Chapter 4:

Competely Lost

She made cinnamon rose water cookies. They were light and fluffy and would keep well in the car. And, after church, she strolled down to the open market to see if she could find flowers for her hostess. He met her there, admiring the sight of her long legs in the black pencil skirt that covered her knees. He approved of the way her heels lifted her calves and appreciated the view as she bent over to pick out a bundle of flowers. Her hair was up, sophisticated and easy at once. Her smile was open when she turned away from the counter at the sound of his car idling up to the curb. And, when he went up to her, when he touched her arm, he could smell sunshine and clouds and gold metal bands. She approved completely when he reached for his own wallet to pay for the red gerbera daisies and blue bachelor's buttons and sprigs of rosemary the florist arranged in paper for her.

"These are pretty," he told her, sniffing.

She smiled up at him. His mother would approve of her makeup, although where that thought came from he wasn't sure. He remembered arguments when his little sister had been spreading her wings about what was appropriate for fun, what was for God, what was for nightclubs and what was reserved only for those who wanted to look as though they worked evenings.

"Nanita, this is my friend. I've told her nothing about you," he joked as he bent to kiss a worn brown face. He turned to his partner. "Tanner Moyer, Anita Juarez. The secret to 'Huana' Juarez's success and happiness."

"I'm delighted to meet you," she told the young woman. She was lying. She'd already decided that the girl was some trouble maker. Michael had said nothing to his mother, God bless her, and hadn't answered her calls or his father's since Anita had begun her fact-finding mission. Now in he walked with a tall, thin white woman who was carrying a plate of something and looking uncertain and hopeful at once.

"You can call her Nanita," Sanchez told Moyer. "Nanita, Moyer baked. And she made me bring flowers. Now I'm lost." He blushed but grinned with it.

"I'll just take these, Niño. They're beautiful. You did a good job." She inhaled the scent of the herbed florals. "Thank you." She slipped the covered plate from the woman's hands and smiled at Michael as if he'd hung the moon.

"Moyer's fault. She picked them out. I'm clueless." He winked at Moyer. Who rolled her eyes.

"Your momma's in front," Anita told him, gesturing with her chin. "Your father's helping my husband hold down the table."

Sanchez grinned.

Round after round of introduction was made. Moyer felt more and more uncomfortable. The third Juarez boy snapped his fingers when he came in. "I knew you couldn't stay away! I knew it!" He fell to his knees. "I'm only just turned twenty-one," he told her in Spanish. "But I'll give up my philandering ways if you'll marry me-"

"Get out of here, runt," Sanchez grinned, tipping the younger man over with his foot.

"Remind me," Moyer told him.

"Now I'm crushed. You don't even remember me-and we had it all, the moonlight, the romantic music, the-"

"Bartender. South end of the room," Sanchez interrupted. Moyer laughed, her memory jogged. She also blushed. She'd always come here to dance. Freely.

"Party's here!" a young man announced, coming into the room.

"Oh, God," Sanchez sighed under his breath. An identical exhalation came from the older Michael Sanchez.

"Hell-o. What have we here?" Rafael asked, ducking his head to plant a kiss on his father's cheek. He held his hand out to Moyer as he straightened. He switched to English. "I'm pleased to meet you, senorita."

His dad spoke for the newcomer. "Tanner Moyer. She speaks Spanish beautifully. And she's your brother's. Now go away."

Moyer smiled uncomfortably as Sanchez stammered, "Well, not like that, she's just-"

He was saved by his mother, a beautifully curvy fifty-year-old with skin like toasted almonds and eyes so dark they were almost black. No grey threaded her hair, but the hands she held out were worn from work and much loving. "My boys, my boys." Both leaned in to press adoring kisses to her cheeks. Moyer misted at the expression both men wore. She wondered if either realized how soft their sharp, bright smiles had become.

"Oh, brother," Mr. Sanchez muttered.

"Now, Michael. Let me see this young lady." She held out both hands to Moyer. Moyer smiled and took the hands in both of hers.

"She speaks Spanish," Mr. Sanchez warned.

Mrs. Sanchez shot him a quashing look. "Of course she does. Would my son bring someone here who didn't without letting us know so that we could put on our party manners? No. Now you just mind your tequila and let me meet our guest." She lifted her eyes to the heavens. "Men. Why we need them is beyond me. If they weren't so solid and strong and good to look at I'd just set them all out on the curb. Now, are you comfortable with Spanish?"

Si, Senora Sanchez.

"Good. Now, you call me Mollie and my husband is Michael as well. Mr. Michael or plain Michael as your Michael is usually little Michael. Come with me and you can tell me how you met while we put out the dinner things."

And she was whisked away, just like that. What she couldn't possibly know was that Anita and Mollie had already split one of the cookies looking for flaws in her cooking and had given her a thorough examination before Mollie had come out. From totally differing viewpoints. Mollie was thrilled and expected the best of the young woman. Michael dated enough that it wasn't an unusual occurrence. But he'd never once brought a casual date to the weekly gathering without them first becoming familiar with her in other settings. And he'd mentioned a Moyer. One that he had doubts about as a homicide detective. Mollie was interested in the young woman's take on the situation, just for comparison.

What she discovered was a charming, conversant young woman who only rarely had to search for a translation to make her point clear. Twice during the meal she paused mid-sentence and had to switch to English. Both times Michael had supplied the necessary word or phrase for her-once turning from the conversation he'd been engaged in on the other side of the table, showing his mother that he was attentive to his date even when allowing her to get used to them on her own. An independent woman, likeable and conscientious. A good guest, standing immediately to help with the clearing of plates and dishes, offering to wash with a self-depreciating laugh and a light "I'll probably be in the way if I try to put things to away."

And when Huana Juarez pulled open the cabinet housing his records and slow music began to seep through the large space, Mollie watched her son refill their wineglasses, obviously a tactic to allow this young lady the opportunity to watch at first. She noticed the easy way his arm came to rest on the back of her chair when the ladies rejoined the group and Miss Moyer sat down.

"Dance with me, old man," Mollie told her husband.

On the dance floor she watched the couple over her husband's shoulder.

"Let it be," the senior Michael Sanchez growled in her ear.

"I want him happy," she objected.

"So let it be. He's a big boy and she's not his first girlfriend."

"He's only known her a couple of weeks."

"I know it. And he didn't think he liked her at first. But you still have to let it be."

"Nanita doesn't like her."

"But you do. And Nanita will come around. Antonio saw them dancing the other night. He said that she's been here before, without Michael. And he said that he'd never seen Michael dance like that with anyone. They left at the same time, but Janos told Huana that they didn't leave together. Michael put her in a cab and then drove himself home."

"He is a good boy."

"He is."

Mollie felt her eyes fill. "Am I a silly old woman? I like her. I like her very much. And it's not just because I want my children married and settled and making grandchildren. I really like her."

"So do I. Now be quiet about her and let him make up his own mind."

"It says something that he'd bring her here."

"It does."