Waiting for the End

By Mia Soto

How does a family move on after devastation hits? Slowly and carefully. Lola is lost trying to find her way as a widow with three young children. Heartbreak doesn't often lead to forever but sometimes, when it seems bleakest, a light shines through.
This is PG13. Sad and happy. A tale of second chances.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mia Soto
• Release date: Jul 22, 2015
• ISBN: 9781310710063

Mia Soto

Professional everything but finally coming back to what I love. Look for more all over the genre map and let me know your thoughts!

Book preview

Waiting for the End

Lovely Latinas; Volume II

By

Mia Soto

Text copyright © 2015 Mia Soto

All Rights Reserved

Smashwords Edition

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Epilogue

CHAPTER 1

Hi.

Hi. My words fell in a surprised tone.

There were smiles and then there were smiles. He had a sexy smile and he was showering it on me at that precise moment. Doc was gorgeous. There was no way around it. He was a tall, athletic, Latin dreamboat and given the string of beautiful women I’d seen him float through the hospital lobby with that was a generally agreed upon truth. All those women, they seemed indifferent to his highly public reputation. It had to be blind faith that they would be the ones to change him. For him, it could only be ego fueling a burning need to sow oats and remain a rolling stone. That he was a generally nice human didn’t hurt him when the ugly side of gigolo reared its head like it had once with one of his women. That little scene confirmed something I’d long suspected. If he was doing most of his fishing at work there had to be a decent amount of mess piling up in the corners. He was going to have to leave town or hire a priest for an old fashion exorcism if he kept up at his current pace.

You’re reading my favorite book. He nodded toward my well loved copy of The Alchemist.

Oh. The pages of my book looked tattered as I flipped it downward onto the table.

A small assortment of fruit was laid out in front of me on the cafeteria style table. It was my usual dinner which I took every night around nine. Usually by then I had been at the hospital for at least two hours and I felt I had the right to an hour of peace whatever that meant to my life anymore. In about forty five minutes, to the second, I would rise again, ride the elevator to the tenth floor, and take my seat in the square teal colored pleather chair that faced the bed where Jake lay. There I would curl up as was my way when sitting and stare out the black window. I wouldn’t talk. I had said all the words that would ever be said in that room. I wouldn’t cry, not till I left, not till I was in bed where little eyes couldn’t wonder over their mother’s tears. I would quietly sit until midnight. Then I would rise again go to my home and prepare for another day without my husband pretending for three little boys that it was only a matter of time before everything might be normal again.

I love that book, he said in his thick Spanish accent as he sat and I must not have had an open look on my face because he stopped. May I sit?

Sure, came after a decent hesitation. He seemed pleased with my permission and I couldn’t help but note he and Jake were so similar. They were strong men, successful men of action, unabashedly self confident. I knew they were the same age from conversations long ago where Jake had also participated. They liked each other and had engaged in an easy repartee not so long ago, but there was an edge to them. It was an edge of agreement that under different circumstances they would under no circumstances be friends, only ever friendly.

He picked up my book and studied my place. Good part. He wasn’t Jake’s doctor but he was the youngest Head of Internal Medicine the hospital had ever known at the age of thirty seven. He took all of his staff’s patients seriously and his gentle medical natured belied the playboy persona that swirled around him.

Yeah, I agreed as I uncurled from my normal position. I immediately re-curled when the frigid air of the cafeteria hit my mid section. My hair was in its usually messy bun some of it falling into my face unheeded. My favorite part.

Mine too. That smile, whew, that smile. That must have been how he dazzled the girls. He kept reading with that smile leaving a strange silence between us before he looked up at me again. Looks like you’ve read it once or twice.

Or twice.

You know they made a movie of it. He opened his smoothie drink and took a swig. He was looking at me through those devastating hazel eyes as he drank.

Really? I wasn’t sure what the point of this visit was but dread was starting to churn in me. Every time a doctor sat down next to me with a ‘hey wasn’t life funny’ line like this they usually followed it up with something horrible like a ‘life wasn’t funny at all and it was really pretty damn unfunny’ line. I had learned to cut them off, and their need to instill some weird sense of calm in me, before tearing me apart again. So I said, Umm, Dr. Velasquez is there something you need to talk to me about?

