Winds Of Heaven

Chapter 3

Mercedes looked in the mirror and touched her silver hair while waiting for Camila. "Not too bad for a seventy-three-year-old woman," she whispered to her reflection and continued, "and having a daughter at eighteen and a granddaughter at thirty-nine." She glanced at the clock above the fireplace. It was exactly 7:15. She took a sip of her martini and shook her head. "Silly child. If she calls me with some silly excuse..." When the doorbell rang, she shouted, "It's open."

Camila entered with a deep frown. "You have to lock the door, Gram. Goodness gracious."

"I live in a good neighborhood. Besides, I have a gun." She chuckled and noticed her granddaughter didn't join her. Camila walked into the living room and slumped onto the couch. "What's the matter?" she asked. "Did you do something wrong?"

"No, I didn't do anything wrong." Camila looked at the martini. "Did you make enough for two?"

"I made enough for four," she said. "And judging by your appearance, you need them."

Camila walked over to the bar and poured the martini into a glass, adding several olives. Mercedes said nothing as she watched her granddaughter sit back down on the couch. Camila took a long sip and let out a deep sigh.

"I guess we're staying for dinner," Mercedes said calmly. "You don't seem in the mood for Charlie Trotter's." She kicked off her shoes. "Come with me." She picked up her glass and started walking down the hallway. "Bring the bottle," she said over her shoulder.

"You don't have to cook, Gram." Camila obediently followed down the hallway with the cocktail shaker in hand.

"I'm not going to. You are." Mercedes sat at the kitchen table. "Mary just went grocery shopping. The fridge is stocked. See." She raised her glass and took a sip.

"Gram, I don't cook."

"Not yet? How the hell are you going to get someone if you can't even boil water? Sit down." She watched Camila as she sat at the kitchen table, sipping her martini. Mercedes stuck her head in the fridge. "What do you want?"

"How about a thick steak?"

"Something light and Italian. Now tell me what's wrong."

Camila groaned as Mercedes gathered the ingredients for an antipasto salad. "I got a call from John."

"I figured that, why?" She placed the meats and olives on the table, along with the cheese and tomatoes. "Cut the cheese."

"Very funny," Camila muttered and took the offered knife. "This feels like my past coming back to haunt me."

"How so?" Mercedes asked. "Don't tell me you have someone pregnant." She smiled sweetly and winked her lashes.

Camila looked at her. "Can we cut the Marx Brothers routine for a minute? It seems like a girlfriend of mine passed away."

"Oh, dear. I'm sorry." Mercedes turned and placed the olive oil on the table along with the crusty bread.

"It's fine. I haven't seen Lucy in five years. We, well, we weren't in a good place. She wanted kids."

"And you didn't?" her grandmother asked. "I thought you liked children."

"I do. It's just that Lucy wasn't ready to handle the responsibility. And at the time, neither was I. So it was a problem for her. I couldn't bring a child into this world under the conditions Lucy and I were in."

Mercedes arranged the plate and drizzled the oil. "What were the conditions?"

Camila took another sip of her martini and contemplated the question. Mercedes waited as she cut the thick bread.