Here Today, Gone Tamale Read Free

was the big deal? I couldn’t be the only reporter to mistake two innocent Slovakian brothers for jewelry thieves? To top things off, a week later, the man I thought I loved, the man who argued over every detail of our upcoming nuptials—from the color of the bridesmaids’ dresses to the satin ribbons on the church pews—unfriended me on Facebook, changed his status to single, and flew to Australia to see the Great Barrier Reef.
    â€œHillary.” Ryan gave her a look somewhere between surprise and disappointment.
    Two years ago, Hillary and I had both applied for the coveted local news reporter position at the
Gazette
, and I won. Guess she figured she had the right to crow.
    She smiled and tucked her chin. “I’m playing.” She flicked her shoulder-length hair from her neck. “We go way back. Right, Josie?”
    Way back
to me stepping in to save the college newspaper by writing her articles in addition to my own. I wrote my butt off and barely managed to keep my scholarships and shiftsat the restaurant while Hillary
managed
to make it to Atlantic City.
    Ryan gave me a nod and a crooked smile. “Where should she report for duty?”
    â€œAunt Linda and Senora Mari are in the kitchen.” I didn’t remember Elaine Burnett, the committee chairperson, mentioning that Hillary was putting in an appearance, but go figure. Hillary was big news and the festival needed big publicity.
    Ryan tried to lead the svelte woman through the swinging doors, but she planted her pink and turquoise cowboy boots on the floor and refused to budge. Before my eyes, her countenance changed from spite to remorse. “Josie, I want to thank you. If the
Gazette
had chosen me instead of you, I would never have finished my master’s, found this fabulous position at West Texas, or met Ryan.” She tilted her expensive highlights toward his shoulder, her gaze level and clear of malice.
    And the Oscar goes to . . .
    The football coach beamed with pride at the homecoming queen’s performance. He raised his eyebrows at me, demanding reciprocation.
    â€œYou’re welcome?” I shrugged. It sounded like a bunch of hooey to me, but there was Ryan, still watching me with those puppy dog eyes, hoping us girls would be fast friends. “Congratulations,” I offered. “May you enjoy all the success you’ve earned.”
    â€œThanks,” she said. She looped her arm through his, and they strolled off to the kitchen.
    Some people catch all the breaks, and the rest of us eat too many tamales.
    Next to arrive was our dedicated committee leader, Elaine Burnett, owner of Elaine’s Pies, where the locals dropped in for homemade desserts, including empanadas, savory pies, and a bit of gossip. She was the ultimate festival committee chairperson. Well-mannered and pleasant, she and her daughters, Melanie and Suellen, handled the
tamalada
invites andreminder phone calls to the other committee members. Even though she was small in stature, she possessed the Southern knack of asking in such a way that none of them dared to refuse. They knew, as I did, one should try to stay on Elaine’s good side for she enjoyed paddling her fingers in several local pies, like the town council, school board, and chamber of commerce.
    â€œ
Buenas noches
, y’all
,”
Elaine called out as she and her daughters entered, carrying a white sheet cake decorated with giant blue roses and the words
Happy Tamalada
. In spite of their confusing decision to bring cake to a tamale party, Elaine’s daughters were no slouches.
    â€œMelanie, don’t drop the dang thing,” mousy-haired Suellen chided as her sister stopped abruptly to wrangle the strap of her Coach bag onto her shoulder. Suellen ran Elaine’s Pies now that her mother had retired to play with her grandchildren while Melanie, the source of those little blessings, displayed her Southwest-flavored paintings at her own