Page 78 of A Dish Best Served Hot

Whoever was calling her didn’t agree, because the moment it stopped ringing it started up again.

Growling in annoyance, Lola looked over to see who it was. It was Yara. Lola tensed. Yara didn’t call Lola. She texted. More to the point, Yara especially didn’t call Lola in the middle of the afternoon on a Saturday. “I have to take this,” she said, unease pooling in her stomach.

The moment she answered the call Yara began talking. “I’m sorry to call you on a weekend, but this couldn’t wait.”

Lola sat up. “What happened?”

“It’s Marcus and Ruby.”

“Tell me everything,” she demanded, climbing off Saint and sitting at the edge of the bed.

Behind her he sat up as well, alert and ready, but she didn’t pay him any attention; she was focused on what Yara was saying.

“They had told us that they were staying with a friend while everything with El Hogar gets sorted out, but what they failed to mention was that this friend lived in a tent city.”

Lola’s heart lurched. She felt like a failure. She should’ve had something set up already.

“Last night the place was raided by angry residents trying to force them all out. The police were called to deescalate the situation.”

Fuck. De-escalation was almost never what ended up happening when the police showed up. Lola reached for the sheet on her bed and tugged it free. She stood up and wrapped it around herself.

“Ruby live streamed the whole thing.”

The tone of her voice told Lola all she needed to know. It was bad. Lola plopped down on her couch in her sheet toga. “Is Marcus—” Lola’s throat spasmed, preventing her from asking, but Yara knew anyway.

“He’s alive. A little roughed up, but alive.”

“Where is he now?” Lola could hear Saint moving around in her little bedroom area, but she maintained focus on her conversation.

“Mariana picked them up,” she responded. “They’re both at their place.” She paused. “I watched the video. It’s disgusting, Lola. I mean all the -isms and -obics. Someone called Marcus the f-slur. The video is dark and Ruby was moving around a lot, but, Lola...it looked like someone in a uniform.”

Lola’s Mexican and Puerto Rican came out simultaneously. “Pinches cabrones. Saramambiches,” she snarled. “They aren’t going to get away with this. We aren’t going to let them.”

“We’re already mobilizing.”

“Good.” Lola’s mind started whirling with tasks. “The media needs to be contacted. We need to demand any dash-and body-cam footage of the incident be released. We already know how that’s going to go, so get in touch with other local groups, so we can all make that demand together.”

Saint walked around the couch wearing nothing but a pair of unbuttoned jeans and, for the first time ever, Lola couldn’t care less. He sat on the tiny ottoman that served as her coffee table and just watched her, his expression tense and concerned.

She held up a finger to him. “Make sure Ruby downloads the live video to her phone, so that it’s saved in case the platforms take it down. Maybe even have her share it, so multiple people have it and she won’t have to look at it again if she doesn’t want to.” She exhaled roughly. “God, those poor kids.” She shook her head. Tears formed in her eyes.

Saint reached over and grabbed her hand, weaving their fingers together. Lola immediately felt more centered. She rubbed her thumb over his in thanks.

“Do you think the therapist that used to help out at El Hogar would do an emergency session with them?” Lola asked.

“That’s a great idea. I’ll call her as soon as we hang up.”

“Once there’s a meeting time and place, let me know and I’ll be there.”

“Okay. I’ll add you to our chat group, so you stay updated. I’m sure everyone will want to meet ASAP.”

“Whenever it is, I’ll be there.”

After they said their goodbyes and hung up, Lola collapsed backward onto the couch. She stared at her aging ceiling. The white paint had long ago started to turn an extremely pale yellow. There were thin cracks leading her eye to the dusty ceiling fan. She tried to remember if she’d cleaned it when she moved in a few months ago. She doubted it. By the looks of it, it had been a long while since the thing was cleaned. That was just her life, she guessed.

She didn’t have the time or the energy to sit there and examine little things like that. She was too busy trying to just make it by. Her life was an endless cycle of checking tasks off a never-ending to-do list. At the top of her list was to find those kids a safe place to stay. So far she’d failed them.

“I take it there’s a problem with some of the kids from El Hogar.”

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