Page 31 of As the Rain Falls (Sainte Madeleine #1)

A PERFECT GUIDE ON APOLOGIES

Beckett

The Cardoso’s live on the other side of town, opposite from Port des Ondes.

Their house is only a few blocks down from the public library.

It’s the kind of neighborhood that used to constitute what people call “illegal housing”, but ever since Michael secured his second term as mayor, he made a big show of revitalizing the area.

Now, the houses are prettier and the streets are definitely safer, but rent prices are soaring. Half of the original residents had to relocate to other areas of the city, which just goes to show that the problem wasn’t solved, just swept under the rug.

Angelina’s parents managed to hold onto their home, but her father works two jobs: delivery driver by morning and security guard by night.

Her mother works at home, baking cakes on commission.

Altogether, they’re both relentless, hard-working people, and it keeps me up at night knowing they’re likely investing everything they have to secure Angelina’s treatment for her borderline personality disorder.

I feel like a complete asshole for pushing her over the edge, but there’s no chance Mr. and Mrs. Cardoso would ever accept my help to pay for the cost. Le Port is made of proud people. It’d be offensive to even offer.

Traffic is a nightmare, stretching the drive twice as long. To top it off, I have to make a pit stop at the convenience store per Angelina’s request: she wants something to drink.

I end up grabbing her favorite, a weird green apple soda she loves, and a smaller bottle of Coca-Cola for myself. Her taste in food is borderline offensive.

By the time I finally manage to park the truck, the clock blinks 1:00 PM. I’m definitely late.

I tuck my phone and car keys into my back pocket, then call out through the gates.

“Clara!”

I hear her mother’s voice coming from inside, calling for Angelina to get the door. A moment later, the front door swings open, and the tall girl barrels down the stairs.

She’s wearing simple gym shorts and an oversized Pokémon sweater that falls down to her knees, practically swallowing her whole. I am to blame for her obsession with the cartoon; Lucia and Angie were forced to watch what I liked if they wanted to hang out in my room.

“Hey Angie.” I raise a hand, feeling a bit awkward as I watch her wrestle with the keys.

“You took your sweet time,” she smiles, showing me a row of perfect white teeth. “Lunch is almost ready.”

“There was traffic.” I gesture to the truck, not knowing what else to say. “I grabbed your favorite soda.”

Her entire face softens. “Oh, great. Mom’s on a diet, and it’s driving me insane.”

I chuckle, “Again?”

“She’s trying to fit into some dress my dad got her that’s a whole size too small,” she answers and rolls her eyes, taking the soda from me.

I frown. “He doesn’t know what size she wears?”

Mr. and Mrs. Cardoso have been married since high school. I don’t think they’ve ever even dated other people.

“Oh, he does. She asked him to buy it for her as an incentive,” Angelina snorts. “Compliments are welcomed. Actually, no. Please, compliment her.”

I smirk, shoulders relaxing, “Don’t worry. I’ve got you covered.”

Angelina walks away, disappearing into the kitchen with the soda. Mrs. Cardoso appears, wearing a yellow apron with tiny pineapples, waving a wooden spoon loaded with rice and beans.

“Beckett!”

“Thanks for having me, Mrs. Cardoso. You look amazing, as usual.” I lean in for a quick side-hug, politely patting her back. She waves the spoon in my face. “Oh, am I supposed to…”

“Taste it,” she orders.

“Well, okay.”

I take the spoon, blowing gently before taking a bite. The beans practically melt on my tongue, followed by a taste of fresh garlic, cumin, onions, and salt. All traditional seasoning for Brazilian food.

“This is really good!” I swallow, eyebrows lifting. “New recipe?”

“No, no. Same old one,” she rolls her eyes, her voice rising. “Hear that, Angelina? The boy likes it!”

“Beckett’s taste buds are broken, m?e, ” Angelina calls back from the kitchen. “The beans are way too salty.”

“Tu é chata!” Mrs. Cardoso crosses her arms over her chest, flicking her gaze between her daughter and me. “You two set the table. I’m done working for the day. You hear me? Acabou! Done!”

Angelina sighs, “I’ll grab the forks. You get the plates.”

“Why do I get the plates?” I frown. “Why don’t I get the forks?”

“Because the plates are heavier, and I’m not doing all the hard work when you look like you’ve got a six pack under that shirt.”

She tosses her hair back dramatically. It’s longer now, reaching the middle of her back. Her hair color is back to its natural tone, a rich, dark chocolate. It’s a sharp contrast from the caramel color she had last summer, which made her look a lot older.

