Page 33 of Reclaiming Izabel

“Son of a bitch!”

chapter

nine

Izabel

It was almostthree in the afternoon when the company vehicle pulled in front of the ruins of several dilapidated houses in the Glen Ford neighborhood.

“Stick close to me,” Marcus said when I was about to open my side of the door.

He got out of the vehicle and immediately turned his attention to our surroundings. Tractors, bulldozers, and demolition crews were already on site to clear the area where new single-family homes and an apartment building were going to be erected. The Metro Bank and the Solace Foundation partnered on the project financing. Stockman and Bose had offered their services—manpower and materials at a discounted rate—including the architectural design work for free. My team was spearheading this project.

“I don’t see King,” Marcus said as he slipped on his aviators.

I checked my phone and noted a missed message from him. “He’s going to be thirty minutes late. Traffic on Sixty-Four.”

“Izabel!”

Luisa, the taqueria owner, was fast approaching with excitement in her eyes. “So it’s really happening?”

Her glee was infectious and exactly what I needed on this confusing day. “Yes. It’s happening.”

She clutched her chest. “God bless you, child. From now on, you and your man will have tacos for life.”

Luisa meant Drake, but it was Marcus who gave a pained cough, thinking she was referring to him. Heart in throat, I laughed nervously.

“About operating a taco truck in front of your building,” the woman continued. “I appreciate the offer, but with my son off to college, we will be shorthanded. I’m sure me and my familia will be slinging more tacos than we can handle with construction starting.”

“That’s true,” I agreed. We discussed the influx of business to the area brought about by the development. After a few minutes, Luisa bade goodbye and walked back to her taqueria.

“It just occurred to me,” Marcus started casually. “That Mrs. Romero wasn’t referring to me.”

“She wasn’t.” I put on sunglasses before I nimbly hopped around the debris on the sidewalk.

“Are you seeing someone, Izzy?”

I was saved from answering when a bulldozer dumped debris into a pile, drowning out every other noise in our surroundings. Instead, I made a circling motion with my forefinger, signaling tolook around. I was anxious to see the spot where we were building the children’s playground, with the added intent for Marcus to drop the question.

He came up behind me as I headed down the length of the deserted stretch of houses and was reminded of Marcus’s concerns. Although most of the current residents gladly moved out of their homes, there were some who were resistant. Metro Bank bought up their existing mortgages and gave thema stipend to rent an apartment while the eighteen-month development was ongoing. It was more than a fair deal, given what they would have spent to keep their houses livable. But, as with all negotiations, there were some who weren’t happy moving elsewhere—especially those who used the houses for drug deals.

After working on exclusive subdivisions with perfectly manicured landscaping and state-of-the-art clubhouses, I wanted a development that would give the residents a sense of home. One where the children could play, get dirty, scrape their knees, and run around with the family dog.

Economic growth was imminent in the Newport News area and I wanted the Glen Ford residents to be a part of it. Most of the community came from Latinx or Asian backgrounds. My own mother was a second-generation Colombian immigrant who, upon graduating from high school, worked two jobs so she could afford to go to beauty school. I understood the value of hard work, the fear of losing a roof over my head, and going to bed hungry.

I was forever grateful to Mr. Stockman for giving me this opportunity to fulfill a childhood idealistic dream, which brought my ambivalence about Drake’s return into focus. Would I have been so driven in the pursuit of this project if Drake hadn’t “died”? The hours I put into chasing down every sponsor to donate to the Solace Foundation had been my coping mechanism for losing my husband and baby.

His return made me feel like a fraud. Like I just used this project as my therapy instead of genuinely caring for Luisa and the residents.

“Goddammit.” Marcus’s muttered curse yanked me out of my musings.

“What…?” My question cut off with the approach of two dangerous-looking men. I’d never seen them before, and they certainly didn’t look like they belonged in Glen Ford.

“Don’t look at them.” Marcus moved closer. The demolition activity was some distance behind us. The noise it was producing would drown out any calls of help. “Keep walking.”

Heart pounding, I did as I was told, but luck wasn’t with us. We were definitely on the newcomers’ radar.

Marcus slipped in front of me just as the strangers stopped before us.

---