Chapter Twenty-Two

January 27, 2017—continued

Paloma sat on a high-back bench facing the beach outside her bed and breakfast. She wore red slacks, a matching turtleneck, a silver Russian mink coat with a black stone marten collar, high-heeled black boots, a fluffy white hat, and her thirty-thousand-dollar platinum ring with a five-carat chocolate diamond center stone. She liked to make an impression.

Emerson Mathis pulled up in his silvery-blue sports car and stepped into the parking lot. Paloma looked him over. He had the shape and height of one of those blow-up clowns you punch but pop back up. The sun’s rays ricocheted off his glossy balding head. Ana Mendoza was right when she said the man had no neck.

“Ms. Martin, I presume? I’m Emerson Mathis. It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he said with a slight bow and practiced politician’s smile.

“Yes, hello, Senator Mathis. The pleasure is all mine,” she said, using her gringa voice, hoping she could, at some point, finagle her way into a conversation about Booth’s Hispanic household help.

“Won’t you have a seat?” She patted the spot next to her on the bench.

“Thank you. Isaiah O’Conner, the Board President at St. Luke’s Parish, requested that I meet with you. Of course, I said ‘yes.’ Anyone interested in furthering St. Luke’s mission is a friend of mine. I understand you’re visiting little Cascade City from big ole Dallas. May I ask what brings you here?”

Paloma rehearsed the story with Julia beforehand—her fabricated background and beliefs and why she, a woman from out of state, would have a passion for donating to the Catholic church school fund in inconsequential Cascade City.

“My husband Stanley and I came to Cascade City often,” she began. “He had countless business trips to Washington State as a venture capitalist. Your state is known for its creative genius, and the start-ups here have not disappointed. The Beachcomber Bed and Breakfast was our favorite place to stay. The natural beauty in this seaside town is spectacular; I’m sure you’ll agree.”

“It’s why I retired here—that and the endless supply of fresh seafood. The misty fall and winter in Washington are a small price to pay for the beauty that surrounds us.”

“We would have moved here in due time, but I’m afraid Stanley died from an aneurism in his forties, leaving me to raise two school-age children on my own. I retained our home in Dallas, mostly for them, but I still love this place. It’s full of bittersweet memories.”

Mathis made prayer hands and bowed his head. “I’m sorry for your loss. I am a widower myself. I lost my Angelica many years ago. Regarding Cascade City, I couldn’t agree more with your assessment. What’s not to like here?”

“Well, I’m not too fond of your politics. Or, more accurately, the politics of this state. I come from a place where we like rare steaks and our hands bloody from hunting and fishing or—shooting the occasional bad guy.” She snickered. “We’re an open-carry state—even in schools and grocery stores. The crazies are everywhere nowadays.”

Mathis nodded vigorously. “Oh, I like you already, Ms. Martin.”

“The northwest’s practically a role model in unpatriotic behavior and Godlessness,” Paloma continued. “The majority of Texans, especially away from the big cities, take traditional positions on issues such as school prayer, abstinence, Christian patriotism, and Sundays as holy days—to name a few. And don’t even get me started on books with S-E-X talk in them. And offering classes in English and Spanish? Why don’t those Mexicans learn to speak the language? I’m afraid the wall isn’t working.”

“I hail from Florida, as you know, and I’ve been fighting for Christian values my entire life,” Mathis continued. “I even started a Perot for President Club in college. As a US Senator, I sponsored legislation promoting Christian education that trains students to understand the truth in the Bible. Learning to defend their faith and effectively share the Gospel allows young people to change the world through Christ. I consider it my crowning achievement.”

“Did the legislation pass?” Paloma asked, already knowing the answer. Julia printed a stack of articles on the man and gave them to Paloma to read beforehand.

Mathis’ face turned red as a Maraschino cherry. “No, but I still consider it an accomplishment. We nearly got the votes we needed, and it raised awareness.”

“I admire that very much, Senator.” Paloma turned further inward so the tips of her knees touched his. “This is central to my interest in St. Luke’s School Fund. Stanley and I discussed it before he passed into the Lord’s loving arms. We wanted to leave a mark here in Cascade City.”

“We’d be grateful, Carol. Is it okay if I call you ‘Carol?’ “

“Certainly, Emerson. May I call you Emerson?” Paloma flashed a bright smile.

Emerson moved his face to within a foot of hers. “You may call me anything you want,” he said, winking. “Now, regarding the reason for our meeting today—I hope you don’t find the question too obtuse. Do you have a donation amount in mind?”

