heels. There was a freight elevator, but, as usual, it wasn’t working.
“I am still here, as you can see. I waited in hopes you would return to tell me good news.”
Maria nodded but said nothing. When they reached the third floor, she stabbed her key into the lock, walked briskly across the age-dulled hardwood floor, dropped her shoes and bag on a table near one of the loft’s big windows and turned toward her old friend and co-worker.
“That was good of you.”
Joaquin’s warm brown eyes searched her face. “It did not go well?”
Maria sighed as she slipped her coat from her shoulders. She could lie or at least make the meeting with the buyer sound more hopeful, but there was no point. Joaquin knew her too well. He’d been working for her for five years. More than that, they’d grown up in neighboring apartments in a crumbling building in the Bronx, which was not a place most people thought of when they spoke of New York.
Joaquin and his family had come from Puerto Rico to the mainland when he was five and she was six. He was the brother she’d never had.
So, no. Trying to fool him was useless.
“Maria?” he said softly, and she sighed.
“We didn’t get the contract.”
His expression softened. “Ah. I am so sorry. What happened? I thought this Frenchman had good taste.”
“He’s not even a Frenchman,” Maria said with a little laugh. “As for taste, well, he says he likes my work. But—”
“But?”
“But, I should get in touch with him when Jewels by Maria is better known.”
“When it is,” Joaquin said stoutly, “you won’t need him.”
Maria grinned. “It’s just a good thing you’re married or I’d nab you for myself.”
Joaquin grinned, too. It was an old joke and they both knew it had no meaning. So did Joaquin’s wife, who was Maria’s best friend.
“I’ll be sure and tell Sela you said that.”
“Tell her, too, that I’m looking forward to dinner on Sunday.”
“I will.” Joaquin tucked his hands in his overcoat pockets. “I left the new wax castings on the workbench.”
“Thank you.”
“FedEx delivered the opals you ordered. I put them in the safe.” “Excellent.”
Joaquin hesitated. “There is also a letter—a registered letter—from the bank.”
“Of course there is,” Maria said sharply. She sighed and put her hand lightly on Joaquin’s arm in apology. “Sorry.” She smiled. “No need to kill the messenger, right?”
“You might change your mind when I tell you that your mother phoned.”
Joaquin said it lightly but they both knew a call from Luz Santos was rarely pleasant. Maria’s mother’s life had not gone well; she held her daughter responsible. Having Maria had changed her life. It had ended her dreams. Her plans. Not that she had regrets. Oh, no. No regrets. She had sacrificed everything for Maria but that was what mothers were supposed to do.
If only Maria would make the sacrifice worthwhile. If only she would stop playing with trinkets and get a real job…
“My mother,” Maria said, and sighed again. “Did she say what she wanted?”
“Her back is acting up. She has indigestion. Her doctor is of no use to her.” Joaquin cleared his throat. “Mrs. Ferrara’s daughter was just promoted.”
Maria nodded. “Of course.”
“So was your cousin Angela.”
“Again,” Maria said, deadpan.
“Again,” Joaquin agreed.
Suddenly, it seemed too much. The day. The disappointment. The overdue bank loan. The flu symptoms she couldn’t shake, and now a call from Mama… A little moan escaped her lips. Joaquin put his arms around her and she gave in and leaned her head against his shoulder.
“Maria, I have a fine idea. Come with me. You know Sela will be thrilled to see you. She is making Chile Colorado for supper. When was the last time you had something so delicious, hmm?”
She smiled, stood straight and knotted the woolen scarf at his neck.
“Joaquin,” she said gently, “go home.”
“If there was a way Sela and I could help you—”
“I know.”
“If only you had gotten that commission. I still cannot understand the reason you didn’t win.”
She understood it, but she’d sooner have died than divulge it. “You’ll see, Joaquin. Everything will work out.”
“De su boca al oído del Dios.”
From her mouth to God’s ear. It made her smile again. She clasped his face in her hands and kissed him lightly on the mouth. “Go home, mi amigo.”
“Sela will be angry I left you alone at a time like this.”
“Tell Sela I love her but I am your boss,” Maria said with mock severity, “and I sent you home.”
Joaquin grinned. “Yes, boss,” he said, and pressed a kiss to her forehead.
She watched as he made his way to the door. It swung shut after him and she wrapped her arms around herself and shuddered. It was very cold in the loft. The high ceiling seemed to steal the landlord’s miserly allotment of heat from the radiators and the windows, though wonderfully big, were as old as the building. On a day like this, the wind was relentless and sent chilly air straight into the cavernous room.
A draft was blowing right on her. And a film of frost was just beginning to form on the glass. Maria rubbed at it with her fist…
What was that car doing here?
It was parked just across the street. A big car, long and black and elegant. She knew little about automobiles but in this still-ungentrified stretch of Lower Manhattan a Rolls or a Mercedes or a Bentley, whatever the vehicle was, stood out like the proverbial sore thumb.
Her lips turned down.
It was probably a realtor, trying to get a feel for things. They’d been showing up as regularly as rats in the alley, a sure sign that the area was about to become too expensive for people like her. One realtor had even turned up at her door a couple of weeks ago, oozing charm. She’d only managed to get rid of him by assuring him she didn’t own her loft—though she hadn’t been able to keep from telling him that if she did, there wasn’t a way in the world she’d sell it to him.
In
