Page 45 of Seasoned
He strolled to the front and let his gaze travel over the burgundy door. The original color had been gray, but Adelaide had wanted a different color, so he spent one Saturday morning painting the door and shutters the more vibrant color.
Scrubbing a hand over his face, he pushed away the memory and rang the bell. Seconds later, the door opened and he was gut-punched by Adelaide’s soft, hesitant smile.
“Hi,” she said.
“Hi.”
Damn. She looked like…his Adelaide. Often mistaken for a woman in her thirties, she was sexy and beautiful in a pretty blouse splashed with dark and light flowers all over it and dark jeans that enveloped her hips and hugged the lines of her waist. She wore her long hair in a ponytail, which perfectly displayed the beauty of her round face, bright and pretty hazel eyes, and a mouth that was wide and full and inviting.
Hector hadn’t seen her since they signed the papers in the attorney’s office and went their separate ways in the parking lot, like strangers. They talked once in the interim because she had a question about the mechanic who’d worked on her car before. He used to be in charge of taking their cars in for repair, so he had easily answered the question and wished he could have kept her on the phone longer.
Adelaide stepped back. “Come in.”
The bitter taste of irony forced a wry smile to Hector’s face at the realization that he had to get permission to enter a house he thought he’d grow old in. The home he still thought of astheirhome.
Inside, he was immediately hit by the inviting scent of pineapples. Adelaide believed their house should smell good, and she achieved that with air fresheners in every room.
He followed her to the bright kitchen that opened into the great room. She’d added yellow pillows to the two white sofas. The gold and white curtains covering the sliding glass door and large windows were open to give an unobstructed view of the covered patio.
A few years ago they’d added the covering. He set up a gas grill, bought a table, chairs, and a sofa, andvoilà—Adelaide had an outdoor space to spend time with her friends and for the few times a year they entertained. They’d remodeled the kitchen the same year, opting for white appliances and white cabinets with nickel knobs. Everything looked pretty and shiny, conveying the message that all was well in the Flores home, when in reality it hadn’t been.
Hector sat on one of the backless stools at the kitchen counter. “Okay, I’m here. Care to tell me what’s going on? You were mighty secretive about why you wanted me to come over.”
Adelaide walked to the opposite side of the counter. “Would you like something to drink? Water? Lemonade?”
“I don’t want anything to drink. I want to know what’s going on, and why you needed me to come over to talk about ‘something important.’”
He wasn’t upset, but maybe a little worried. Was there something wrong with her? The kids?
“I’ll tell you in a second.”
She pulled a jug of lemonade from the refrigerator and he watched her backside in the snug fitting jeans. Erotic memories fast-tracked through his brain—his dedication to her pleasure and her cries of passion when he succeeded. Overcome by the need to touch her, his eyes dropped to his clenched fingers on the granite countertop. Before he moved out, he’d experienced the same painful need to touch her but stayed away as if she’d been wrapped in a blanket of thorns. He still wasn’t sure how they’d gotten to that point in their marriage. No touching. Barely talking.
Hector loosened his fingers. They’d done what they had to do. They’d drifted apart and divorce had been the right decision.
Adelaide placed a glass of lemonade in front of him. “I’m sorry for all the cloak-and-dagger, but this wasn’t something I thought we should discuss over the phone. It’s about Danny. He was very upset yesterday when he came home and told me what was wrong.” She took a deep breath and Hector’s abs tightened. “Jamie’s pregnant. She’s three months along, and the baby is due—”
“Pregnant!” This news was better than an illness, but not much better.
“Hector, calm down.”
He stood and braced his hands on the counter. “He’s out of control! He keeps screwing up. He made shitty grades the last year of high school, scraping by in math and science—classes he used to breeze through and could practically do in his sleep. He got in that fight and got suspended, and then the foolishness with spray-painting foul language on the outside of the school with his friends and getting caught as they left the school grounds. What’s wrong with him? Matter of fact, is he here?”
“Yes, but he asked me to talk to you,” Adelaide said, an exceptional example of calm compared to his intensely agitated reaction.
“So he couldn’t tell me himself? He let you do it?”
She gestured at him. “Look at your reaction. Do you blame him? He needs our support, not condemnation.”
Hector laughed and rested his hands on his hips. “Support. So what about school? Is he going to finish? And what about Jamie? What are her plans now that she’ll be a mother in about six months? They’re both kids, Addie.” He cursed and stalked away, too wired to stand still.
This was not the path he’d wanted for his son, to make the same mistake he and Adelaide had made decades before. The boy had been making bad decisions for a while but this—this was too much. He and Adelaide had managed—together—because they’d been older and in love and wanted their kids. Were Danny and Jamie in love? What were their plans? How were they going to support a child?
Adelaide silently watched him.
“Does he plan to get a damn job? Does he have any plans at all? Babies are expensive.”
“You and I both know that, and I think he and Jamie can learn from what happened to us. We need to help them.”
