This Could Be Us (Skyland, #2)(18)

When Lola entered her teens, she and Mami clashed so much, she lived with our abuela on the island for a year, then spent that summer with Bray’s mother in South Carolina. We actually joined her there because we missed being together so badly. To this day I still call Bray’s mother Grammy.

“It all worked out,” Nayeli says. “You were only gone for a year, and Inez isn’t that bad, is she?”

“Not yet,” I sigh. “She’s such a daddy’s girl. I hope this doesn’t traumatize her too badly. She hasn’t come out of her room all day.”

“I’ll drive down soon,” Lola says.

“I wish I was closer,” Nayeli adds. “Don’t get me wrong. We love LA, but I hate being this far away. Plus I’ve been fruitful and multiplied so much, I may not get to leave the state until this one is four years old.”

We all laugh, and I’m glad I called them. I needed this. Even though they aren’t physically here, that safety net of love and acceptance we made for each other as girls, it still holds. It still catches me.

“I’m gonna go. We need food,” I tell them. “Let me finish my Instacart order. I’m not leaving this house today. All of Skyland is buzzing about Edward, and I don’t want the stares or the questions at the checkout line.”

I don’t even bother telling them about the news trucks parked outside. That would only make them feel worse for not being able to get to me right now.

“Boricua High Council adjourned,” Lola says. “Love yous.”

“Love yous,” Nayeli echoes.

“Love yous,” I say, swallowing the burn in my throat. These few minutes almost made me forgot how bad things are.

I pull my laptop across the dining room table to complete my order before checkout. Except it doesn’t check out.

“What do you mean, ‘payment not accepted’?” I mutter, frowning at the screen. My card is the saved payment method, and I’ve used it several times, so I know I didn’t enter the information wrong. Maybe the card is expired and I didn’t realize it. I reach for my purse, but my cell rings, distracting me. I answer, still eyeing the cart of grocery items on my laptop screen.

The contact is Harrington.

Probably someone calling to see why the girls are out of school today.

“Hello,” I answer.

“Soledad, hi,” Dr. Morgan, Harrington’s headmistress, replies. “How are you?”

“Dr. Morgan, as you’ve probably heard,” I say with a small, humorless laugh, “things aren’t great, but we’re trying to get it all sorted out.”

“Yes, it’s very unfortunate. Please let us know if we can help.”

“Thank you. If you’re calling about the girls being absent, I just thought it might be better—”

“No,” she interrupts softly. “I figured as much. I’m calling because we processed tuition today.”

“Oh… okay.”

“I know Inez and Lottie’s tuition is on autopay.”

“Right.”

“The payment didn’t go through.”

It’s quiet enough on the phone to hear a gnat fart, as Grammy used to say.

“I don’t…” I glance at my laptop and the declined total for groceries. “Oh, God.”

“Soledad, it’s fine,” Dr. Morgan says soothingly. “Of course, I don’t usually personally call families when a payment doesn’t clear, but you’re one of the most involved, dedicated parents we have. You’re an asset to our school community. A blessing, really.”

“Thank you,” I mumble through numb lips.

“And of course, I understand these are… extenuating circumstances you find yourself in.”

“Extenuating, yeah. Um, Dr. Morgan, I’m getting a call I need to take. Can we talk later?”

“Of course. I know you have a lot—”

“Right, bye.”

I hang up before she can mete out more sympathy while suppressing her rabid curiosity. It will be all over Skyland by the close of business that I’m broke. I spend the next hour on the phone with my bank, whisper-screaming so I don’t alarm the girls. They’re so sorry. The FBI has frozen our assets, which is why none of my credit cards work. And am I aware our accounts are involved in an active investigation regarding stolen funds?

“Aware?” I snap. “My husband is sitting in a cell as we speak and I don’t even have money to buy groceries, so yeah. I’m aware.”

“We can’t buy groceries?” Lupe asks from the dining room’s arched entrance, eyes wide and startled.

Lupe and I consider each other in horrified silence. She’s horrified we don’t have money for food. I’m horrified that she knows.

“I have to go,” I tell the unhelpful customer service rep.

“There’s a survey about your experience today if you—”

I hang up and toss my cell onto the table.

“Don’t tell your sisters. I don’t want them worried. I didn’t want you worried.”

“But what are we gonna do? Can we get on food stamps?”

The statement is so out of left field, a laugh erupts from me.

“Oh, honey.” I wave her over. “Come here.”