Mathis’ breath smelled of cigar and gum disease.

Paloma leaned back casually and sucked in her cheeks.

“I don’t mean to rush you, but I’m sure you understand,” he continued. “We’re in a mad dash to raise enough funds to break ground on the new school by the fall, and your gift could make all the difference.”

“I assure you it would be substantial—enough to meet or exceed your building fund goal and add an adjacent theatre space. We should discuss it further.” Paloma looked at her watch. “I’m afraid you’ll have to excuse me. I have a doctor’s appointment I must get to.”

“I see. I do hope you are well.”

The wake from a nearby ferry boat crashed on the shore. Seagulls squawked and circled overhead as they eyeballed the sand for hermit crabs, clams, and sea stars that might have washed up.

“No, sadly, I am not.” Paloma rested her dainty hand on Emerson Mathis’ knee. “I don’t have much time left. Stage four triple-negative breast cancer.” She pulled off her white fluffy hat and ran her hand over her thinning black tresses.

“What a tragedy—such a fine woman as yourself, and you’re so young.”

“Emerson, St. Luke’s is not the only organization I am considering for my donation, but your visit with me today secures its place at the top of my list. I feel a kinship with you, Emerson. We have much in common—widowhood and our Christian values. Perhaps we can meet tomorrow night. I don’t have much appetite these days, but I have been craving Mexican food.” She shook her head and laughed. “If nothing else, the illegals are good in the kitchen.”

“I know just the place. Mama Mendoza’s isn’t far away, and I’m a regular there. A friend of mine and I ate the lunch special there today. Perhaps you know of my friend—Percy Booth?”

“Percy Booth? Isn’t he the inventor of that newfangled pillow I’ve seen on TV?”

“No.” Mathis waved his hand. “He’s a Hollywood star. Made some of the greatest movies of the1960s, mostly Westerns. Known all over the world, he is.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t know your friend. I’ll be sure to look him up when I have time. Why don’t you pick me up tomorrow at six o’clock?”

“Yes, of course. And Carol—about that doctor’s appointment—I’ll keep you in my thoughts and prayers.”

****

Paloma walked gingerly past the front desk at the bed and breakfast, where a young woman stood folding cloth napkins.

“Stella, be a dear and bring me some port. And some decadent, fattening thing to go with. I’m done watching my waistline. If ever there was a time to indulge, this is it.”

“Yes, Mrs. Navarro,” Stella replied.

Paloma took one more step when her knees gave way, and she pitched forward and fell to the ground.

Stella rushed around her desk. “Are you all right, Mrs. Navarro?”

“I don’t know, Stella. But be a dear and help me up.”

****

Paloma settled in the wingback chair dressed in royalty-purple satin pajamas—each knee covered with a bag of ice wrapped in a paper towel. With a glass of Port and a plate of warm chocolate cookies on the bedside table, she picked up her cell and called Julia.

“Tomorrow—six p.m. Tell Ana Mendoza to make sure the recording gadget is on.”

“I will,” answered Julia. “How did it go with Mathis?”

“I’ve got him right where I want him.”

****

Carmen and Kelvin sat on the sofa in his apartment, each with a TV tray and plateful of crispy chunks of potato scrambled with eggs, covered with melty cheese, and smothered in Louisiana hot sauce. Kelvin used the vinegary condiment on everything from macaroni salad to hamburgers.

“It’s not much, but I was able to make it with ingredients you had in the refrigerator,” she said. “It’s cheap and easy. It’s called ‘papas con huevos.’ Someday I’ll show you how if you want.”

“I could’ve gotten us fast food or somethin’. You don’t have to cook for me, ya know.”

“It’s the least I can do. You’ve been so generous. You saved me, and that’s not an exaggeration.”

Kelvin picked up the TV clicker and turned off the game show he wasn’t watching anyway. “I’m not doing anything more than anybody else woulda for someone in such a lot of trouble. I think you’re a nice lady who’s suffered more than a person should.”

Carmen picked up her tray and set it aside. She folded her knees under her, softly pressed her lips against his, and let her tongue express what she wanted to say. A pins and needles sensation spread across her groin and shot up her back.

She’d never kissed a man before.

Kelvin pulled back. “Carmen, is this whatcha want?”

“What do you mean?” she asked, ready to kiss him again.

“Don’t get me wrong; I want it, but you’re in a terrible vulnerable state, and I promised myself I wouldn’t take advantage. But—but—I gotta admit, you’re the sweetest young lady I’ve ever met, and you’re real pretty.”

