followed them.
8
Â
Â
S ally was pretty sure that the Adobe Hacienda wasnât made of adobe. For that matter, it wasnât a hacienda. It was just a Mexican restaurant on the outskirts of Hughes, built to look as if it might be made of adobe and as if it might not have been out of place on a large ranch somewhere in Mexico.
Sally didnât know if it really resembled a hacienda, as she had never been to a ranch in Mexico. She did know that the margaritas were good and that the food was even better.
When she arrived at the parking lot, Vera and Jack were standing beside the Navigator waiting for her. Vera, looking less like one of the Valkyrie than usual, was dressed modestly in jeans, a plaid shirt, and high-heeled boots.
Sally was wearing the same Kaspar pantsuit that she had worn to school that morning. âInexpensive, but nice,â was what her mother had always said about the clothing line that Sally favored. Sally didnât think the pantsuit had been all that inexpensive, but sheâd gotten it on sale, and it didnât pay to argue with her mother.
Jack and Vera waved to Sally, and she joined them. Heat waves shimmered up off the asphalt.
âLetâs go in,â Jack said. âItâs too hot to stand out here.â
They went inside, with Jack allowing Vera to open the door. Vera was a militant feminist, and Sally knew that she didnât like to have men opening doors for her.
It was cool inside the restaurant, and the smell of sizzling fajitas filled the entryway. The walls of the restaurant were decorated with colorful serapes and sombreros. Crossed maracas hung beside them, and piñatas dangled from the ceiling. Sally had often wondered if there was anything inside the piñatas, but sheâd never been quite curious enough to whack one with a stick and find out. Maybe if she had enough margaritas some night, sheâd give it a try.
There was music playing over hidden speakers, and although Sally hadnât taken Spanish since college, she could understand some of the words: lágrimas, for one. Corazón was another.
Vera asked for a back booth, and as they were following the server to it, Sally saw that Jorge Rodriguez and Mae Wilkins were seated at a table on the opposite side of the room. If she hadnât been wondering about what Vera and Jack wanted, Sally thought, she might have noticed Jorgeâs car outside. There had been a bit of chemistry between her and Jorge, and she had thought that they might one day be sitting at a table together, sharing a drink, but Jorge and Mae had hooked up instead.
They were an odd couple, Sally thought, but maybe that was the attraction. Mae was the most fastidious person Sally had ever known. Her office at the college looked like something out of one of the more elegant issues of Southern Living . There was a rumor that a speck of dust had lingered in Maeâs house for more than an hour, but Sally didnât believe it.
Mae had once confessed to Sally, however, that in spite of her addiction to cleanliness and the Martha Stewart way of life, she was attracted to men who might be both dangerous and sloppy.
Jorge, while Sally had seen no evidence of sloppiness, was certainly on the dangerous side if the rumors about him were to be believed. It was true that he had been in prison. That much had been verified. But the reason for his incarceration was unclear. Some said murder, and that story had never been disproved, though Sally doubted it. One thing was certain: he was an excellent choice to head up the collegeâs program of teaching in the several prison units located near Hughes. Inmates enrolled in college courses could
identify with a man whoâd been in their place and made a success of his life after his release.
Whatever his past, Jorge had one grievous fault that Sally had recently discovered while talking with Mae. It was a fault that in Sallyâs mind would have prevented any kind of
8
Â
Â
S ally was pretty sure that the Adobe Hacienda wasnât made of adobe. For that matter, it wasnât a hacienda. It was just a Mexican restaurant on the outskirts of Hughes, built to look as if it might be made of adobe and as if it might not have been out of place on a large ranch somewhere in Mexico.
Sally didnât know if it really resembled a hacienda, as she had never been to a ranch in Mexico. She did know that the margaritas were good and that the food was even better.
When she arrived at the parking lot, Vera and Jack were standing beside the Navigator waiting for her. Vera, looking less like one of the Valkyrie than usual, was dressed modestly in jeans, a plaid shirt, and high-heeled boots.
Sally was wearing the same Kaspar pantsuit that she had worn to school that morning. âInexpensive, but nice,â was what her mother had always said about the clothing line that Sally favored. Sally didnât think the pantsuit had been all that inexpensive, but sheâd gotten it on sale, and it didnât pay to argue with her mother.
Jack and Vera waved to Sally, and she joined them. Heat waves shimmered up off the asphalt.
âLetâs go in,â Jack said. âItâs too hot to stand out here.â
They went inside, with Jack allowing Vera to open the door. Vera was a militant feminist, and Sally knew that she didnât like to have men opening doors for her.
It was cool inside the restaurant, and the smell of sizzling fajitas filled the entryway. The walls of the restaurant were decorated with colorful serapes and sombreros. Crossed maracas hung beside them, and piñatas dangled from the ceiling. Sally had often wondered if there was anything inside the piñatas, but sheâd never been quite curious enough to whack one with a stick and find out. Maybe if she had enough margaritas some night, sheâd give it a try.
There was music playing over hidden speakers, and although Sally hadnât taken Spanish since college, she could understand some of the words: lágrimas, for one. Corazón was another.
Vera asked for a back booth, and as they were following the server to it, Sally saw that Jorge Rodriguez and Mae Wilkins were seated at a table on the opposite side of the room. If she hadnât been wondering about what Vera and Jack wanted, Sally thought, she might have noticed Jorgeâs car outside. There had been a bit of chemistry between her and Jorge, and she had thought that they might one day be sitting at a table together, sharing a drink, but Jorge and Mae had hooked up instead.
They were an odd couple, Sally thought, but maybe that was the attraction. Mae was the most fastidious person Sally had ever known. Her office at the college looked like something out of one of the more elegant issues of Southern Living . There was a rumor that a speck of dust had lingered in Maeâs house for more than an hour, but Sally didnât believe it.
Mae had once confessed to Sally, however, that in spite of her addiction to cleanliness and the Martha Stewart way of life, she was attracted to men who might be both dangerous and sloppy.
Jorge, while Sally had seen no evidence of sloppiness, was certainly on the dangerous side if the rumors about him were to be believed. It was true that he had been in prison. That much had been verified. But the reason for his incarceration was unclear. Some said murder, and that story had never been disproved, though Sally doubted it. One thing was certain: he was an excellent choice to head up the collegeâs program of teaching in the several prison units located near Hughes. Inmates enrolled in college courses could
identify with a man whoâd been in their place and made a success of his life after his release.
Whatever his past, Jorge had one grievous fault that Sally had recently discovered while talking with Mae. It was a fault that in Sallyâs mind would have prevented any kind of
Similar Books
