Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 65083 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 325(@200wpm)___ 260(@250wpm)___ 217(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65083 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 325(@200wpm)___ 260(@250wpm)___ 217(@300wpm)
“Stop the car.” Gage pulls to the curb, and I jump out, staring at the apparition. “This is amazing. I can’t believe the city spent the money to build a park here.”
When Gage doesn’t respond, I turn to him and see the truth in his eyes. “You did it?”
He nods. “All three of us.”
Before I can fully take that in, I spot a mural on a building across the street. Even all these years later, the style is familiar. “You did that, too.”
I walk down the street a few steps so I can see it better. It’s children, playing. Three boys … and a girl.
I gasp. “It’s us. You drew us.”
Then the tears come, and Gage holds me close while I soak his t-shirt.
When I can speak, it’s to say, “I’m such an idiot.”
“You’re not an idiot,” he chides me gently. “Why would you say that?”
“I thought you’d forget me.”
His arms tighten around me. “Lexy.”
“I was so afraid to come back here and find out I meant nothing to you.”
“That could never happen. Never.” His voice is fierce.
I reach up and touch his face. “I’m sorry.”
“I’m sorry you were so alone.” He looks down at me. “You don’t have to be, ever again.”
That brings a fresh spate of tears, but this time I fight them back. “We need to get to the house,” I say, wiping my face.
He hands me into the car again, and as we roll down the street, I see other changes. More trees, restored houses, flower boxes in windows. The whole neighborhood feels younger, fresher, more alive.
Gage stops in front of the Sanchez residence. Not surprisingly, it looks beautiful. It’s been recently painted, the landscaping is lovely, and the sagging front porch has been replaced with a new one that runs the width of the house. I’ll bet there are other changes I can’t see, like updated electrical and plumbing.
A small, round woman bustles out the front door and hurries our way. I climb from the car to be folded in a warm embrace. “Señora Sanchez. It’s so good to see you.”
“Lexy. I’m so glad you’re here. When Hector called and told me you were coming, I was so happy.”
I smile as I let her lead me into the house, Gage trailing behind us. The boys chose new names for themselves back then, but I guess it’s not surprising that their parents still use their given names. I seem to remember Mrs. Sanchez telling me once that Hector was her father’s name before it was also given to Kai. Thorn was named Tomás, after their other grandfather.
Inside, the house is much as I remember it, though the worn carpet has been replaced with wood flooring and area rugs, and there’s a new recliner in the living room, facing a big-screen television. We follow Mrs. Sanchez to the kitchen and dining area at the back, where Kai and Thorn are talking with their father.
Mr. Sanchez rises from his seat at the table. “Alejandra.” I’ve always loved him calling me by the Spanish version of my name. “Welcome back.”
“Thank you, Señor Sanchez.” I give him a big hug and look around the kitchen. A new stove, new cabinets, and expensive new tile flooring. Probably new appliances and dishes, too, if Mrs. Sanchez wanted them.
“Sit,” she tells me. “Dinner is ready.”
The table is not new; it’s the same rough beauty that Mr. Sanchez built with his own hands years ago. Seating for six, perfect for the makeshift family I surrounded myself with growing up.
I take a seat between Kai and Gage; Mrs. Sanchez sets a final dish on the table and sits down, and I bite my lip to keep from tearing up again.
Mr. Sanchez catches my eye. If he makes a speech I am absolutely going to cry, so I smile and say, “It’s so good to be here.”
He takes my cue gracefully and lifts his glass of water. “To Lexy.”
“Hear, hear,” Thorn says.
I lift my own water. “To family.” We all clink glasses, and then get down to the serious business of eating. There’s some polite conversation about my father’s wedding bringing me back to Vegas, but mostly we concentrate on the food.
Señora Sanchez must have known I was in town and been planning to invite me before Kai’s oh-so-casual comment about family dinner, because she’s had time to make all my old favorites—pozole, enchiladas, carne asada, and so many accompaniments. It’s not just a meal, it’s a feast, the kind that’s normally prepared for large groups on special occasions. Emotion swamps me again that I’m being not only welcomed, but celebrated.
“Even more delicious than I remember,” I announce. And it’s true; I’m not just saying it to be polite.
Mrs. Sanchez beams at me.
“She keeps getting better,” Gage agrees. “I wouldn’t have thought it possible, but Señora Sanchez apparently has no upper limit on her culinary magic.”