Tru Love (First Love Book 1) Read online

  “What?” Serena’s mouth purses until it resembles a dried prune. “Carmel?”

  “Yeah, your sister,” Genny prompts. “I’m just wondering if she’s sticking with it—becoming a hair dresser.”

  “Hair stylist,” Serena corrects. “She’s going all the way to the top. She’s got her certificate in color and cut and, when she finishes up next month, she’ll go to work for the Vivienne Luca Salon. They already offered her a job. Not a lot of cutters get in there.”

  “Great.”

  Serena nods. “Yeah. She’s focused. Working with hair is very creative, you know.”

  Genny believes it. Though she does little more than wash

  and diffuse her natural curls, Serena is always coming up with ways to make her hair look gorgeous.

  “How’s your mom, then?” Genny asks.

  “Fine. Tired a lot. All the hours she puts in at the restaurant.” Serena shakes her head. “Sometimes I think she stays because the owner is footing the bill for my education. She says that turns her job into a labor of love, but still…”

  So she’s worried about her mom, but that’s really nothing new with Serena. She talks sometimes about what her parents’ retirement will look like. Serena plans to buy a place in Mexico, on the beach, when she makes it big in the courtroom. Her parents will live there and Serena will see them when she takes vacations. She doesn’t like thinking about her parents in the now. They work too much for too little and Serena says it’s leaving its mark on their bodies.

  Genny sees a lot of Serena’s parents. They’re older—in their fifties—and gray. Serena’s father is thin and his shoulders seem to bend naturally inward; her mother is round and wears her long hair in a thick braid. Both are easy company. They smile a lot, and they sing—the kind of whenever, wherever singing that makes Genny feel anchored.

  And she didn’t notice anything different when she was at Serena’s house a few days ago.

  “But there’s something else,” Genny prompts, then smiles gently when she says, “Friends share.”

  Serena’s lovely face breaks up for a moment before she regains her composure. “I’m not ready. When I am, I’ll be on your door step.”

  “I’ll be waiting.”

  “Could be midnight.”

  “Any time. You know that.”

  Serena sniffs, pulls a tissue from her purse and dabs her nose, then says, “Yes. I do. You’re a great friend Genny.”

  “Ditto.”

  “So talk to me about Truman,” Serena demands. “Anything new?”

  She’s looking for a distraction. Genny would give it to her no matter, but talking about Truman is easy. They’ve been dating a month now and she still feels him before he walks into a room. There’s definitely a magnetic pull between them. It’s not as

  stunning as it was in the beginning, but Genny thinks that’s because she’s used to it now. And she’s comfortable with it.

  “There’s something new every day,” she says.

  Like how Truman owns every CD put out by The Cors, even the early, night club stuff. She just learned that this morning when she went through the CD case in his truck.

  “They’re considered an Irish band,” he said, “but we have a claim on them. Two were born Scots, and they got their start in Edinburgh. That’s a fact.”

  She popped in a disc, listened to their cover of Ruby Tuesday and decided that Truman had reason to fight for them.

  Last night, Genny found out he loves sushi. Genny’s mom ordered out from their favorite sushi bar and Truman nearly drooled when they started pulling the trays from the white, rice paper bags.

  This afternoon, Truman’s going to watch Genny bake his favorite cookies then he’s going to prepare dinner for the three of them. He definitely shot up a notch or two in her mother’s grade book when he announced he can cook.

  Her mother was dubious at first. “When you say cook, are we talking frozen lasagna from a cardboard box?”

  “No way. Card board is definitely not on the menu.”

  “Take-out warmed up in the oven?” she prodded.

  “Please,” Truman said. “I have no tricks up my sleeve.”

  “So, then,” her mother continued, “we’re talking from scratch cooking and it’s going to look like food and taste even better?”

  Truman nodded, smiling into her doubt. “I’m really only good with one recipe, though.”

  “And what is that?”

  “You’ll have to wait and see.”

  Her mother didn’t like that answer but Truman wasn’t budging. Finally, she grumbled, “Well, we have Chang’s on speed dial and they’re only a block away,” and left the room. Genny stared at him a full minute.

