Loup blinked. “Santa Olivia’s Day?”
“Your birthday? The anniversary of the big fight?” Mack regarded her. “It’s Friday. You forgot?”
She laughed. “Yeah, I did.”
“Jesus, Loup!”
“I’ve had a lot going on, okay?”
“Yeah.” His voice softened. He touched her cheek. “It’s good to see you.”
“You too.”
Mack nodded at Pilar. “Go do your penance and hurry back. Everyone’s gonna be dying to see you.”
“Okay.”
FIFTY-THREE
Outside the rustic Gin Blossom where she’d worked as a bartender, Pilar hesitated, clutching the bottle of very expensive tequila she’d brought.
“You okay?” Loup asked.
“Feeling guilty, that’s all.”
“Are you sure you want me here for this?”
“Yeah.” She nodded emphatically. “I’m ashamed of the way I used Rory. I’m not ashamed of being with you. I want that clear.”
“Okay, then.” Loup opened the door and ushered her in. “Let’s get it over with.”
The place was mostly empty and it took only a few seconds for their presence to register. Behind the bar, Joe, the manager and bartender, let out a loud whoop. He vaulted over the counter and crossed the room to grab Pilar in an embrace, lifting her off her feet.
“Hi, Joey,” she said, a little breathless. “You remember Loup?”
“Fucking hell I do!” He grabbed her hand and shook it hard, grinning. “The goddamn vanishing boxing champion of Santa Olivia!”
A handful of regulars began to converge, then halted. From the back of the room, Rory Salamanca walked forward, a pool cue in his hand.
“So,” he said in a neutral tone.
The bar got very, very quiet.
“Hi, Rory,” Pilar said awkwardly. “I’m back in town visiting for a little while. I didn’t want you to hear it from anyone else.” She held out the bottle of tequila. “Look, you know how bad I feel. I brought a peace offering. It’s your mom’s favorite, the kind you can’t even get in the States.”
He regarded the tequila. “How’d you swing it?”
“This Mexican diplomat, Mr. Sandoval, gave it to Senator Ballantine, and I begged him… oh, just take the fucking bottle, will you?”
Rory took the bottle.
“Thanks.” Pilar relaxed a little. “You, um… remember Loup?” She flushed when he gave her an incredulous look. “Okay, stupid question.”
“No shit.” He glanced at Loup. “Hi.”
“Hi,” Loup said, eyeing the pool cue in his hand.
He dropped it with a clatter. “I was worried sick when you disappeared, you know,” he said to Pilar. “I might have been pissed as hell, but I did care about you.”
She winced. “I’m sorry. I had to.”
“Yeah, I know.” Rory sighed and ran a hand through his dark hair. “I was stupid not to have seen it all along.”
“No, you weren’t.”
“Yeah, I was.” He smiled ruefully. “You had this… sparkle… that went out after we were together. And sometimes I acted like a jealous asshole because deep down, I knew that sparkle had never been for me. I just couldn’t bring myself to believe it was for Tom Garron’s kid sister. And how the fuck was I supposed to know she was some kind of secret superhero? So.” He shrugged and hoisted the bottle. “Welcome home.”
Pilar smiled with gratitude. “Thanks, Rory.”
“Ah, fuck it.” He raised his voice. “Drinks on the house!”
The bar resounded with cheers.
They only stayed for one drink, anxious to return to the church, but by the time they left the atmosphere was happy and convivial.
“Thanks again for being decent about this,” Pilar said to Rory, kissing his cheek. “I really am sorry about everything.”
“Yeah.” He gave her a wry look. “You might want to avoid my mother. She thinks you’re a filthy whoring abomination. And believe me, a bottle of tequila isn’t gonna change her mind.”
“You can’t win ’em all,” Loup said philosophically. “After the miraculous conversion of Sabine, Rosa Salamanca’s a lot to ask for.”
Pilar stifled a giggle.
It drew another reluctant smile from Rory. “Go on, get out of here. I know you’ve got people waiting for you.”
They headed for the door.
“Hey, Pilar!” he called after her. “Thanks. You didn’t have to do this. And, um… you look really good.” This time, his smile was genuine. “Sparkly.”
Once they were outside the bar, Pilar breathed a profound sigh of relief. “Thanks, baby.” She squeezed Loup’s hand. “I know that wasn’t the first thing either of us wanted to do here, but I just didn’t want it hanging over my head, you know?”
“I know.” Loup returned her squeeze. “Feeling better?”
“Tons.”
“Let’s go see our people.”
