María José was far more disappointed than angry. Ludmilla had simply dumped the whole thing on her. She’d made her look like some pilfering old fool with a storeroom crammed full of stolen junk. María José didn’t even know anymore what was in there. God only knew how many years’ worth of loot had piled up in that pantry. Why on earth hadn’t she tossed it all out when she moved? Especially since Ludmilla had been sneaking in her own finds on a regular basis.
She narrowed her eyes at her friend. How exactly had that conversation gone? What tone, what gestures, what dramatic little flourishes had Ludmilla used while trampling her into the mud? And what role had she cast herself in? The kind, understanding friend? Or the exasperated mother figure, forever scolding that useless little María José?
“What was I supposed to say?” Ludmilla asked, as if she’d overheard her thoughts.
“Maybe nothing?” snapped the elderly confectioner.
“After Esteban’s jacket turned up in your pantry?”
“That was Esteban’s? Not some other guest’s?”
Ludmilla shook her head slowly, deliberately. She pressed her right hand to her chest and gave María José the mournful eyes of a guilty puppy.
The old Canarian woman bristled with fury.
“Listen to me, Ludmilla.” Her voice dropped, threatening. She put her hands on her hips, hunched her shoulders, and stepped forward. “You do realize we collected all that junk together, don’t you?”
“I haven’t stolen anything for weeks.”
María José’s eyes widened. “Oh, really?” she squeaked. “Viktoria’s favorite neon-pink towel just flew into the pantry all by itself?”
“That’s been there forever.” Ludmilla waved her off. “It’s been ages since I’ve felt the urge to take anything that belongs to someone else.”
“That still doesn’t erase the past.”
“Maybe not. But only the present matters. And right now”—Ludmilla stressed the words—“I don’t take anything from anyone. I’m cured.”
María José’s eyes narrowed again.
“Because of Esteban?” “I already felt it was enough before,” Ludmilla explained. “But yes, the way Esteban found his jacket at your place was a loud message from the universe.”
The confectioner’s eyebrows shot up to her hairline.
“Oh, really?” she sang. “Straight from the universe?”
“Mock me all you like—it doesn’t change the truth. I’ve managed to beat this dreadful compulsion.” She straightened her shoulders, pushed out her chest, and lifted her chin. “Naturally, I’d be glad to help you quit as well.”
“Would you, now?” María José asked with biting sarcasm.
“I don’t care how you talk to me. You’re still my friend, and I stand by you.”
María José bowed her head with mock resignation.
“I see… It’s just that the socks you’re wearing? Last week I saw them on Dajana.”
Ludmilla’s face flushed crimson. Instinctively she tucked one foot behind the other. María José caught the movement and her mouth curled into a mocking smile.
“For heaven’s sake, Ludmilla! I’m only teasing! You bought those socks yourself last year!” She threw her arms wide. “So you really don’t even know if you stole anything last week or not? And here you are lecturing me about the universe and its message-bearing jackets?” She raged. “Cured, my foot—you sly little witch!”
Ludmilla covered her face with her hands and stormed out of the house.