  “If you can pull this off, she just might give you a key to the palace.”

  Truman grinned. “She is warming to me, isn’t she?”

  Genny nearly jumps in her seat when Serena leans over and snaps her fingers in front of her face.

  “Stay with me,” Serena orders. “I need the company.”

  “Sorry.” Genny’s heart slows to a beat that’s within normal range. “What were we talking about?”

  “Your relationship. That’s my favorite part, you know, when everything is new and smells good. When he can do no wrong.” She sighs heavily. “Victor and I, we know each other so well now we’re past discovery.”

  Genny disagrees. “There’s always something new. Every day there are new experiences.”

  “Yep,” Serena says, like she’s confirming a thought. “That stage lasts about three months. Then you move into warm, but comfortable. You can think a little better. A little clearer. You focus on all the things you like about him, and decide whether the things that bug you about your novio are worth it.”

  Truman is worth it, Genny thinks. A year from now, he’ll still be worth it. Ten years from now. . .

  “Did Victor do something wrong?”

  “Throw me a bone,” Serena says, ignoring her question. “Tell me one thing you learned about your novio. The thing. You know, the one that’ll keep you together even when everything else is falling apart.”

  Genny can’t peel her eyes off her friend’s face. Serena’s request sounded almost like a confession.

  “Are you and Victor having trouble?”

  “One thing,” Serena presses, frowning so fiercely it turns her eyebrows into one dark slash across her forehead.

  “The way no other girl exists for him,” she admits. “It’s like I’m the all in the all or nothing.”

  “Yeah. I saw that right away,” Serena agrees.

  “Do you mind if we eat with Serena and Victor today?” Genny asks as Truman loads up their tray with her favorites and some kind of meatloaf disaster for himself.

  “Sure,” he agrees. “What’s up?”

  Nothing. Except that Serena asked her to eat with them today. Lately, Serena and Victor have been eating inside the Cobra. And Genny and Truman prefer their own company and usually find a spot outside if it isn’t raining.

  Genny leads the way from the counter to a table near the back of the room. Serena and Victor are already sitting down with their food. Genny slides into the chair across from her friend and offers her a smile. And receives nothing in return. Serena is looking inward. So Genny tries Victor.

  “Hi Victor,” she says, but the forced cheeriness in her voice bothers even her.

  Truman sits down next to Genny and pops open her can of soda.

  If she wasn’t watching Serena when Truman performed the small gesture, Genny would have missed the pained look that came to her eyes.

  Before Truman, Genny used a quarter to open her soda can. She’s watched Serena do the same, even with Victor sitting beside her. Not that it’s a big deal. It’s nice, and that’s what she plans to tell Serena later, but a few months from now, if Truman isn’t opening her soda cans she won’t kick him to the curb over it.

  Truman starts a conversation with Victor about the upcoming race in Daytona. And Genny
learns another something new about Truman: when he was living in Florida he really got into auto racing. He talks about Ellis, the highest paid driver in history, like he’s a god. He and Victor trade stats on the icon as well as other races and drivers while Genny listens but watches her friend.

  Serena is never still. She speaks with her hands and often so fast she either trips over her words or mixes Spanish and English. But for a full five minutes she sits mute, her hand wrapped around her soda can. She doesn’t eat; doesn’t lift the drink to her lips. Doesn’t open her mouth and utter a single word.

  And then a ripple of chills shakes her body and Victor, still talking to Truman, slips off his coat and wraps it around Serena’s shoulders. It’s a casual gesture. Natural. Genny has watched him do it a dozen times. Serena usually pulls it closer; sometimes she pushes her arms through the sleeves. This time she knocks the jacket to the floor. She stands up and pushes away from the table.

  “Don’t,” she cries. “Don’t. Nothing is normal.”

  She’s crying. And worse, her voice is high and thin and draws the interest of others. Silence descends upon them, heavy with curiosity, and Serena turns and runs from it.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Serena didn’t stop running when she cleared the lunch room. She left school, like Genny did a month earlier. And maybe for similar reasons. Genny doesn’t know, because Serena isn’t returning her calls. Victor followed her, but came back empty-handed an hour later. He looked lost, scared, and even Truman wondered aloud about the kind of trouble they were in.