By the time they reached the church, there were four familiar figures playing a short-handed game of stickball in the street outside the gates.
“Hey!” Dondi shouted, pointing.
“Loup?” T.Y. swung wildly at a pitch, letting go of the broom handle as he spun around, looking for her.
She laughed. “You guys are playing stickball?”
“We were going crazy waiting!” He raced over and gave her an impetuous hug with only the slightest hint of flinch. “Jesus, it’s good to see you!”
Loup hugged him back carefully and ruffled his brown curls. “I’ve missed you.”
“Hey, baby doll,” C.C. said to Pilar, grinning. “Couldn’t stay away from me, huh?”
She smiled fondly at him. “You wish, loverboy.”
“Holy crap!” Dondi eyed Pilar’s stacked wedge heels. “Could those be any higher?”
“They’re in style, okay?” She tugged him down to plant a kiss on his cheek. “When did you get so tall, little man?”
“Umm… way before you left, remember?”
In the background, Mack was gathering up stray tennis balls and the discarded broomstick. Loup caught his eye and smiled. He smiled back at her. “So where’s everyone else?” she asked T.Y.
“Oh, hell!” He grinned. “It’s like old times. Kotch and Jane are helping Anna in the kitchen, bitching about how the women always get stuck with the nurturing roles—”
“I offered to help cook!” Dondi said, aggrieved.
“He did,” C.C. confirmed.
“—and Jaime couldn’t wait. We unloaded the van and he’s already got his hands on one of those fancy computers you brought,” T.Y. finished.
“Diego and Maria? Are they okay?”
“Yeah, yeah!” He nodded vigorously. “Trying to find a babysitter, I think.”
It was like old times, and it wasn’t. All the Santitos were a year older, their lives following divergent paths within the narrow confines that Outpost allowed. They trouped through the wrought-iron gates, chattering, young adults returning to their childhood.
Inside the church, Loup halted.
“Whoa.” She reached unthinking for Pilar’s hand.
“Whoa,” Pilar agreed.
The effigy of Santa Olivia sat in her niche; the child-saint in the pretty blue dress and white kerchief with her dark, unblinking gaze, her basket over one arm. Her basket overflowed with the handwritten petitions that had once been proscribed. Hundreds of votive candles flickered around her, and a sea of handmade paper flowers spilled over her feet. In her own niche, Our Lady of the Sorrows looked on with gentle approval.
“Did you guys do this?” Loup asked, bewildered.
“No, Loup.” Mack’s hands rested on her shoulders. “You did.”
“I didn’t—”
“Yeah, you did, baby.” Pilar kissed her softly on the lips. “I told you, you have no idea what it was like here after the fight.”
She felt dazed. “Guess not.”
T.Y. tugged her arm. “C’mon!”
And almost everyone was there; Father Ramon in his cassock, his handsome face lined with age and his hair more silver than black; Sister Martha with her intent gaze and generous heart; Anna, still lovely and kind; tall, blond Katya, her imperious youth given way to a warmer maturity; sharp-tongued, quick-witted Jane; clever Jaime, tearing himself away from the new computer. Everyone hugged and wept and exclaimed all at once, and Diego and Maria arrived in the midst, baby in tow, to start the process all over again.
At last they sat down to eat, crowded around the long table. The food was simple, chicken in adobo sauce, rice and beans, but there was plenty of it. After the platters had been passed around, Sister Martha cleared her throat.
“All right,” she said. “What in God’s fucking name have the two of you been up to?” She gestured broadly, looking at a rare loss for words. “What did you do out there to turn the whole fucking world upside down?”
Loup and Pilar exchanged grins.
“You eat,” Pilar said, pointing at Loup’s heaped plate. “I’ll talk. So it started with this guy, Magnus Lindberg, who wanted to hire Loup to be the world’s only GMO bodyguard…”
She began telling the story, charting its unlikely twists and turns from Huatulco to Aberdeen, London and Sicily and Switzerland, training, the first Kate concert, Vincenzo Picco, the wedding, the birthday party, the fire and the pirate terrorist.
“You shot a guy?” T.Y. interrupted in disbelief. “You? With a gun?” He pointed his finger. “Bang, bang?”
“Why does everyone have so much trouble with that part?” Pilar asked with some asperity.
“Because the Pilar Ecchevarria we knew would have shrieked and hidden behind the nearest available male,” Jane said calmly. “Preferably an attractive, wealthy one.” Jaime elbowed her discreetly in the ribs, and she raised her eyebrows at him. “What? She would have.”