would stay,” Mrs. Guerrero said.
“Ma’am, you don’t get to spend much time with Tina,” I said. “I don’t want to intrude.”
“You are such a thoughtful person.”
Yeah, that’s me.
Tina sashayed in, brandishing colorful lacquered talons.
“Hey, Mom.” She pulled out a chair and plopped down with the flair of the drama queen that she was. “What a day!”
“Hi, Tina,” I said as I headed down the hall to my room.
“How was your session?” Mrs. Guerrero said.
A few months back, a woman dinged Tina’s precious BMW. It was a minuscule mark, happens all the time in parking lots.
What happened next was caught on a grainy cell phone video. The woman apologized, but that wasn’t good enough for Tina. Tina’s huffing and puffing turned into a sirocco of weave pulling, bitch slapping, and charges being filed.
Community service and court ordered anger management were Tina’s sentence. I felt sorry for the counselor who pulled that duty.
This wasn’t her first dance with the authorities either. She was lucky her mom was a lawyer with a profusion of people that owed her favors and a blindness for her daughter’s indiscretions that would make Helen Keller shake her head.
“What a waste of time. Work’s insanely busy. Johnny complains that he doesn’t see me enough. I’ve got better things to do,” Tina said.
“Would you prefer the alternative?”
“Please, you would never let that happen. What do you think about the color?”
“Augustina.” The warning shot fired over the bow.
“The counselor wants me to talk about my feelings . How last century is that? And you saw what happened—that person pushed me too far. I feel like I’m being singled out.”
“I am disappointed with your decision.”
Tina put on her innocent little girl voice. “I’ll go next week. I promise.”
Sure, and I’d start a diet and exercise program the same day.
“Mom, really I will. Now what do you think of the color? It’s called Satanic Sunfire.”
“Let me see …” Mrs. Guerrero sighed. “The color is very you.”
“This new salon is fantastic! You’ll love it! We’ll do manis and pedis next week.”
I pushed the End button on the cell. Called travel agent, check. Called contractors, check. Mapped out a few possible locations for a final meeting with my father, check.
I grabbed my cane and plodded toward the kitchen and the aroma of fresh-baked shortbread. The sun filtered through the windows and reflected off the copper pots, making beautiful designs on the walls that danced as the gentle breeze blew the branches outside. Mrs. Guerrero was enjoying her afternoon tea at the kitchen table, with a plate of the divine cookies waiting to be sampled. An organic seed catalog was on the table, open to the medicinal herbs section, and a few newspapers lay next to it.
Another serial killer was on the loose. The press was having a field day: “Death Toll Rises in Dragon Slayer Killings.” “Dragon Slays Again!” “Another Dead: Dragon Slayer Blamed.”
What a world we live in.
She saw me looking. “I hope I am the one to prosecute that individual when he is caught.”
“Ma’am, I’m sorry about staying with you so long. The contractors are taking longer than expected.”
“There is no need to apologize. Would you like some tea and shortbread?”
“Yes please.” I wriggled in my seat.
“What is it, dear?”
“May I ask you a few questions?”
She took on a guarded mien as she went back to her chair. A heavenly scent of rosemary and lavender danced toward me.
“Oh wow. That smells really good. Love rosemary and lavender,” I said.
“I made a poultice for your wound. You said you had questions for me?”
“Yes, ma’am. Thank you for making the po … poultry?”
“Poultice, dear.”
“Right.” I tried to choose the right words, but ended up blurting them out. “Mr. Young said you know my father.”
Was that a slight twitch in her left eye? Probably not—she
“Ma’am, you don’t get to spend much time with Tina,” I said. “I don’t want to intrude.”
“You are such a thoughtful person.”
Yeah, that’s me.
Tina sashayed in, brandishing colorful lacquered talons.
“Hey, Mom.” She pulled out a chair and plopped down with the flair of the drama queen that she was. “What a day!”
“Hi, Tina,” I said as I headed down the hall to my room.
“How was your session?” Mrs. Guerrero said.
A few months back, a woman dinged Tina’s precious BMW. It was a minuscule mark, happens all the time in parking lots.
What happened next was caught on a grainy cell phone video. The woman apologized, but that wasn’t good enough for Tina. Tina’s huffing and puffing turned into a sirocco of weave pulling, bitch slapping, and charges being filed.
Community service and court ordered anger management were Tina’s sentence. I felt sorry for the counselor who pulled that duty.
This wasn’t her first dance with the authorities either. She was lucky her mom was a lawyer with a profusion of people that owed her favors and a blindness for her daughter’s indiscretions that would make Helen Keller shake her head.
“What a waste of time. Work’s insanely busy. Johnny complains that he doesn’t see me enough. I’ve got better things to do,” Tina said.
“Would you prefer the alternative?”
“Please, you would never let that happen. What do you think about the color?”
“Augustina.” The warning shot fired over the bow.
“The counselor wants me to talk about my feelings . How last century is that? And you saw what happened—that person pushed me too far. I feel like I’m being singled out.”
“I am disappointed with your decision.”
Tina put on her innocent little girl voice. “I’ll go next week. I promise.”
Sure, and I’d start a diet and exercise program the same day.
“Mom, really I will. Now what do you think of the color? It’s called Satanic Sunfire.”
“Let me see …” Mrs. Guerrero sighed. “The color is very you.”
“This new salon is fantastic! You’ll love it! We’ll do manis and pedis next week.”
I pushed the End button on the cell. Called travel agent, check. Called contractors, check. Mapped out a few possible locations for a final meeting with my father, check.
I grabbed my cane and plodded toward the kitchen and the aroma of fresh-baked shortbread. The sun filtered through the windows and reflected off the copper pots, making beautiful designs on the walls that danced as the gentle breeze blew the branches outside. Mrs. Guerrero was enjoying her afternoon tea at the kitchen table, with a plate of the divine cookies waiting to be sampled. An organic seed catalog was on the table, open to the medicinal herbs section, and a few newspapers lay next to it.
Another serial killer was on the loose. The press was having a field day: “Death Toll Rises in Dragon Slayer Killings.” “Dragon Slays Again!” “Another Dead: Dragon Slayer Blamed.”
What a world we live in.
She saw me looking. “I hope I am the one to prosecute that individual when he is caught.”
“Ma’am, I’m sorry about staying with you so long. The contractors are taking longer than expected.”
“There is no need to apologize. Would you like some tea and shortbread?”
“Yes please.” I wriggled in my seat.
“What is it, dear?”
“May I ask you a few questions?”
She took on a guarded mien as she went back to her chair. A heavenly scent of rosemary and lavender danced toward me.
“Oh wow. That smells really good. Love rosemary and lavender,” I said.
“I made a poultice for your wound. You said you had questions for me?”
“Yes, ma’am. Thank you for making the po … poultry?”
“Poultice, dear.”
“Right.” I tried to choose the right words, but ended up blurting them out. “Mr. Young said you know my father.”
Was that a slight twitch in her left eye? Probably not—she
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