Page 29 of Wes

I turn on the rock star persona to gain some points with her. With a bright grin, I hold the back of her chair, dip my head, and whisper as if we’re conspiring, “No need to do that. I’ll be in and out in a jiffy.”

She giggles. I raise an index finger to my lips, smile, and stalk to the door, where I knock.

“Come in.” Maria’s muffled voice invites.

Cracking the door open, I stick my head inside. Instead of her desk, she’s sitting on the couch, her elbows propped on her thighs, her laptop on the coffee table in front of her.

“Sorry to interrupt. Before leaving, I wanted to thank you for this opportunity.”

This way I give her a plausible excuse to send me packing if she really doesn’t want me around. After all, she made it clear she wants to focus on work.

“Come in. I need to take a break from these spreadsheets, anyway.”

I pull one of the chairs closer to the sofa and sit down. “You’ve got an extraordinary place here for these kids. Spacious and clean bedrooms and bathrooms; beautiful flower and vegetable gardens for them to work on; as well as a multisport court and a gym for exercising. Not to mention that dream of a library.”

She chuckles. “That’s my favorite spot.”

Just like it happened in Brazil, her happiness warms my soul. I take a deep breath, filling my lungs with that sensation. I let the air out in a sigh of contentment.

“I couldn’t agree more.” I stir the conversation toward the subject I want to explore; namely, her. I grin. “Your bid in the charity auction made it clear you’ve got some change to spare. And talking to the staff and the kids I suppose your commitment to Welcoming Hills is a full-time gig, right?”

“Correct.”

Her tight-lip reply prompts me to switch again to a more indirect approach.

“Ana and Moira also dedicate their time to Hidden Scars. I admire that and couldn’t be more grateful.”

“Grateful? What for?”

“My only sister was in an abusive relationship nobody in my family noticed. An afternoon talking with Pamela in a family function was enough for Ana and Moira. They helped Pam get out of the situation and now she’s happily married.”

Sharing a concise version of my sister’s story has the effect I was hoping for. Maria leans back against the couch, relaxed. “Those ladies are amazing. They’ve done so much for me as well.” Her voice trails off as if her mind has wandered away.

A shadow darkens her expression.

I scramble for another subject trying to take her back to that happy place of a few moments ago. At the same time, I want to know her better, learn about her family, her roots.

“I witnessed your dedication at the auction. And you were so young when you founded Welcoming Hills. Have you always been involved with charity? Who inspired you to go into this field?”

Her face turns ashen as her nostrils flare. Her ragged breathing makes her chest heave. I beat myself up for asking the wrong questions and causing her distress.

She juts her chin up. “My husband.”

I gasp as if she’s punched me in the stomach. She might just have done that because my head is reeling from the blow. Is she married? Is that why she keeps me at arms-length?

That makes no fucking sense.

I shake my head to clear it. I can’t let my heart do the thinking. She doesn’t wear a ring. Ana and Moira wouldn’t have gone to so much trouble to make that date successful if their friend were married.

When I trust my voice, I murmur, “Divorced?”

She gazes at her fingers, sandals, and laptop. All the while, I hold my breath. My ears begin to ring with the force with which I grind my teeth. What’s so hard that she doesn’t know how to tell me? She glances my way before closing the laptop and rising to her feet.

Focused on her own movements as she returns to her desk, she whispers, “Widowed.”

That one word carries a world of pain. And creates an avalanche of questions, but I clam up and wait for her to elaborate.

She doesn’t.

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