“Thank you. This is incredible.”
From inside the house, there’s a sound of breaking glass, followed by uproarious laughter. Sofia glances at her son. “I think your father’s telling dirty jokes again. I should get inside before he embarrasses me.” She stands up. “But tell me again why you’re interested in all of this?”
“Mallory found some pictures in her cottage,” Adrian says. “Stashed under her floor. We already went over this.”
Sofia laughs. “Mijo, you were a horrible liar at age four and you’re even worse now. This morning you said Mallory found the pictures in a closet.”
“Under the floor of a closet,” Adrian insists.
Sofia gives me a look that says: Do you believe this kid? “If you guys don’t want to tell me, that’s fine. But I’m going to suggest you both be careful. If you start poking your noses into family secrets, someone may bite them off.”
* * *
I’m tempted to call Dolores immediately, but it’s late, nearly ten o’clock, and Adrian suggests I’ll get better results in the morning. “She’s probably asleep.”
I know he’s right, I’m just impatient. I need information and I need it quickly. I tell him about my latest confrontation with the Maxwells. “I showed them Anya’s drawings. I explained how the pictures keep turning up in my cottage. But they don’t believe me, Adrian. And I mean of course they don’t believe me! It sounds crazy. I know it sounds crazy. Caroline acted like maybe I’m drawing the pictures, like I’m making up the whole story to get attention.”
“We’re going to prove you’re telling the truth,” Adrian says. “But first we should go to the house and get some churros.”
“Why?”
“Because they’re awesome, and they will make you forget about all your problems. Trust me.”
We return to the house and find the dinner party has kicked into a higher gear. There’s Top 40 on the stereo, everyone has moved into the living room, and Ignacio seems more achispado than ever. He’s demonstrating the paso doble, a dance he claims to have mastered in his youth, and Sofia is his surprisingly game partner, shaking her skirts and following his lead. Their guests are clapping and cheering and Adrian just shakes his head, embarrassed and exasperated. “This happens every time they have people over,” he says. “My dad’s such a ham.”
We grab two cans of seltzer from the refrigerator. Then Adrian fills a plate with churros, drizzles them with chocolate sauce, and brings me outside for a walking tour of the garden. He says his father’s been working on it for thirty years, that it’s his own personal Versailles.
“What’s a Versailles?”
“Like the palace? In France?”
He seems surprised that I’ve never heard of it, but what can I tell you? People in South Philly don’t spend a lot of time talking about French royalty. Still, I don’t want to look like an idiot, so I shovel on more lies.
“Oh, Versailles,” I say, laughing. “I misheard you.”
We wander the trails and Adrian introduces me to all the garden’s secrets: the family of cardinals nesting in the sour cherry tree. A small alcove for private prayer with a shrine to the Virgin Mary. And a wooden bench on the banks of the koi pond, next to the waterfall. We stop and share our churros with some of the fish. There must be seven or eight of them, bobbing openmouthed on the surface of the water.
“This is a really special place.”
Adrian shrugs. “I’d be happier with a swimming pool. Like the Maxwells have.”
“No, this is better. You’re lucky.”
I feel his hand on my waist, and when I turn to look he kisses me. His lips taste sweet, like cinnamon and chocolate, and I want to pull him closer, I want to kiss him again.
But first I need to tell him the truth.
I put my hand on his chest.
“Wait.”
He stops.
He looks into my eyes, waiting.
And I’m sorry but I don’t know how to tell him. The whole scene is just too perfect: All the soft little lights are twinkling, the waterfall sounds like music, and the smell of the flowers is intoxicating—and it’s another perfect moment I can’t bring myself to ruin.
Because clearly I am past the point of no return. Lying to Adrian was bad enough. But now I’ve lied to his parents and even his parents’ friends. Once these people learn the truth, there’s no way they’ll ever accept me. My relationship with Adrian doesn’t stand a chance. We’re like one of Teddy’s playtime soap bubbles—magical, buoyant, lighter than air—and doomed to explode.