Right girl wrong side, p.20
Right Girl, Wrong Side, page 20
Nanny copied him. “Yummy!”
Chachi rubbed his belly, chortling at the kids. “Mmm! Who made these?”
“Maddy, all right?”
Chachi tried to make a joke. “I said Mrs. Fields, but it was more like Miss Hatfield! Ha ha!”
Evita snatched away the tin, which was distressingly almost empty. There’d been a lot more of these last night. “Stop pigging out, everybody.” She swatted Chachi’s hand when he went after another. “These are for the Hatfields.”
“What? Oh.” Kendra covered her cram-packed mouth. She stared down at her kids. “Maybe you should, uh, put those back.”
They frowned and Quique said, “Dad ate his.”
Nanny nodded at her mom. “So did you.”
Kendra held out her hand, demanding the cookies’ return.
“No!” Evita said. “They’ve already licked them.”
Evita’s dad and mom swarmed the kitchen next. “What’s all this about cookies?” He squeezed past the others and lustfully viewed the remaining treat. Where had all of them gone? Her mom was right beside him.
“Ahh. Chocolate.” Her mom sighed. “And pecans?”
Evita pulled back the tin. Her mom and dad were not going to eat the last cookie.
Maddy descended the stairs dressed in shorts and a baggy top, and wearing one earbud. The other earbud dangled from the looped cord around her neck and she held her phone.
She stared in the cookie tin. “Whoa. Just one left?”
“Yes.” Evita’s mom practically drooled out the words. “It looks amazing.”
Maddy chuckled. “You can have it if you want it, Mrs. Machado.”
“Oh no, I—”
Evita’s dad reached for it. “I’ll take it then.”
“No, you won’t!” She grabbed the cookie and beamed at Maddy. “Thank you.”
Maddy scratched her head. “I thought I’d made two dozen?” She glanced around the room at their guilty faces.
Kendra and Eunice shrank back from Maddy’s perplexed stare.
“We might have had one or two.” Chachi winced. “They were delicious.”
Nanny and Quique chomped away as fast as they could, their small cheeks bulging out.
“Mmm-hmm,” Quique said, barely understandable with his mouth full.
“No worries.” Maddy closed the empty cookie tin, putting it away. She beamed at everyone. “I’m glad you liked them.” She glanced over her shoulder at the others. “Okay if I grab some cereal? I know I’m a little late.”
Evita’s mom waved a hand, salivating over her cookie. “Don’t worry about that silly schedule. Yum. These are fabulous.”
“Were fabulous.” Evita’s dad frowned.
“Okay, Pablo, here,” she said, chuckling. She held out her cookie. “Take a small bite.”
He took a big chomp and she shouted. “Not the whole thing!”
Maddy served her cereal, plugging in her errant earbud. She observed the drenched deck and the rain that was still coming down from the sky. “Guess I’ll sit in the living room.”
Ryan sauntered down the stairs, still looking sleepy-headed in an adorable way. His hair stuck out every which way, and his eyes held the faraway gaze of a man needing coffee.
“Oh no,” Evita said. “Did we wake you?”
He watched her curiously. “It sounded like a lot was going on down here.”
Her heart fluttered because of how he looked at her. “Yeah. Sorry.” She shrugged. “I’m afraid my family might have eaten all the cookies.”
“What?” He laughed in surprise. “All of them?”
Eunice pursed her lips. “Robby said he had a few more when he woke up this morning.”
“Way to blame the man who’s not there,” Robby said, descending his set of steps while holding Luisa. He blinked at the group. “Wait. Seriously? The cookies are all gone?”
Luisa started whining like she didn’t like that either.
“Auntie Evita?” Nanny tugged at her hand. She was precious in pigtails and small gold earrings. “Where does this one go?” She held up a misshapen square.
“Ahhh.” Evita studied the puzzle on the coffee table and pointed. “How about there?”
Nanny tried it and yelped with glee. “Yay! It fits!”
Quique handed her another piece. “Do this one!”
Evita loved indulging these kids. “Okay. I’ll help you. But first.” She glanced briefly at Ryan, who shot her a grin. “More coffee.”
