “She’s very kind. Explained to me everything when Geraldo was transferred here from the ER. She promised to keep me updated. Maybe she has some news.” She kept her eye on the nurses’ station, as if hoping for good news could make it materialize.
“I’m going now,” Savvy said. “If there’s anything I can do for you or Mr. Morales, don’t hesitate to call.”
“Don’t work late,” Jeanne said. “You must start taking better care of yourself.”
If anyone spotted Savvy going into the office looking the way she did that Sunday afternoon, with the circles under her eyes, sagging ponytail, and boots still dusty from the ranch, he’d think some stranger was breaking in and call the cops, especially if he saw the way she propped her boots on her desk and swiveled back and forth while she pondered her next move.
She looked down at the file labeled NTI/MORALES. Even if all the pieces of that real estate transaction had fallen neatly into place, she would’ve needed a little hand-holding from one of the partners at closing. After all, Savvy was what was called a “baby lawyer.” An apprentice. But now? A transaction this complicated was way, way out of her realm.
What was the best outcome for everyone concerned?
She looked down at her hands spanning her flat tummy.
And then she put down her feet, opened her laptop, and started to open tabs.
Cardiac prognoses.
Real estate sales agreements.
Every possible version of legal partnerships. General, limited, LLC, and so on.
For the answers to questions she couldn’t find online, she got up and went down the hall to the firm’s law library.
She had no idea how many hours she’d spent plowing through the heavy law books and trolling the net before she finally looked up and noticed it was growing dark and she was so hungry she could eat her keyboard.
Monday morning, Esteban hurled the last of the limp Rathmell Ranch lavender plants into the wheelbarrow with the others. Then he wheeled them over to the compost pile. Compost was all they were good for.
He returned to the freshly turned soil and stared blankly down at it. It was still early in the season. Made way more sense to plant that bed in something they could actually make money off of. What had been planted in that spot last year? Right now, he couldn’t remember.
Earlier that morning, while Madre was at the hospital, he’d canceled the Realtor appointment for her, rather than put her through the embarrassment of explaining what had happened. Then he’d called up the HR guy at the utility company to tell him he wouldn’t be taking that lineman job, after all.
And that was it. Now the only thing left was to finish where Padre had left off with the Plan Familiar . . . growing only what thrived on their patch of earth. It wouldn’t be easy doing the work of two men, but he was strong. And even if growing vegetables wasn’t Esteban’s dream, it put food in their mouths and a little money in the bank. Families like the Moraleses didn’t have the luxury of chasing rainbows. They’d be fine. He could do this.
He turned and trudged back to the barn to see what seed Padre might have stored up that he could sow right away, before the season got any later.
There was something he couldn’t do, though, Plan Familiar be damned.
Maybe if he had never known Savvy’s eager optimism, never held her supple body in his arms, never watched her face contort with pleasure at his touch, he could eventually find someone to settle down with. There were plenty of chulas out there.
But now? Seemed like he was fated to take after Uncle in more ways than just his name and his unusual height. Because after Savvy, there could never be anyone else.
The realization left him hollow and listless.
He stared unseeing at the bags of seed Padre had stacked up in the barn. There, in the quiet dimness, where no one could see, he couldn’t hold back his hurt any longer.
As he imagined the years stretching out endlessly before him, the tears ran down his face.
Maybe the family’s luck would change. Maybe, by some miracle, Esmerelda and Pete would have a son, or one of their daughters would come back here and farm instead of going to college and getting a desk job. At least Padre would be happy.
There would be no sons for Esteban, though.
Así es la vida, he thought. That’s life.