Chapter 21: Sunday at Miss Carmen's
The Dream House
Book One
"I don't know about you girls..."
Miss Carmen slowly stood up from the bench, dusting off the front of her skirt.
"...but all this crying has made me hungry."
For two whole seconds nobody reacted.
Then Luna laughed.
Then I laughed.
Even Selena smiled.
Only Sinnad looked completely unsurprised.
"You already knew she was going to say that, didn't you?" I asked him.
He shrugged.
"Pretty much."
"How?"
"She says she's hungry every time a conversation gets too emotional."
Miss Carmen pointed at him.
"Don't expose my business."
"I learned from the best."
She shook her head dramatically.
"I should've let your father discipline you more."
That caught my attention.
Not because it was funny.
Because every time someone mentioned his father, something changed in Sinnad's face.
Just for a second.
Then it disappeared again.
Almost like a curtain closing.
"You girls coming or what?" Miss Carmen asked.
"Where?"
"My house."
Selena immediately looked at her watch.
"I actually have—"
"No."
Miss Carmen interrupted her.
"You don't."
Selena blinked.
"I beg your pardon?"
"You were about to tell me you have work."
"...I do."
"No you don't."
"I own a company."
"And it'll still be there tomorrow."
Luna looked at me.
I looked at Luna.
We were both trying very hard not to laugh.
Nobody...
Absolutely nobody...
Talked to Selena like that.
Not employees.
Not investors.
Not clients.
Certainly not strangers.
Miss Carmen simply started walking toward a little blue bungalow across the street.
Without checking whether we were following.
"She always does that," Sinnad said.
"What?"
"Assumes you'll come."
"And?"
"And somehow..."
He smiled.
"...you always do."
...
Miss Carmen's house smelled like cinnamon.
Not the fake cinnamon from scented candles.
Real cinnamon.
The kind that makes you immediately wonder if somebody baked something.
The furniture looked older than I was.
Family photographs covered almost every wall.
There were knitted blankets draped over chairs.
A wooden clock ticked loudly in the hallway.
Nothing matched.
Everything matched.
It felt like home.
"Sit."
Miss Carmen disappeared into the kitchen before anyone could answer.
Within seconds we heard cupboard doors opening.
Pots moving.
Cabinets closing.
"I tried telling her we could order pizza once."
Sinnad sat on the couch.
"How'd that go?" I asked.
He looked at me.
"She didn't speak to me for three days."
I laughed.
"I like her."
"So does everyone."
Selena slowly walked around the living room studying the photographs.
That was her thing.
She observed.
Analyzed.
Collected information.
She stopped in front of one picture.
"You've known him a long time."
Miss Carmen answered from the kitchen.
"I've known him since before he knew himself."
I frowned.
"What does that even mean?"
"It means I changed diapers."
I looked at Sinnad.
"You?"
He sighed dramatically.
"I was hoping that story had died."
"It lives forever."
Luna was now laughing so hard she had tears in her eyes.
"Oh my goodness..."
"I would've paid money to see that."
"You still can."
Miss Carmen walked back into the room carrying a tray of homemade banana bread.
"I have pictures."
The room exploded with laughter.
Even Selena.
Especially Selena.
It wasn't the loud laugh she usually tried to hide.
It was real.
Uncontrolled.
Beautiful.
For just a moment...
She didn't look like a CEO.
She looked like a little girl.
I noticed Sinnad noticed too.
But instead of staring...
He politely looked away.
Again.
He kept doing that.
Every time someone became vulnerable.
Every single time.
Interesting.
Very interesting.
As everyone reached for banana bread, I wandered toward a bookshelf in the corner.
There were dozens of old photo albums.
Some journals.
A dusty Bible.
Several framed photographs.
One photograph, in particular, caught my eye.
A little boy.
Couldn't have been older than seven.
Big smile.
Holding a paintbrush almost as long as his arm.
Standing proudly beside a woman.
I froze.
No.
It couldn't be.
The woman...
She looked exactly like the one from the journal.
Exactly.
Same eyes.
Same smile.
Same calm expression.
My heartbeat quickened.
I picked up the frame.
"Miss Carmen..."
The room became quiet.
She turned.
Saw the photograph.
And for the first time since we'd met her...
The color disappeared from her face.
Quickly.
Almost instinctively.
She walked over.
Gently took the frame from my hands.
Then held it against her chest.
Not angry.
Not defensive.
Just...
Protective.
"Where did you get this?" I whispered.
She looked at me.
Then at Sinnad.
Then toward the window.
The silence felt endless.
Finally she spoke.
"Some stories..."
She swallowed.
"...are told too early."
Nobody moved.
Nobody spoke.
She carefully placed the photograph back on the shelf.
Turned toward us.
Forced a smile.
Then quietly said,
"Come."
She looked at the banana bread.
"It's getting cold."
But nobody reached for another piece.
Because deep down...
Every one of us knew.
The story had just changed.
And somehow...
So had Sinnad.