Carmen grabbed the hem of Kelvin’s T-shirt and pulled it off. “Can I touch you?” She reached toward his sculpted abdominals.

“You surely may.”

Her body warmed, and her cheeks flushed as she ran her fingertips over his rippled torso.

Kelvin’s eyes softened as he took her T-shirt off. Grapefruit-size breasts nearly spilled over the top of her worn-out white bra—a hand-me-down Consuelo gave her in seventh grade. He cupped a breast with his left hand and kissed her neck.

Someone knocked on the front door.

Kelvin sprang to an upright position.

Carmen pressed her back against the sofa and covered her mouth. “Who is it?” she murmured.

“Probably a delivery guy or somethin’. Bad timin’, though.” He walked over to the rocking chair and grabbed a patchwork quilt his Aunt Bernice made for him. “Wrap this around you. I’ll shoo ’em away, whoever it is.”

He bounded over to the front door and opened it a crack.

“Momma?”

“Surpriiiise!”

Carmen bolted into the bathroom but kept the door open enough to peek out.

“Oh, my God. Whatcha doin’ here, Momma?”

“Don’t take the Lord’s name in vain, and don’t keep me waitin’ out here like some kine-a fool. Yer white neighbors gohn think some Black lady’s tryin’ ta break in.”

“Sorry, Momma.” Kelvin opened the door.

Carmen’s hands and feet went cold. She closed her eyes and let out a long, quiet breath through her puckered mouth.

“Now, grab my suitcase, son. I know ya only got one room with a bed, so I figure you can sleep on the sofa.”

Kelvin’s mother hobbled to the rocking chair in herky-jerky movements. One of her black shoes had an elevated heel twice the height of its mate.

Kelvin grabbed his T-shirt off the couch, threw it over his head and glanced nervously at the two dirty plates on the TV trays.

“Get me somethin’ ta drink, son, would ya? It’s been a long day on that airplane, and they didn’t give me nothin’ but crackers an’ water like I was some kinda prisoner-a-war. The first-class customers got a sandwich, some-a-them peanuts, an’ a cocktail. What’s this world comin’ to? I paid good money for that flight.” She smiled. “At least my short leg had enough room to stretch out.”

Kelvin opened the refrigerator and peered at the carton of yogurt, a moldy tomato, orange juice, and leftover frozen dinner. “Why’d ya come all this way? You sure caught me by surprise.”

“Your birthday’s in two days. I thought we’d celebrate it toge…” His mom stopped mid-sentence. “Son?”

“Yes, Momma?”

“What is that?”

Kelvin froze. “What is what?”

Carmen followed the woman’s gaze, and her stomach dropped like a bungee jumper from a crane.

“That.” The woman pointed to the white bra lying on the floor. “Please, tell me that’s not yours.” She pushed herself to a stand and shuffled into Kelvin’s room, presumably to look through his closet for man-size dresses and pumps.

Kelvin picked up the bra and handed it to Carmen through the bathroom door.

His mother watched him with narrowed eyes. “Whatcha got in there?”

“I don’t see a way outta this, so I best just say it. There’s a girl in my bathroom,” Kelvin said. “Correction. A real nice young lady.”

“Please tell me your kiddin’. Not you, my well-mannered, God-fearin’ son. Now, yer brother, I could understand, but you? No way.”

Carmen stepped into the hall; her light brown skin flushed and splotchy. She introduced herself and apologized for dropping the bra on the floor—from a clean pile of laundry, she lied.

“Carmen Cooper, I’d like to introduce ya to my momma, R’Shawna De la Fosse. Momma—Carmen’s a friend from work. She’s livin’ with me—but it ain’t what ya think.”

“Is that so? There’s a girl hidin’ in the bathroom an’ a bra on the livin’ room floor, but I’m all ears,” R’Shawna said, giving Kelvin the side-eye.

“C’mon over here, Momma,” he said. “I’ll get you a cup of decaf, and then we’ll fill you in.”

Kelvin gave his mother a moment to sip her coffee before he and Carmen explained things. R’Shawna sat in rapt attention as they tag-teamed telling the story.

She scolded her son for not telling her sooner but took it surprisingly well. She even praised him for wanting to save Carmen and her mom from Booth, who starred in 1964’s Tale of One-Eyed Nate, which, ironically enough, was a movie choice available to the passengers on the flight from Oklahoma to Seattle.