What happened to Doc? He looked a little hurt by the formal addressing. The boys knew him well. Sometimes while they were visiting we’d go to the little grassy park in the center of the hospital and kick the soccer ball. Sometimes he’d walk by and join us. Through those little pick up games they had all become buddies and Doc had been a lot easier for them to say than his real name.

Nothing, you know. I fidgeted. I- I feel like you wanted to talk to me about something.

Yes, he laughed. The Alchemist. It’s really my favorite book. He held up his hands in defense, "De verdad! I wrote my senior thesis on it. High school that is."

You did? My question sounded disinterested at best. That’s interesting. Came out even less enthusiastic.

You sure? Cause you sound more like what the hell is this guy bothering me with this about.

I laughed at his rightness. Then we were awkwardly silent for a minute while he drank and I looked around the room for something to add to the conversation.

I’m making you uncomfortable, he said gently. I knew why the ladies threw themselves at him and it wasn’t only the body and face, that accent was delicious.

No, I lied wishing he’d see through the lie and leave. He didn’t or didn’t want to.

I had to read it during my prep school days in Spain. He went back to the book, flipping some of the pages.

I thought you were from Ecuador? Finally I had something to add to the weird situation I found myself in.

I am, but they sent me to school in Europe. He seemed to be enjoying our conversation. And you, where are you from?

I sighed. I didn’t understand the point of all of this but he waited patiently and I didn’t have it in me to be a total bitch so I said, I’m from South Carolina. He looked perplexed so I threw him the bone he was looking for, but my parents are from Mexico.

You don’t look Mexican, he said seriously as he watched me.

I shrugged, still, they’re Mexican.

Like native Mexican?

It was bothering him for some reason. I knew what he was getting at what I didn’t know was why he cared. That I was having a conversation about anything other than my dying husband or the devastation it was spreading across my life was nothing short of confusing. It was so in the moment I couldn’t even feel guilty for enjoying the meaningless chatter we were engaging in.

So I said, no, my father’s parents were from Spain and my mother people immigrated to Mexico from England and Ireland in the eighteen hundreds. Although we do have a couple of natives on that side, hence my coloring. I was medium olive with bronze hair and light brown eyes. Sometimes people would even mistake my eye color for green.

That makes more sense. I could tell he was happy I explained. You’re so beautiful you probably get mistaken for being from a lot of places. You have that kind of look, continental.

I looked away embarrassed by the compliment and by the truth of his words. Many years before, while backpacking through Europe after college, every country I entered more than once locals would come up speaking the language to me whether or not I could speak back to them. I looked Spanish. I looked Italian. I guessed I looked French and even German in certain areas. In Croatia, I almost got arrested for not answering a cop who thought I had jumped a turnstile in their metro. When I finally spoke he apologized in broken English not realizing I wasn’t native.

Sorry, that did make you uncomfortable. He had gentle eyes. I nodded hoping he might leave. He must have gotten the hint because he sighed heavily and stood. Thanks for the talk. I see you here every night.

I nodded again. What could I say? I’m usually here, I agreed. For an hour or so.

I noticed. He ran his hand through his hair. Of course, he had great hair, wavy, longer but not long, and even bronzer than mine. I really had nothing to say to that so I waited. Have a good night, Lola. We had all long ago dropped the formalities. I’d never had to remind him of my name or any of my family members’ names.

You too, Doc, I smiled up at him. He tapped the table with his fingers then dropped a reassuring hand over mine before walking away.

That was the first night of our friendship. It was the night we crossed the line from passing acquaintances to genuinely happy to see each other. The chats were short and informal but easy and familiar. The rightness or wrongness seemed wrapped up in the indifference that a woman with so bleak a future deserved at least a little release. It was harmless, like ice cream on a summer night.

