downcast voice.
“Rosa, it’s amazing.”
She brightened immediately. “I know! I amazed myself. Lottie and Grace said maybe we could have a drawing for it to get people in the shop, and then they’d want to buy the other pots, too.”
“When did you make this?”
“This morning. After I put my son on the school bus I came here to work on it.”
The eye pot gave me an idea. I didn’t relish the idea of confronting Rosa with allegations of her ailing husband’s abuse, but since Grace and Lottie were busy getting set up for the day, now would be a good time to finish questioning her. So I said, “Maybe we could do one with black-eyed Susans.”
Rosa laughed as she placed her project on the table “Black-eyed Susans—like a black eye. I like that.”
Not the reaction I would’ve expected from a victim.
“As soon as I am done dusting,” she said, “I will fill the rest of the ugly pots.”
“Why don’t you work on them later?” I pulled out a stool, perched on it, then patted the one beside me. “I’d like to talk to you about something else right now.”
“This sounds serious.” She sat down and propped her chin in her palm, studying me with her luminous brown eyes. “Are you going to fire me?”
C HAPTER E IGHT
“N o, Rosa, I’m not going to fire you. You’re doing a great job.”
She looked heavenward, made the sign of the cross, and whispered,
“Gracias a Dios
.
”
Then she said, “So what can be so serious?”
“This is really awkward, and I hate having to ask you, but it’s important that we know everything.”
She patted my knee. “Go ahead, Abby. Don’t be afraid. I won’t bite.”
I inhaled, then blew it out. “Did Sergio ever mistreat you?”
She tilted her head the way Seedy did when she was puzzled. “Mistreat me how?”
“Did he ever hit you?”
“Sergio?” Her startled expression changed to anger. She shook her head, her long curls bouncing around her shoulders. “Never did my Sergio hit me, Abby. Never! Who said such a mean thing?”
“All three of the men we talked to yesterday. They said that was why Adrian and Sergio didn’t get along—that Adrian didn’t like the way Sergio treated you.”
She smacked her palm against the slate top. “They are lying!”
“Just let me finish.”
She muttered something under her breath about the men, then huffed in disgust and made a forward motion with her hand. “Fine. Go ahead.”
“When we asked if they had any proof, Jericho told us that you came to pick up Sergio once and had a black eye. When he asked you how you got it, you told him it was Sergio’s fault and you said to ask him how it happened.”
“Yes, it was Sergio’s fault. He put his big work boots right in my way. I told him a hundred times to leave them outside, but would he listen? No. He is as stubborn as a mule. So one morning I came into my kitchen from the garage and tripped over them.”
“Wait,” I said, grabbing a pen and pad of paper from my desk. “Let me write this down. How did you get a black eye?”
“When I fell, I hit my face against the corner of the chair’s seat. It was Sergio’s fault that I hurt myself, but he didn’t leave his boots there to
make
me fall. He left his boots there because he was lazy. If he had ever raised a hand to me, Abby, I would have picked up my heavy skillet and hit him over the head.”
The fierceness of her expression left no doubt in my mind that she spoke the truth.
“These men,” she said scornfully, “they know only one side of Sergio, but I knew his other side, his soft side. He would do anything for me, Abby.” Her mouth began to tremble. “He was grumpy, yes, and I know that he could be a critical, demanding boss, but he was a good husband.”
Rosa got up and plucked a tissue from the box on mydesk to wipe her eyes. “What else did they accuse Sergio of? Pushing the ladder himself?”
“No, but one of them thought he might have gotten dizzy and passed out from not
“Rosa, it’s amazing.”
She brightened immediately. “I know! I amazed myself. Lottie and Grace said maybe we could have a drawing for it to get people in the shop, and then they’d want to buy the other pots, too.”
“When did you make this?”
“This morning. After I put my son on the school bus I came here to work on it.”
The eye pot gave me an idea. I didn’t relish the idea of confronting Rosa with allegations of her ailing husband’s abuse, but since Grace and Lottie were busy getting set up for the day, now would be a good time to finish questioning her. So I said, “Maybe we could do one with black-eyed Susans.”
Rosa laughed as she placed her project on the table “Black-eyed Susans—like a black eye. I like that.”
Not the reaction I would’ve expected from a victim.
“As soon as I am done dusting,” she said, “I will fill the rest of the ugly pots.”
“Why don’t you work on them later?” I pulled out a stool, perched on it, then patted the one beside me. “I’d like to talk to you about something else right now.”
“This sounds serious.” She sat down and propped her chin in her palm, studying me with her luminous brown eyes. “Are you going to fire me?”
C HAPTER E IGHT
“N o, Rosa, I’m not going to fire you. You’re doing a great job.”
She looked heavenward, made the sign of the cross, and whispered,
“Gracias a Dios
.
”
Then she said, “So what can be so serious?”
“This is really awkward, and I hate having to ask you, but it’s important that we know everything.”
She patted my knee. “Go ahead, Abby. Don’t be afraid. I won’t bite.”
I inhaled, then blew it out. “Did Sergio ever mistreat you?”
She tilted her head the way Seedy did when she was puzzled. “Mistreat me how?”
“Did he ever hit you?”
“Sergio?” Her startled expression changed to anger. She shook her head, her long curls bouncing around her shoulders. “Never did my Sergio hit me, Abby. Never! Who said such a mean thing?”
“All three of the men we talked to yesterday. They said that was why Adrian and Sergio didn’t get along—that Adrian didn’t like the way Sergio treated you.”
She smacked her palm against the slate top. “They are lying!”
“Just let me finish.”
She muttered something under her breath about the men, then huffed in disgust and made a forward motion with her hand. “Fine. Go ahead.”
“When we asked if they had any proof, Jericho told us that you came to pick up Sergio once and had a black eye. When he asked you how you got it, you told him it was Sergio’s fault and you said to ask him how it happened.”
“Yes, it was Sergio’s fault. He put his big work boots right in my way. I told him a hundred times to leave them outside, but would he listen? No. He is as stubborn as a mule. So one morning I came into my kitchen from the garage and tripped over them.”
“Wait,” I said, grabbing a pen and pad of paper from my desk. “Let me write this down. How did you get a black eye?”
“When I fell, I hit my face against the corner of the chair’s seat. It was Sergio’s fault that I hurt myself, but he didn’t leave his boots there to
make
me fall. He left his boots there because he was lazy. If he had ever raised a hand to me, Abby, I would have picked up my heavy skillet and hit him over the head.”
The fierceness of her expression left no doubt in my mind that she spoke the truth.
“These men,” she said scornfully, “they know only one side of Sergio, but I knew his other side, his soft side. He would do anything for me, Abby.” Her mouth began to tremble. “He was grumpy, yes, and I know that he could be a critical, demanding boss, but he was a good husband.”
Rosa got up and plucked a tissue from the box on mydesk to wipe her eyes. “What else did they accuse Sergio of? Pushing the ladder himself?”
“No, but one of them thought he might have gotten dizzy and passed out from not
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