Page 19 of Ghostlighted
Liam laughed, although it sounded forced. “Yes. Certainly. And I don’t mean to sound ungrateful.”
In a pig’s eye, as Ricky was fond of saying. “Of course not.”
“Sofia, I’ll speak with you later about this. In the meantime, I really must go. I have finals to prepare for.”
“Adios, Guillermo. I love you, mijo.”
“Goodbye.”
Ricky tucked his phone away. “I didn’t realize you’d lost your phone, Tia. I’ll pick up a new one for you this afternoon.”
She waved his words away and stood. “I am in no hurry. I may still find the others. They must be around here somewhere, or perhaps at the restaurant. I go to so few other places.”
I collected all the tea glasses and set them on the tray next to the pitcher. When I rose, Sofia immediately embraced me.
“Gracias, Maz. You have made Guillermo and me so very happy.” She winked at Ricky. “And I imagine Felicia will be happy, too. I must go inside to call her on the kitchen phone and let her know.” She motioned for Ricky to hand her the tray.
He shook his head. “I’ll take it inside for you.”
“Do not be silly. If you get the door for me, I can manage for myself. I am sure you boys have many other things to do today.”She kissed his cheek and then mine. “Gracias for planting my garden.”
Ricky relented, handed her the tray, and made sure to, er, yank the door after she went inside.
“So.” I tucked my thumbs through my belt loops as we left Sofia’s porch and ambled toward my house. “Was it my imagination, or did ol’ Liam seem less than enthused? You’d think he’d be happy that someone from his family would be there to see him graduate.”
Ricky snorted. “I expect he doesn’t want his fancy Ivy League friends to know about his less than fancy—and less white—family. He’s spent most of his life pretending we don’t exist.”
“Except when he’s taking Sofia’s money. What’s the deal with her cell phones?” I knew she’d had one when we first met. She’d used it to call Ricky to clear sawdust out of my door locks.
“She’s misplaced a couple. She doesn’t walk around with them glued to her hand like Felicia does, or always in a pocket or purse. She’s right in that she doesn’t go to many places anymore. She’s still got her driver’s license, and she’s got a car. A 2012 Corolla that belonged to my uncle Ramon, her second husband. But she doesn’t drive it. Hasn’t for years.”
I took a left to walk between the houses and Ricky followed me around to my front yard. “Does it still run?”
He nodded as we mounted the porch steps. “I make sure of it. She lets Felicia use it, too, but most of the time it sits in her garage.”
I squinted at Sofia’s house. “She has a garage?”
“It’s detached. The drive opens onto Birch Street.” He pointed toward the road that dead-ended at the Manor grounds, perpendicular to my street, Iris Lane. “Did you notice the building beyond the garden?”
“Um… Not really?” I’d been paying more attention to Ricky’s butt as he’d bent over the plants. From the quirk of his eyebrowand the tilt of his lips, I figured he was onto me. “I hope you’re not going to bust my chops about that, too. Everybody’s on my case today. If it’s not Taryn and you about my car, it’s Avi about my clothes and my stuff.”
“Stuff? What stuff?”
“A bunch of boxes that are still tucked in the back of my ex’s closet.” I frowned as we mounted the front porch steps, picturing the stack of battered cardboard. “Although now that I think of it, he made me shift everything up to the attic when I moved out.”
Ricky’s eyes narrowed. “You still have things at your old boyfriend’s house?”
“Yeah. Not a lot, but the boxes were bulky and wouldn’t fit in the Civic when Gil and I first drove down here.”
“That is not acceptable.”
I paused with my hand on the doorknob. “Is this about the car again? Because I doubt the Civic would make the two round trips necessary to haul everything back here.”
“No.” His grin held an unfamiliar edge, and it sent a zing from my nape to my heel. “Thisis your home now, and you should have all your treasures around you.”
“You sound like Avi. And I’m not sure most of my stuff would count as treasures.”
The edge sharpened. “Also, you should have no more reasons to speak to that cabrón ever again. Lucky for you”—he gestured to the curb—“you have a friend with a pickup. It’s barely noon and only a three-hour drive to Portland. Let’s go.”