***

It had only taken all afternoon and most of the night between juggling the kids but it was finished. It was a masterpiece I thought patting myself nicely on the back. The chocolate ganache glistened out smothering the buttercream frosted chocolate cake filled with raspberry mouse filling. That was going to be delicious and my chocoholic father-in-law was going to love it. He was still worth the effort of trying to endear myself. His wife? She’d hate it and let me know in her less than subtle, look down her nose way. At least she wouldn’t be able to make her comments about my buying it. With the clean up finished and the kitchen in order I took one more admiring glance at it then headed to my room to shower. A layer of chocolate and sugar and eight hours of amateur pastry cheffing was coating me in the stickiest way.

The warm water felt heavenly and I wondered when Jake would be home. He’d called earlier to say one of their servers had gone down and they were working to fix it. That was hours ago. When he was thick into his work his calls were sparse, so if I wanted to know the status I knew I needed to make a call or send a text. As I walked into the bedroom I could hear the TV mumbling quietly out in our great room. He was home and I smiled wondering what he thought of my cake. So I dressed in my pajamas and hurried out, going the back way down the long hall into the kitchen expecting to find him there. As the hallway opened up into the kitchen the happy glow on my face fell and astonishment replaced joy. A huge hunk of the decadent, took eight hours to make, chocolate cake was missing from my master piece. Slack jawed I followed the trail of crumbs to the thief. Even though I didn’t need proof, I knew.

JAKE! I screeched in a quiet tone knowing I didn’t want to wake three blissfully sleeping children.

What? He turned surprised with a mouth full of cake. A huge hunk of the cake was in his hand, not even on a plate, leaving droppings around him as he absent mindedly ignored the mess to watch ESPN.

What are you doing? I cried pointing at the cake.

What? He looked at the cake and must have been putting two and two together.

That was for your father’s birthday!

It was? There was a sheepish tone because he had to know I didn’t make chocolate cakes from scratch often. I could feed my family, well even, but I wasn’t spending every waking moment thinking about our next meal like his mother. My stomach was in my feet as I watched him approach me with that smile I couldn’t resist, that I knew he intended to use to get out of trouble. Sorry, Babe. We’ll buy one.

That wasn’t the point. Your mother was going to be so impressed. I felt dejected.

He took another bite and thought about that before saying with a full mouth and a chuckle, I doubt it.

Early in our relationship that sort of comment would have hurt and even been grounds for some couch sleeping by him. But by then I was slowly coming to peace with the fact there was no pleasing that uptight wit…uh, lady and occasionally I could laugh at the fact. So my sarcastic smile was tinged with real humor as I said, you’re such a jerk.

Not I’m not. He was backing me up against the island where my ruined cake sat. He took another bite. It’s delicious. Try it. He offered it to me but I shook my head with a smile. So he broke off a piece and offered that.

I don’t want any, I insisted.

Come on, try it, Babe. It’s great. He insisted before smashing it into my mouth. Then he attacked my mouth with his, half kissing half eating the decadence. Hmmm, you taste delicious. My back was bent nearly in two as he leaned me over the island while his hands wandered down my chest.

Jake wait, I tried to stop him just as he fully squashed my back into the cake. I cried out thinking he’d forgotten about the cake until I looked into his devilish eyes and knew better. You know Baby. I reached back to grab a fistful of the cake. Two can play that game. The cake was so gooey it stuck to the entire path I made from his forehead to his smiling mouth. It was a mess of flying chocolate from there. It took us hours to clean that mess up after he made love to me in the middle of my masterpiece.

I was staring at the destruction in the garbage can as he came out of the laundry room. I worked so hard on that.

He kissed my temple, I know Baby. I totally forgot.

I swear sometimes you’re trying to sabotage me with them.

He sighed an exasperated sigh. His parents were a worn out subject with us. I don’t know why you care. Even if it had been perfectly in tact for their arrival tomorrow she’d have had something to say. You know that. They don’t matter Baby. You and I. We matter.

Right, I smiled sadly closing the can.

