Page 97 of Winning Match
They speak about me as though I’m not standing in front of them, listening to every word they share. Still, I slip my hands into my pockets, and wait patiently.
“You can come in,” the second begins, crossing her arms over her chest, “if you correctly guess which one of us is Gladys and Dorothy and Judith.”
“Ooh, that’s good!” The third woman claps her hands.
Then, they all glare at me.
Great. Just great.
But I play their game, setting down my bag to peer at the three women. I like that they’re giving me a hard time on Marlowe’s behalf. I deserve it and she deserves to have people in her life who stick up for her.
I study them carefully, recalling details Marlowe shared about her friends like plucking up discarded breadcrumbs.
Gladys bakes…I narrow my eyes on the woman wearing the apron.
Judith is the one who never married and has the most eccentric style. My gaze cuts to the first woman, taking in her funky earrings and the large rings on her fingers.
If I’m right, that would make Dorothy the woman in the middle.
Taking a deep breath, I point them out from left to right. “Judith, Dorothy, Gladys.”
They all suck in surprised breaths. Then, the third woman, Gladys, does a little hop. “You may now enter.” She bows as the other two shuffle out of the way to make room for me.
“Gracias. Thank you,” I say.
“Ooh, listen to that accent,” Judith whispers to Dorothy.
“You hurt our girl,” Gladys says, giving me a knowing look.
I sigh. “I know. And I’m sorry. I’m here to…apologize, to make it up to her.”
Judith gives me a long look before nodding. “All right. Her room is up the stairs, the second door on the right.”
“But if she cries,” Dorothy interjects, pointing two fingers at her eyes before jabbing them in my direction, “we’ll come for you, García.”
I shiver from the truth in her words but drop my chin in understanding. “I’d expect nothing less.”
“Good.” She nods, crossing her arms over her chest again.
The three of them stare at me as I leave my luggage in the corner of the living room. I walk up the stairs, taking only my backpack carry-on with me. When I reach the second door on the right, I pause, pulling in a deep breath and throwing up one more prayer.
Then, I knock.
“Come in,” Marlowe calls.
The sound of her voice rolls over me and God, I’ve missed her.
I push the door to her bedroom open but freeze in the doorway. Marlowe looks up, her hand flying to her throat, her fingers closing around the anchor pendant, as her eyes widen in surprise.
And then, she bursts into tears.
29
Marlowe
“Don’t cry. Shh! Please don’t cry,” Ale croons, looking nervously over his shoulder before closing my bedroom door and rushing to my side. “Marli, I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.” He drops to his knees next to my desk chair and reaches for me.
“What, what are you doing here?” I breathe out, my surprise evident in the shakiness of my voice.