I shake my head, fighting a grin. “How are you?”

“I’m good.” She pulls open one of the drawers, grabbing utensils carefully. I reach for the plates on a higher shelf. “Fresh out of treatment, as you can see.”

“Right.” I nod slowly, watching her from the corner of my eye. “How’s that going for you?”

“I’m going back to school tomorrow.”

My eyebrows shoot up. “Already?”

“I’ve got a lot of classes to catch up on,” she explains, voice even. “I was supposed to go in today, but Mr. Rivera wasn’t around to handle my return, sign off the papers, and all that.”

“That sounds like a lot.”

“Ai, I don’t mind.” She shrugs. “I’m tired of doing nothing all day anyway.”

The house does seem quieter than usual. Her dad must be sleeping, getting ready to pull another night shift later today. Usually, there’d be sounds of television playing or radio music coming from Angelina’s bedroom.

It’s a small home, with white-painted walls, two bedrooms, and a shared bathroom. Simple, but cozy, with each piece of furniture carrying some sort of imperfection that tells you it’s been used by someone else before them.

“What about your parents?” Angelina asks, her voice softer than before. It’s like she doesn’t want to overstep, which makes my embarrassment return tenfold. We shouldn’t be tiptoeing around each other like this. “How… How are they?”

“Dad flew back to handle paperwork. Pretty sure he has a new girlfriend.” I grab three cups and stack the plates with the cups balanced on top. “Mom’s back with Grandma in London. I don’t know. They’re fine, I guess.”

“I see.”

We finish setting the table in silence.

I hesitate to bring up everything that led her to the hospital, but she won’t look me in the eyes, and I take it as a sign to let it go for now.

“Alright, we’re good.” She wets her lips, finally glancing at me. “I’ll call Mom and help her with serving the food. You can go ahead and… You know, just sit. Make yourself at home, or whatever.”

“Thanks.” I nod quickly, forcing a smile.

***

Lunch is a little awkward, with tense moments of silence. If it weren’t for Angelina’s mother, I doubt we’d be able to carry the conversation. What happens after is even worse.

Clara practically shoves us out the door, claiming she needs to watch her novelas and that we should talk things. Angelina and I end up walking around the block, and if the silence had been awkward before, it definitely becomes more defeating the further away from the house we get.

The air feels thick, the weight of unspoken words hanging between us, and I start to believe that maybe I should’ve called first. Having this conversation months ago would’ve prevented all this.

“So…” My stomach starts getting all nauseous, too full from the mountain of food she insisted I eat. “This is really weird.”

“Yeah, it is,” she agrees. “Remind me again why we didn’t do this over the phone first?”

“That’s what I was thinking.” I wince. “But you know me.”

“Right. You’re never one to shy away from confrontation.”

Her words sting. I don’t want Angelina to think I’m still holding something against her. I’ve had time to cool down and reflect. What happened must’ve been a misunderstanding on both ends.

“Are you thinking about moving out of the house?” Angelina asks, her arms wrapped tightly around herself.

Her voice is small and uncertain, reminding me that she is no longer the same little girl I used to know. She used to be a lot bolder and louder as a child. After her younger brother’s death, things got quieter. Gustavo went into sudden cardiac arrest. Epilepsy runs in the family.

“Eventually,” I answer, voice low.

It’s something I’ve been thinking about lately. Moving would do me good. I already didn’t like Port des Ondes before, but now the feeling’s gotten worse.

One of her neighbors is scrubbing up their balcony, a mixture of soap and water sloshing onto the pavement below.

An older man sits on the curb a few houses down, flicking marbles across the sidewalks with a friend who looks decades younger.

No one looks our way, but I feel them watching even if they’re pretending not to.

Lucia and Angelina’s friendship stuck out.

Not a lot of rich girls like to hang around this side of town.

I bet they all thought it was strange that she did.

People noticed her, the way she talked and the way she dressed.

They called her patricinha , a word meant to paint her as this spoiled, shallow girl.

My sister never tried to correct them.She knew this was exactly what she was.

“Really?” She tilts her head back, wincing as the sun hits her face. “Don’t you think it’s too soon?”

“I’m not moving yet,” I add quickly, wanting to reassure her. My gaze softens as I notice a flicker of worry in her gaze. “But I might start looking soon, just in case.”

“I think I get it,” her voice is quieter. “It must be weird, living in that big old house without her.”