“Coffee,” he agreed groggily. “Yes.”
Nanny stopped him when he was halfway to the kitchen. “Will you help too?”
Ryan lifted his chin. “Of course I will.” He hesitated and stared at Chachi and Kendra, then at Evita’s parents. “If it’s okay?”
Evita’s mom sighed, savoring the last bit of her cookie. Evita had never seen anyone take so long to consume a treat. She nodded her assent.
“But don’t feel like you have to,” Kendra said.
“Sounds like fun.” Ryan winked at Evita and her face warmed. “I love puzzles.” He was so easy to be around and wasn’t daunted by her family, even though her parents kept sneakily watching him like hawks.
Her mom tried to act cool, but she clearly couldn’t help herself from interfering.
“Evita, why don’t you sit on that side of the coffee table on the sofa with Nanny? Ryan can sit on the floor next to Quique.”
Ryan’s forehead rose, but only Evita saw it before he turned away to fill his mug. “The floor sounds great!” he said, speaking into the air. He came back to the living area, nodding good morning at Maddy, who waved. She’d finished her cereal and had begun a new macrame of another whale. She seemed to be making loads of those.
Ryan sat down on the floor with his legs crisscrossed and surveyed the room. “My mom and dad aren’t up yet? Huh. That’s weird.”
Evita glanced at her parents.
They both pursed their lips.
“No. Um.” Evita’s skin burned hot. She was not going to go into details. Much less allude to anything. “They seem to be sleeping in.”
Fifteen
After a while, the Machados made themselves an informal lunch by piling their plates with yummy leftovers, which was Evita’s favorite kind of meal. Her mom had encouraged everyone to eat up so she wouldn’t have to take a ton of food home. Ryan and Maddy sat at the island with their potato chips and sandwiches. It felt weird segregating them, especially without their parents present. Her folks looked squirmy about this too.
“Ryan and Maddy?” Her dad gestured to the dining room table and his plate. “You’re welcome to come sit over here with us.”
Evita’s mom nodded. “Yes, of course,” she said. “We can pull up more chairs.”
Ryan dipped his chin. “That’s very nice of you. Thanks. But we’ll just stay put.”
Evita joined her family at the table, and guilt gnawed at the pit of her stomach. This was really wrong. While it had seemed like an okay idea at the time, this whole house division was seriously messed up.
Mr. Hatfield emerged in the foyer. “Good morning, all.”
Mrs. Hatfield stepped up behind him and whispered with an embarrassed grin. “It’s afternoon, darling.”
Darling? What?
Chachi and Kendra raised their eyebrows at each other while the rest of Evita’s family exchanged looks around the table. Maddy and Ryan gaped at each other. That was definitely not like the Hatfields to be lovey-dovey.
Mr. Hatfield straightened his tropical shirt collar. It had bright-green palm trees and colorful dolphins and seashells on it. Super shouty for Mr. Hatfield. His wife, though, was back in her headband and pearls.
“Already having lunch?” she said to her kids.
Ryan nodded at the refrigerator. “Want me to make you guys sandwiches?”
“No thanks,” his dad said. “We’ll do it.”
Mrs. Hatfield reached into the refrigerator and took out some lunch meat and condiments. “You know what I can’t wait to have?” She turned to her daughter. “One of your homemade cookies for dessert.”
Evita’s mom dropped her fork.
Then the room grew silent. So quiet they could hear the wind whistling outside, sweeping away the remnants of the storm.
“Did I say something?” Mrs. Hatfield asked, looking around.
“No,” Evita’s dad said.
Chachi hung his head, chowing down on his food. “Didn’t hear anything.”
“Mom?” Maddy said.
Evita held her breath.
“Yes, sweetheart?” her mom asked, slathering a piece of bread with mayonnaise.
Maddy’s forehead rose. “I’m not sure they came out well. A lot of them were burnt.”
“Burnt shmearnt. I’m sure they’re delicious. I can’t wait to try one.”
“Okay,” Maddy said. “But maybe later?” She tried to avoid glancing at the Machados. “Like when I’m not around?”
