Page 38 of Sugar Coated Secrets

“You’re not Danny,” her grandmother says, trying to sit up. Mary gets up to assist her.

“No, ma’am, I’m not,” I say quietly.

“You’re Dulce’s Ford.”

“Why yes, ma’am, I am,” I say, liking the way it sounds.

I step farther into the room, but she freezes me on the spot with a stare. Then looks at Dulce. “What happened to Danny?”

Dulce smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “It didn’t work out.”

“Oh…small town?”

“Yes, it is. Word travels fast,” Dulce says.

“You should know, Ford,” her grandmother says.

I’m not sure if she is talking about the past with Summer or my racing, so I reply, “I do. It goes with the territory.”

“Not my granddaughter’s?—”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” I interrupt.

“Good. When I decide I’m good and ready to kick the bucket, Dulce will go to college. It’s not too late. I told her she should have gone after she graduated, but she didn’t want to leave me.”

“Let me take those, Mr. Keller,” Mary says, taking the bags.

“Please call me Ford,” I reply, helping her with the bags and following her out to the hallway with Dulce behind me.

Like the driveway, the rest of the house is twenty years overdue for repairs. The kitchen is the same, with dated woodpaneling and chipped Formica cabinets. Yellow ring marks on the counters from too much use. The appliances also need an update, but I admire Dulce’s strength in taking care of her grandmother’s business and the house while taking care of her grandmother.

“Alright,” Mary says and glances at Dulce. “Will you come and help me get these served?”

“Sure,” Dulce says reluctantly, opening the cabinet and grabbing the plates.

The kitchen is small, so I walk back to her grandmother’s room, wanting to get to know her.

As I walk in, her grandmother pins me with a look, scrutinizing me and giving me a chill down my spine.

When she looks at me, it’s like she is seeing inside my soul—something my own mother couldn’t do.

“What’s your business with my Dulce? Are you passing through, or are you planning to stay?”

“I’m not sure. It depends.”

“On?” she asks with a challenge in her gaze.

My eyes zero in on a picture of Dulce on her nightstand; it doesn’t look like it was taken long ago, but it’s not recent, either. She is still gorgeous, but in this picture, she looks breathtaking. I’ve never seen her smile with such a light in her eyes. She looks so happy.

I point at the picture. “Can I?”

“Oh yes. Of course. I’m sure you remember that night.”

I pick up the photo and look at Dulce’s beautiful smile. Her dress. Vintage but gorgeous on her perfect figure. My eyes cut to the old woman, looking quizzically for a moment.

“I was upset that she didn’t bring me pictures of you both.”

“Pictures?” I ask, confused.

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