Santa Olivia (Santa Olivia #1)

Santa Olivia (Santa Olivia #1) Page 49

“Um.” Loup nodded in that direction.

“Fuck it.” Pilar kissed her again, sinking both hands deep into her hair. “That old witch Rosa’s got spies everywhere. I don’t care.”

“No?”

“No.” Another kiss. “I’m gonna tell Rory the truth after tomorrow.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, well… yeah.” She smiled ruefully. “I guess I owe him. And no matter what happens, I’m gonna be a fucking wreck. I’m not gonna be able to hide it. And he’s gonna have questions, a lot of questions. Starting with, gee, honey, how come you never told me that cute little girlfriend you said you weren’t serious about isn’t entirely human?”

“What do you think he’ll do?”

Pilar shrugged. “I haven’t the faintest fucking idea. You’re gonna turn this town upside down, baby. All bets are off.” She was quiet a moment. “Just so you know, I’m not gonna be there tomorrow.”

Loup searched her face. “Why?”

“I don’t think I could stand it,” she said honestly. “I have a hard time watching the fights as it is. You…” She shook her head. “I’m being as brave as I can, Loup. I can’t watch you get hurt. And I can’t watch them take you away. I’d fall apart.”

“Okay.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah.” Loup nodded. “I understand. I do.”

“Thanks.” Pilar gave her another dazzling smile and took her hand. “Okay, I won’t say another thing about it, I promise.”

It felt strange and familiar, wonderful and terrible to approach the church for the last time, Pilar’s hand in hers, holding on for dear life. It was to be an early dinner and most of the Santitos were already there, milling around the dining room, falling back into old patterns.

“Shit, Loup!” T.Y. glanced up. “We were starting to… oh.”

A few heartbeats of silence passed.

Sister Martha crossed over without hesitation, kissed Pilar’s cheek with genuine warmth. “Welcome back, dear. I’m so glad you could join us.”

Without letting go, Pilar eased her death grip on Loup’s hand and smiled with relief. “Thanks, Sister. Me, too.”

And then it was okay—or as okay as it could be. The Santitos shook their heads, still bemused by it, but strangely unsurprised that the relationship no one had ever imagined had reemerged in full force on this night of nights.

Accompanied by Pilar, Loup went upstairs to drop off her gym bag. She unpacked the boxing robe and hung it on the front of the wardrobe, the blue silk shimmering in the fading light.

“I should of ironed it for you.” Pilar examined it. “Guess it got a little wrinkled, huh?”

Loup smiled. “I guess.”

“Some saint.” She gave her a sparkling sidelong glance. “It’s not too bad. I think the worst of it will come out overnight.” She looked around the room. “Jesus! It’s so empty in here.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Has it been lonely?” Pilar’s voice was wistful.

“Yeah.”

“I’m sorry, Loup.” She shivered. “So sorry.”

“I know, I know.” Loup stroked her hair. “Don’t talk about it, okay?”

“Okay.” Pilar pulled her close, kissed her with lingering desire. “I guess we have to go downstairs, huh?” she whispered against her lips.

“Yeah.” Loup kissed her back. “We really do.”

Downstairs, Katya had arrived, making the Santitos complete. She looked good—happy and content despite the odds. It seemed her Sergeant Buckland was one of the good ones after all, at least so far.

The mood should have been somber and strained, but it wasn’t. They talked, reminiscing, reliving old quarrels and old affairs. The fights with the Salamanders during the turf wars. The exploits of Santa Olivia.

“Don’t ever admit any of you were involved in it,” Loup warned them. “I gotta tell them it was all me.”

“How many of you were involved?” Father Ramon asked in curiosity.

They glanced around at one another. Jaime cleared his throat. “Pretty much all of us, Father.”

He shook his head. “I should have known.”

A little before sunset, they sat down to eat. It was a simple meal. Loup worked her way steadily through a small mountain of pasta, mindful of the coach’s injunction to eat a lot of carbs. In between bites she gazed around the table, fixing all their faces in her mind. T.Y., her oldest friend. Mack, steady as a rock. Diego and Maria, so good-hearted, taking turns holding their year-old baby. Katya, loyal despite herself, her hauteur mellowed. Sharp-tongued Jane and brilliant Jaime, who deserved so much more opportunity than Outpost gave them. C.C. with his madcap energy, and Dondi the baby all grown up.

And the heart of the church.

Anna, a calm, gentle presence. Sister Martha, acerbic and tireless. Father Ramon, who had done more to provide for Outpost than anyone.