Trust me you’re a better mother and wife than anyone I’ve seen in action. Including my mom and yours. And all I hope is I’m half the dad and man next to you.

Yeah, my response was less than convinced. Jake was great, perfect even. He knew it and everyone agreed on it. I was the mistake in the us and his parents never spared a minute in reminding me of that.

What am I going to do with you? His arms were wrapped tightly around me as I squeezed away some tears. The air whooshed under me when he spoke again, First I’m going to shower with you then I’m going to make love with you again. Maybe after all that... He mused as he guided us into our room and shut the door behind us.

Chapter 2

Mrs. Saunders? Mrs. Saunders? My head was swimming in sleep as I tried to focus on her face. It’s twelve thirty. The nurses knew my schedule better than I did.

Oh thanks. I must have fallen asleep.

She nodded and went about her nightly work as I watched quietly from my chair still shaking away the sleep bugs. I guess I’m going to go.

She smiled, get some sleep. Maybe you can take a break tomorrow. We can call if something changes. My face hardened immediately and she noted it.

See you tomorrow.

She nodded sadly watching me curtly gather my things to leave without another word to her. The halls were silent with the beeps and murmurs of hospital calm. It seemed years ago that I wasn’t spending all rational moments of my life in that miserable place. As the elevator dinged on the seventh floor the doors opened and Doc stood waiting. He looked more tired than I did with his leather satchel slung over his arm.

Hi, his smile was genuinely happy to see me.

Hi.

You’re still here? He asked the obvious.

I fell asleep. You?

You should go home earlier, he urged. Annoyance covered my face again. Don’t give me that face. Save it for the nurses. I must have looked surprised because he laughed lightly. You heard me.

I’m not going home earlier.

Yeah, I know.

We were walking out to the parking garage and I went for the stairs leading to visitor parking. The doctors tended to park on the upper floors. He followed me and I threw a perplexed look over my shoulder.

What are you doing?

Walking you to your car.

That’s ok. I’m a big girl. I do this every night.

Tonight I’m here and my mother would never forgive me if I let you go off alone.

Mama’s boy?

Hardly, he laughed.

Like I said I’m a big girl.

Not that big, he looked down his nose at me.

That’s because you’re so tall. I’m pretty average next to anyone else.

Well, tonight we’re going to make sure no more than average bad guys are waiting for you.

I sighed but accepted his chivalry. We were chatting as we came up to my car which was noticeably tilted to the left. The rear left tire was totally flat and as we got closer it seemed it had been slashed. He gave me a you see look. I looked around and saw at least three other cars with the same problem. It was probably the work of bored teens. Whatever it was, I was looking at an emergency roadside help call in the middle of the night. The phone came out and I was dialing when he spoke.

Who are you calling?

Help.

What do I look like? He seemed offended.

You can change a tire?

Then he was offended. Give me the keys. I did and he started working only to dig under my hatch to find an empty spare wheel container. He looked back at me questioningly.

Oh, right. I felt silly as I remembered. I hit a curb a month ago and had to change the tire. He smiled tolerantly with a shake of his head. It’s, well, I don’t handle this stuff. Jake doe… I stopped feeling beaten. I’ll get a cab. Guess I’ll call roadside tomorrow and get towed, buy a tire or something. It’s too late to do this tonight. I mused to myself. Jake’s car was sitting unused, haunting the garage.

You’re not getting a cab. I can take you home. I hesitated not sure. It seemed like an intimate situation even given the accidental nature of the offer. He recognized the hesitation and laughed. Don’t be silly. You’re safe with me. Married women do nothing for me. Ouch. But his smile was still kind.

Ok. I agreed walking quickly to catch up with him since he’d already started moving. We approached his, this is how I express my manhood, car. Does this thing really work with the girlies?

He was beeping the alarm. You better believe it.

Huh.

What?

I don’t know. Seems a little mid life crisis for my way of thinking.

I’m not that old. Maybe you. But not me.

I’m five years younger than you. I stated offended.

That’s what you tell me but you seem like a hundred years older.

Ok, whatever, let’s go. I tried to yank the door open but