  When Genny asked Victor directly, he promised everything was good, that he loved Serena but that she was crying a lot lately and talking about her mother in the past tense.

  “What’s wrong with her mother,” Genny pressed.

  “Nothing. She’s good. I asked Serena. I asked her mom.”

  Victor looked truly bewildered by Serena’s behavior and Genny wondered what her friend was thinking. Genny ran when she was swamped by public humiliation. Already confused and wanting desperately to hold onto her friendship with Hunter, Homer’s serenade sent her over the edge. And now Genny tries to figure out exactly what Serena is about to lose. Because that’s what

  makes the most sense. Her friend’s life is about to change and Serena seems to accept it with a sense of defeat. That doesn’t make sense. Serena is a fighter.

  What could have happened that the act itself was fatal?

  The connection is Victor. The way Serena talked this morning, about losing what she liked most about her relationship, points to him.

  Maybe Victor cheated on Serena.

  Maybe Serena is worried she doesn’t love him anymore.

  Either is possible.

  Genny leans against the kitchen island and gazes at Truman. He’s been quiet company since she told him to toss his crystal ball. (Really, if he told her one more time that Serena was going to be OK, Genny would have shattered glass with her scream.)She wonders now, would he ever cheat on her? Would she ever feel less for him than she does at this very moment?

  No, she doesn’t think so.

  She gazes at her Blackberry, where it rests on the island, the volume turned up to maximum. She left a combination of seven voice and text messages for Serena. She turns her attention back to Truman. He’s frowning now, glowering really, because she won’t accept his comfort and she insists on baking the cookies. One pan is already out of the oven.

  She can’t seem to stand still. She turns her back to the island, and to Truman’s broad shoulders which call to her. She would love to rest her head there, breathe in the scent of him, let his body heat warm her. She’s cold. Colder than being caught in the rain.

  She turns back to the oven, her eyes seeking the minutes on the timer, and that’s when she spots the two eggs, unbroken, in a bowl on the counter. She forgot to add them, and she’s such a bad cook, she didn’t even notice. She turns to Truman, the bowl in her hand and her eyes filling with tears.

  “You’re not going to want the cookies,” she says.

  “Of course I want them.” He stands and takes the bowl from her hand. “Eggs aren’t good for the heart anyway.”

  “Stuff it, Truman,” Genny says, her lips trembling. She never cries and falls back on anger as a better alternative. Only even that doesn’t work, because her voice comes out in a series of gasps that make her sound like a drowning victim.

  “Genny.” His voice is soft and he tries to draw her into his arms, but Genny braces her hands against his chest.

  “You know, in addition to Grand Theft Auto, I also suck at cooking,” she announces. “Really suck. That first batch, I was allowed to mix. That’s it. Serena did the rest.”

  Her throat and her eyes burn and she’s just about to give in and really cry, when her phone rings. She has it to her ear before the tune plays twice.

  “Serena?”

  “No. No. Is Serena’s Mama.” The voice is soft and accented. “Serena no with you?”

  Genny tries to sniff without the sound traveling through the phone. She doesn’t want to alarm Serena’s mom. “No, Mrs. Ramirez. Serena’s not with me.”

  Serena isn’t home. She isn’t with Victor—Genny spoke to him exactly twenty-seven minutes ago. She looks at the clock on the stove: five-forty. Not too late. She looks out the window: there’s still light, a lot of it.

  “You know where Serena is?”

  Genny swallows and it feels like she has an orange jammed in her throat. “No,” she manages.

  “I have message from school,” Mrs. Ramirez continues. “Says she left early today. Not excused.”

  “Yes,” Genny confirms, though Mrs. Ramirez probably already talked to Victor. “She left at lunch.”

  “Because why?”

  Genny begins chewing her bottom lip and feels Truman move closer, his arm sliding around her waist. His finger sweeps gently over the bow of her mouth as a reminder—he doesn’t like it when she draws blood.

