Albuquerque. Maybe they would have actually made it that far, she studying food, Edwin pursuing business.
But with the perspective of adulthood, she could see what more likely would have transpired. Edwin would have hated the long hours she spent in restaurants. He would have wanted her to have children, and it would have fallen to Elena to do most of the raising. She might have found herself resenting him.
Or not. There would have been other comforts. At worst, they would have stayed stuck in Espanola, where she would have had her sisters to cheer her and he would have come home to eat, then gone out again to his friends and cousins. To play poker. To drink beers at the VFW with his uncles. To tinker with an engine in someone’s garage.
The idea of it left her lungs feeling squashed.
At best, they would have created a restaurant together, a life of good cheer and happiness, with children who would now be in high school. And a daughter who would be in college now.
Through her wine, she glimpsed Isobel moving by, just a wisp, her long hair flying through the kitchen. Elena started, realizing that she’d been feeling gratitude toward the fact that the accident had sent her life whirling in an entirely new direction. She’d risen to a height that would have been inconceivable to her seventeen-year-old self.
Guilt blasted her, cold and tasting of blood.
Putting her glass down, she realized it had been a long time since she’d seen Patrick and Ivan. She wandered over to look around the corner.
They were on the deck, looking up at the stars. Ivan angled close and bent in, pressing his mouth to Patrick’s neck. Patrick didn’t move away. His body was stiff, but swayed the slightest bit toward Ivan’s realm.
Elena sighed. “Hmm.”
“That sounds like trouble,” Julian said, startling her.
“Oh! You.”
“Who were you talking to?”
“Myself. Again.”
“You did an excellent job tonight, Elena.”
“Thank you. It seemed to go very well.”
“I think so.” He glanced toward the deck. “I guess you guys can head out whenever you like.”
She nodded. Coolly. “Understood.”
He paused a moment. “Thank you, Elena,” he said, and gave her a dismissive nod. “Good night.”
As he walked away, she pursed her lips and looked back to Ivan and Patrick. Against the silhouette of a light from below, their heads were close together, Patrick tucked under Ivan’s arm for warmth.
Damn. She walked to the doors and pushed them open. Patrick leapt away, glancing at her guiltily. “Let’s get things loaded up. We have a lot to do the next two days.”
Patrick dashed by her, but Ivan held back a moment. Ivan who was not sneering or coyly seductive, but plainly, painfully gobsmacked. He took in Elena’s stare and pulled the pieces of himself from wherever they’d gone. “Right,” he said. “We have a lot to do.”
She touched his arm. “Are you all right, Rasputin?”
He glanced toward the kitchen, where Patrick had gone. “I’m fine.”
Elena nodded. “Get things loaded up, then.”
Portia came around the corner, nearly bumping into Elena as she came into the kitchen. “Hey,” she said in a bubbly, Betty Boop kind of voice, “whatcha doing? Do you have any more of those little baby tamales? They were so good!”
Portia wore a slim blue dress and her long hair was looped into a simple, pretty updo. Her eyes were way too bright. “Whoa,” Elena said, putting a hand to the girl’s bare arm. “Have you been into the alcohol?”
Her eyes widened. “No!” she breathed, and a gust of tequila washed over Elena’s face. “I’m not allowed. I’ll get in trouble if they test my urine, I’ll be in big fat—ha-ha—trouble!” She swung a hand and her body nearly went with it.
Elena caught her arm. “Okay, sit right here.” She settled the girl onto a stool. “I’ll be right back. Don’t move. Got it?”
“Got it.”
Elena dashed out to the van. “I’m going to need to deal with a little situation with the boss’s daughter, who is soused. Get this stuff to the restaurant and put it away and then give me a call. One of you can come back for me.”
Ivan looked at Patrick, who carefully didn’t look at Ivan. Thick, heavy heat swirled around them, fragrant with longing. “Will do, boss.”
“I’ll bring you my car,” Patrick said, “and leave the keys in the ignition. I’m pretty sure no one will steal it.”
He gave her The Look. The one they’d all—Patrick and Mia and Elena—used on each other at one time or another, the equivalent