Mulberry Park. Judy Duarte
wanted to admit to Erik that Santa and the Easter Bunny weren’t real. She fingered the hem of her shorts, then brushed at the edge of the adhesive bandage that protected the scrape on her knee. “I hope I did the right thing.”
“Not to worry. In fact, I admire you for what you did.”
Claire turned, caught his eye. For a moment they shared some kind of connection, although she’d be darned if she knew what it was.
Walter tossed her a wry grin. “I have no delusions about the Ol’ Boy Upstairs being all that proud of me—even though I’ve straightened out my sorry life in the past couple of years. And I don’t pretend to have an inside track.”
Claire certainly didn’t. She watched the girl for a moment longer. Analisa now had a face. On the outside, she appeared clean and healthy. But if her uncle didn’t have time for her, were her emotional needs being met? And if not, to what extent did Claire want to get involved?
Oh, for Pete’s sake. She was barely taking care of her own emotional needs. What did she have to offer anyone else?
She got to her feet and excused herself. “It was nice chatting with you, Walter, but I’ve got to go. I have errands to run.”
“I’m here most every day. Anytime you want someone to spot you while you climb trees, I’d be happy to. ’Course, if you tumble, I’m not as strong or quick as I used to be.”
“My tree-climbing days are over.” She offered him a smile that held more warmth than the last. “Thanks for sharing your table.”
“Any time.”
She nodded, then headed toward her car. As she retrieved the keys from her bag, an old van pulled into the parking lot, the engine grinding to a halt. She stole a glance at the driver—a Latina who looked familiar.
For a moment, Claire had a difficult time recalling where she’d seen her before. Then she remembered. It was a woman who’d come in for a loan a week or so ago. Maria Somebody. Rodriguez?
Averting her head, Claire aimed her key at the car, clicked the button, and unlocked the door. Then she quickly climbed in and turned the ignition.
There was no need coming face-to-face with the woman she’d been unable to help. Why make either one of them feel uncomfortable?
But as she glanced into the rearview mirror, it wasn’t Maria’s gaze that she wanted to avoid.
Maria Rodriguez pulled the twelve-year-old minivan into the parking lot at Mulberry Park. From the sound of the motor, she suspected the transmission was slipping again.
Just what she needed. Another major repair.
“Analisa doesn’t always come to the park on Saturdays,” Danny said, “so I hope she’s here today. She likes the swings, too. And I’m going to show her how to jump out and land in the sand.”
“You need to be careful, mijo. I saw you do that the last time you were here, and I don’t want you to get hurt.”
“Don’t worry, Mama. I know what I’m doing.”
Wasn’t that just like a child? To feel invincible? To downplay parental advice?
Maria had said as much to Tía Sofía when she’d been warned about dating the children’s father. But did she listen? Oh, no.
“You’re very brave and strong,” she told her son, “but it’s important to be wise, too. Don’t confuse courage with stupidity.”
“What do you mean?”
“Sometimes, when we have a reason to be cautious and ignore warnings of danger, it’s often because we’re being foolish, not brave.”
Her dark-haired, blue-eyed son flashed her a smile, reminding her of his father. “Don’t worry, Mama. I’m brave and smart.”
“I know you are, mijo.”
After shutting off the engine, Maria climbed from the maroon Plymouth Caravan, circled to the side door and opened it.
Danny unbuckled his seat belt. “I see Analisa’s car, so she’s here. Can I run ahead?”
“No, you need to help me.” Maria unfastened the harness that secured two-year-old Sara in the car seat. “You carry the lunch and place it on an empty table in the shade.”
“Okay. But can we sit next to Analisa and her abuelita?”
Actually, Mrs. Richards was Analisa’s nanny, not her grandmother, but Maria didn’t correct the boy. “You can ask Mrs. Richards if it would be all right if we share their table.”
Danny snatched the blue plastic Wal-Mart sack that had been packed with sandwiches, apples, and graham crackers. “Okay.”
Sometimes Maria worried that she expected too much from the boy, that she might be pushing him into a more grown-up role than was fair. But following his father’s arrest and conviction, she’d been determined to do whatever it took to make sure her children grew up to be more responsible than her husband had been.
“Down,” Sara said. “Peese?”
With those expressive blue eyes, Sara also favored her daddy, a handsome man who knew how to lay on the charm when he wanted to. Maria prayed his baby-blues and captivating smile were the only things his daughter and son had inherited from him.
When they’d separated for the final time, she’d taken back her maiden name, and when he’d gone to prison, she’d insisted the children go by Rodriguez, too.
The arrest and trial had been tough on Danny, who’d had to tolerate the whispers in the neighborhood, the taunts of kids who’d heard his father had killed someone. It had been tough on Maria, too. The pointed fingers, the knowing looks, the murmurs.
Maria placed her daughter’s feet on the lawn and, as she watched the child toddle after her big brother, rubbed the small of her aching back.
Babies were a blessing, or at least they should be, but it was hard to get excited about the little boy she was carrying and would deliver soon. Not that she wouldn’t love him once he arrived, but he’d been unplanned, a mistake she’d made one lonely night, when lust won over wisdom.
It wasn’t the child’s fault, but she feared this pregnancy would be a penitence she’d be paying for years to come.
While Maria approached the playground, she placed a hand on her swollen stomach, feeling a little bump—a knee or a foot—that moved across her womb. Soon there would be another mouth to feed.
As Maria neared Analisa’s nanny, her steps slowed. She and the older woman had chatted a few times, but Mrs. Richards wasn’t very friendly. Still, as was her habit, especially with the children present, Maria conjured a happy face. “Hello, there. It’s a beautiful day for the park, isn’t it?”
Hilda rarely smiled warmly, but there was something especially lackluster today. Her expression seemed drawn, pale.
“Is something wrong?” Maria asked.
“It’s just this fool arthritis.” Hilda rubbed her knobby-knuckled hands together. “And it’s been acting up like old fury today.”
Tía Sofía, Maria’s aunt, had suffered with aches and pains prior to her death, and it had been sad to watch.
Hilda’s gaze swept over Maria, settling upon her belly. “I imagine you’re not too comfortable these days, either. I hope your husband helps out around the house.”
Maria didn’t want to lie, but she didn’t want to share the ugly details, either. “I’m divorced, so it’s just me and the kids.”
“Too bad.”
That might be true, but under the circumstances, she was much better off without a man, although that wasn’t a subject she wanted to broach.
She reached