And then there was Pilar, sitting beside her, stealing glances at her. Doing her best to be brave, and doing it well.

They made her heart ache, all of them.

Especially Pilar.

But it wasn’t a bad pain, not exactly. It felt right. Hard, but right.

They finished eating and fell to squabbling over KP duty. Loup volunteered and was shot down; Pilar’s offer to assist was met with disbelieving jeers.

“Oh, let them,” Sister Martha said with asperity. “Jesus, children! Loup and Pilar wash, C.C. and Katya dry.”

“And afterward we will adjourn for a toast,” Father Ramon added.

It was strange and familiar all over again. All the Santitos had spent long hours in the kitchen scrubbing dishes. Breakfast dishes, dinner dishes, the massive vats of food they provided for the daily free lunch. Loup and Pilar shared the sink, heads leaning together, hands brushing beneath the soapy water.

“I asked Mack to walk me home,” Pilar murmured. “I don’t think I can say goodbye to you on Rory’s doorstep, baby.”

Loup nodded. “Yeah, me either.”

“Damn, Pilar!” C.C. held up a platter she’d passed him. “This actually doesn’t need to be washed again. You’ve changed, girl.”

She flushed. “I’m trying.”

“We’re all trying, honey,” Katya said without irony.

When the last dish was washed, dried, and stowed, they returned to the dining room. Father Ramon had a bottle of wine and an array of glasses before him. Once they’d taken their seats, he opened the wine. The cork squeaked. He poured an inch into every glass, passing them around the table.

“My predecessor was something of a connoisseur,” he said. “This is a bottle he was saving for a special occasion. I reckon this is it. Lift your glasses.”

They did.

“Profundity fails me.” Father Ramon’s gaze rested on Loup. “And perhaps that is fitting, since words have never been your strong suit, Loup Garron. I said once that you were neither a leader nor a follower. I think perhaps you’re something more rare. A catalyst. A catalyst for change, hope, faith. This group of you, God willing the last of you, have been different. What does it mean to live without fear? What lessons are we to take from your presence among us?” He shook his head. “I don’t know. I know only that in your own way, you inspire us.”

“Hell, yeah,” Mack muttered.

“Umm… thanks?” Loup offered.

The Father smiled wryly, hoisting his glass to Sister Martha. “I defer to your particular brand of eloquence, my dear.”

She nodded. “Loup? Kick his ass.”

The Santitos cheered and drank. Maria and Diego’s baby squalled. Loup sipped her inch of wine, savoring it. It tasted like chocolate and cherries and leather and things there weren’t names for.

“Thanks.” Her eyes burned. “Just… thanks.”

And then it was over—the last supper, ended. There were only goodbyes to be said. Some of them she would see tomorrow, but for others, this was the last time. Loup said them all, lingering.

Sure, but hurting.

Pilar was the last and hardest.

Loup walked her to the gate. Mack went on ahead a discreet distance, a shadowy figure waiting in the dark street.

“So… ,” Pilar whispered, fighting tears.

“Yeah.” Loup hugged her hard. “I love you,” she whispered against Pilar’s hair. “And if I can find a way to make it back to you, I will. I promise. No matter how long it takes.”

“Just be safe, baby.” Pilar kissed her softly, then pulled away with a shiver. She wiped her eyes. “But if you can, I’ll be waiting. I’ll always be waiting.”

She nodded.

Pilar walked away without looking back. Loup watched her join Mack, watched him slide a sympathetic arm over her shoulders. Pilar leaned against him briefly. And then they moved on down the street until darkness swallowed them.

Inside, Sister Martha gave her a compassionate look. “Are you all right, sweetheart?”

“Yeah.” Loup took a deep breath. Her chest ached, but it was a bittersweet pain. There was still that inexplicable sense of rightness. “I can’t explain it, but yeah, I am. Thank you.”

“You should get some sleep,” Sister Martha said gently. “Tomorrow’s a big day.”

“Yeah.” Despite everything, Loup smiled. “It is.”

FORTY-SEVEN

Loup slept soundly and late, awaking to a room filled with sunlight. The boxing robe Pilar had made for her hung from the wardrobe, gleaming like a swath of sky. The sight made her smile.

Yesterday’s sense of brightness lingered, tempered with sorrow and honed with purpose.

Ready.

She felt ready.

The church was mostly empty. Of course—it was Santa Olivia’s day. They’d already taken the effigy to the square. People would be celebrating, indulging in a last fevered round of speculation about the night’s coming fight.