  “I don’t know, Mrs. Ramirez,” Genny answers truthfully. “Serena has been upset for a few days, but she hasn’t told me why.”

  “She not tell her good friend?” Mrs. Ramirez says.

  “No, Ma’am.”

  “I talk to Victor. He tell me the same thing,” she confides. “Serena is a good girl.”

  “The best.”

  “She cries. She not tell me why.”

  “Yes,” Genny agrees, not knowing what else to say, and lets the silence tighten her nerves.

  Finally, Mrs. Ramirez says, “You a good girl, too, Genny. I know that about you. You call me when Serena comes?”

  “I hope she comes here,” Genny says and she promises to call Mrs. Ramirez right away if Serena does show up.

  “If she calls, too.”

  “Of course.”

  Genny waits until she hears dial tone, then disconnects and places her Blackberry back in its spot, in the center of the island. She lets Truman pull her more fully into his arms and cries into his shoulder. He’s strong. She can feel the tension in his shoulders; the muscles in his bicep bunch under her hands. She believes he would fight for her. Anyone. Anywhere. And she likes knowing that. She can’t imagine him being anywhere else than beside her for the rest of her life and the thought isn’t scary. It isn’t even breathtaking. She lets herself be lulled by her imagination and by the feel of him. She doesn’t know how long they’re standing, huddled together in the kitchen, but her mother’s voice, laced with panic, is an intrusion.

  “What? What’s wrong?”

  Genny raises her head and looks over Truman’s shoulder. Her mother is poised in the door, her purse slipping from her shoulder. And then it all comes rushing back. Serena’s behavior. Her absence. Her speaking of her mother as if she was gone. Or maybe Serena was thinking of it in reverse, that she left. That would put her mom in past tense.

  “Serena’s gone.” The words erupt from Genny’s mouth. They seem to have a shattering effect. Her mother steps into the room, her purse falling to the
floor. Her hands curl around the back of a bar stool.

  “What? Gone how?”

  “She left school today,” Truman tells her in a calming voice. “She was upset and we haven’t heard from her since.”

  “She’s been upset for days,” Genny confides.

  “About what?” her mom asks.

  “She won’t tell me. And Mrs. Ramirez just called and she hasn’t heard from Serena either.”

  Genny’s mom shakes her head. “That poor woman. I almost went out of my mind when you were missing last month. I’ll call her.”

  She reaches for Genny’s phone, but Genny is faster. She has it safely in her palm, and clutched to her chest, before her mom can make contact.

  “Serena might call,” Genny explains.

  “You’re right.” Her mother brushes Genny’s hair back from her face and then cups her damp cheek. “I’m sure whatever it is, it’ll work out. It did for you, right,” her mom prompts. “And Serena is a strong young lady.”

  “But different,” Genny insists. “These past few days she’s acted like whatever it is that’s got her, she already lost.”

  Her mom digests Genny’s words slowly. “And she never gave you a hint about what it is?”

  “She talked this morning like she might be losing Victor. Or not so much Victor, but what she loved about being in love with him.”

  Her mother nods. “I’m calling Mrs. Ramirez, then we’re going to sit down together and come up with a list of places where Serena might go if she were troubled.”

  “She would come here,” Genny insists.

  “Yes, she would and she will. When she’s ready.” Her mom paces to the center of the room and retrieves her purse from the floor. She rummages inside for her cell phone. “Truman, have the two of you eaten?”

  He shakes his head. “I was supposed to cook tonight.”

  “Another time,” Genny’s mother decides. “I’ll order out.” She looks at Genny. “We’re going to eat. We’re no good to Serena passed out on the floor.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Serena texts Genny at exactly seven-thirty-nine. Genny is sitting at the kitchen table with Truman and her mother, refining their list of possible locations to begin their search. They ordered-in Italian but ate very little of it. They heard twice from Victor, who had nothing positive to share, and her mother used her clout with the school to call the principal at home and ask for any information she has about Serena’s absence. It was very little help. So when Genny’s phone starts belting out a Leona Lewis tune everyone at the table stirs.