Mrs. Hatfield rolled her eyes at her husband and then at the group in the dining room as if she were sharing a secret. “Teenagers,” she said like they were some huge mystery she’d never figure out.
Was it her imagination, or did all of her family seem to eat more quickly? Maybe to get out of there before Mrs. Hatfield went for dessert? Her mom wore a polite smile leading the rest of them across the living area. “We’re just going to deposit our plates in the kitchen.”
Mrs. Hatfield nodded, nibbling on a potato chip. “Go right ahead.”
Good. This was good. Everyone was getting along. So far.
And trying to keep their distance from the island where the Hatfields sat munching on their food. Ryan raised his eyebrows at Evita, and she got it. The cookie revelation was not going to go well.
“I’ve been dreaming about those cookies the whole trip,” Mrs. Hatfield said to her husband. “I don’t know why we didn’t break them out sooner.”
“I did!” Ryan said. He lowered his voice to a normal range. “What I mean is, I ate a few.” He cleared his throat. “Last night.”
His mom stared at him. “Last night?”
“Yeah, I—had trouble sleeping. With the storm.”
She frowned. “Sorry about that. Well! At least there are plenty more.”
Evita and Chachi bumped into each other scrambling for the dishwasher. Robby was in the way too. “Just go,” Eunice said, taking his dishes. “Get Luisa ready for the beach.”
The sun hadn’t exactly come out, but the rain had stopped, so they’d all decided to go down after lunch. They’d been cooped up enough this morning.
Kendra scooted past Robby herding her kids up the spiral steps. “We’ll go change into our swimsuits.”
“I might have had a cookie too,” Maddy said, after observing the action.
Evita waved a hand. “Er. So did I.”
Mrs. Hatfield frowned. “You?”
None of the rest of the Machados fessed up though.
“I offered her a few last night,” Ryan explained hastily.
“Wait.” His mom narrowed her eyes. “What were—?” Her mouth twitched. “Oh no.”
Robby turned on the spiral steps, holding Luisa. “I was here too!” He blinked when she gawked at him. “Chaperoning.”
Chachi held up his finger and improvised. “It’s a Latin tradition!”
Latin? What? Evita sighed. From maybe a hundred years ago.
Mrs. Hatfield got to her feet as Evita’s mom shut the dishwasher. “As long as nothing happened.”
Ryan’s face reddened. “Of course not, Mom.”
“And we still have cookies!” She reached for the tin in the pantry and Evita’s heart stilled. Her mom was halfway out of the kitchen, but seemed frozen in place.
Mrs. Hatfield shook the tin. “This feels very light.” She surveyed Ryan. “How many did you eat?”
“Uh.” He sent Evita a panicked look. “Almost all of them?”
“Ryan,” she said cajolingly. “You couldn’t have.” She pulled back the lid on the tin. Her face fell. Then she looked up. “What? Empty?”
Maddy grimaced. “I threw away the burnt ones?”
“I don’t recall any being burnt,” Mr. Hatfield said. He stared sheepishly at his wife. “I might have had one last night when I was cleaning up after dinner, but there were plenty left.”
“Then how?” Mrs. Hatfield glanced around the room. Evita’s brothers and their families hightailed it the rest of the way up the stairs. Her dad had reached the foyer, but he eased back a few steps under the loft so he could keep an eye on his wife in the kitchen.
“Wait.” Mrs. Hatfield’s gaze settled on Evita’s mom. “Did the rest of you eat these?”
“Maddy offered!” her mom said.
Mrs. Hatfield frowned. “Maddy is also a child.”
“I’m not—”
“Who also made the cookies,” Ryan pointed out.
Maddy gaped at her big brother.
“Plus, she’s not a little kid,” Ryan added hastily. “She’s in high school now and very mature.”
“Mature?” His mom stared at him like she didn’t know where this was coming from.
“Yeah,” he said. “Smart enough to make up her own mind. Start deciding things like what classes she should take.”
His dad spoke up. “Now, Ryan, let’s not get carried away.”
“What do her classes have to do with this?” Mrs. Hatfield shook the empty cookie tin. She pulled a face at her daughter. “You what? Want to be a baker now?”
Maddy shook her head. “No, Mom.”
“A pastry chef then? Something culinary?”
Maddy set her chin. “I just don’t want to play the cello, okay?”
Mrs. Hatfield stumbled, grasping the counter. Her face paled like she might faint.
“I think emotions are running a bit high,” Mr. Hatfield said. “Over these cookies.”
“My thinking too,” Evita’s mom said, trying to make her escape.
Mrs. Hatfield grabbed her sleeve. “What do you have to do with this, Lissette?”
“Me?” She shook off Mrs. Hatfield’s hold. “Maddy’s classes? Nothing.”
Mrs. Hatfield set the empty cookie tin down and it clattered. “I meant the cookies?”
“I, uh.” Her mom gazed at her dad.
“Come on, Lissette.” He held out his hand. “Let’s go.”
Mrs. Hatfield blocked Evita’s mom with her arm. “Did you eat any?”
“I—” She glanced out the window. Low-lying dark clouds hugged the sky. “Might have had one.” She glanced at Maddy. “It was delicious.”
“There was only one left—” Maddy started to explain.
Mrs. Hatfield’s eyes grew huge. She wheeled on Evita’s mom. “You ate the last cookie?” She sounded remarkably distressed.
“I told her she could,” Maddy said, but her mom didn’t hear her.
Mrs. Hatfield sent her an icy stare. “Who would have thought you’d stoop so low?”
“Stoop?”
“What is your family? A pack of hungry wolves?”
“Hang on!” Evita’s dad stepped forward. “I don’t appreciate that wolf reference.” He stroked his mustache, then puffed out his chest. “Although in some ways it’s not so bad.” He frowned and mumbled something to himself about being leader of the pack.
“Yes, it’s bad,” his wife said. “Horrible.” She squared her shoulders and stared at Mrs. Hatfield. “I demand you apologize.”
Mrs. Hatfield set her chin. “Apologize for stealing our cookies.”
“We. Did. Not. Steal.”
Evita held up her hands. “Please!” The moms spun on her and her shoulders sank. “Everything was going so well.”
Ryan stood beside her and in between their mothers. “Evita’s right.” He spoke to his mom. “Can’t we please just move on?”
She bit her lip. “Fine.” She lowered her eyebrows at Evita’s mom. “Just keep your family from raiding our part of the pantry—again.”
Evita’s mom placed a hand on her hip. “We did not raid.”
Ryan’s mom shot a look at the kitchen clock. “And this is our time in the kitchen.”
Evita’s mom backed out of the room with a bow, dragging Evita along with her. “It’s all yours, Daneen.”
Daneen spoke in clipped tones. “You! Stay on your side of the house!”
Her mom’s cheek flinched. “You! Stay on your side of the beach!”
Ryan shut his eyes.
Great.
“And,” Evita’s mom added, getting cranked up, “keep your son away from my daughter!”
Evita gaped at her. “Mom. We had a talk.” She couldn’t believe her mom had erased all that so easily. It was only because she was mad at Mrs. Hatfield. Anger clouded her judgment.
“Ditto, Lissette! Keep your daughter away from my son!”
Ryan raked both hands through his hair. “This has got to stop. Both of you please.”
“Yes,” his dad said. “I agree.” He glanced at Evita’s dad for solidarity, but he froze like he’d been caught in headlights. “Pablo, tell them.”
“I think”—he shoved his hands in his pockets—“we should all just keep our heads—and our distance. We only have two more days left.”
“Two and a half days, Pablo,” Evita’s mom corrected.
“During which,” Mrs. Hatfield said, “we’ll be cookie-less.”
Evita’s mom tsked. “What do you want me to do, Daneen? Go out and buy you some more?”
“No thanks.” Mrs. Hatfield cleaned up her lunch plates, setting them in the dishwasher. “Just stay out of our way.”
“Gladly.” She spun and hooked on to her husband’s arm. “Come on, Pablo.”
“Your side!” Mrs. Hatfield shouted after them.
Evita dragged a hand down her face. Right. Another long day. This morning, she’d felt like her mom had heard her. That things were going to change. Until all those cookies crumbled.
