Homicide and Halo-Halo (Tita Rosie's Kitchen Mystery #2)(61)

I must’ve looked like one of those shoving-popcorn-in-mouth GIFs as I leaned forward, eager to learn more about this sordid tale. “So, what happened when he blackmailed you?”

Sana laughed. “What do you think happened? Friendship over. On my side, from the betrayal. On his part because the Thompsons are used to getting what they want. I mean, he still played the flirt when he was in public. Whether to save face or because he thought I’d change my mind, I don’t know. But he was mad that his threats held no weight. My past isn’t a secret so he couldn’t use it against me.”

“It’s not? No offense, but I got arrested for something I didn’t even do back in Chicago and I still tried to hide it from everyone. With the way those women acted at the studio, I wouldn’t blame you for wanting to keep it a secret. Your past is . . .”

She straightened her back. “A horrible experience that I don’t expect forgiveness for. But it’d be shameful if I tried to pretend that it never happened. That man had people who loved him, I can’t just pretend he never existed. I’ve learned from it and strive to do better every day, but it’s something I’ll be atoning for my whole life. It’s what led me to my current profession.”

“Coaching and fitness?” I could understand her going into counseling or nonprofit work but didn’t really see the connection here.

“It’s important to take care of the body and the mind. To nurture and build self-confidence. Which is something I learned through intense therapy and, oddly, the weekly volunteer-led yoga sessions in prison.” She stared into her cup, as if trying to divine her life’s meaning the way Elena read tea leaves. “A man lost his life because of me. Unintentionally, but he’s gone all the same. That knowledge almost broke me, but to hide it would dishonor his memory and all the work I’ve done to make things better. I would never have let myself be blackmailed over this. And I would never want blood on my hands again. I don’t miss Rob, but I didn’t kill him.”

“I know.”

I hadn’t meant to say it, but once I did, I knew it was true. Maybe it was Elena’s influence since she talked about intuition all the time, but I felt the truth in Sana’s words.

“To get back to my point, I have an idea of what you’re going through. I had massive panic attacks when I first got to jail. Not because of where I was but because of the knowledge of what I’d done. They finally had to send me to the prison counselor, who was not great but did a good enough job to convince me I needed help. My lawyer was able to find me a great therapist who I still see to this day.” Sana put her hand on my arm. “It doesn’t go away completely, Lila. This is just something we both have to live with. But it helps. You don’t need your family’s approval to seek help, you know. In fact, I’d say they lie at the root of your more harmful coping mechanisms.”

“What do you mean?”

She hesitated. “You said your grandmother considers you lazy like your mother. And I’ve seen the way you react when Bernadette brings her up.”

I avoided her eyes but shot a glance at Bernadette, who’d been silently listening this whole time. “She knows she’s not supposed to talk about her.”

“Why? She was saying nice things. They sounded like lovely memories, in fact. I’m surprised you have such a strong aversion to them.”

I twisted my necklace around my finger. “She’s been gone a long time. I don’t really like thinking about it. It’s just easier to move on.”

Bernadette finally spoke up. “But you haven’t moved on. You’re just avoiding thinking about her in the hopes that it’ll all go away. Just like you’re doing with your memories of what happened a few months ago. When will you learn that hiding from your problems doesn’t magically make things better?”

Sana refilled my glass. “She’s right. After your parents passed, how did you cope? Did your aunt and grandmother help you grieve? Maybe take you to talk to your priest friend?”

I shook my head. “I wanted to talk about them, but it made my aunt sad and grandmother angry. So I knew that topic was off-limits. As for coping . . . I don’t know. We worked, I guess. That was when I started helping out at the restaurant.”

“So your family taught you to not talk about your problems and throw yourself into your work to avoid dealing with them? Does that sound healthy to you?”

I shrugged. “It’s what we do.”

“But it doesn’t have to be what you do. You can choose to seek help if you want it, you know. It’s not up to them.”

“She’s right, you know. Besides, I don’t think you give Tita Rosie and Lola Flor enough credit. Have you even broached the topic with them, or did you decide they were against it all on your own? I bet anything you built this all up in your head. And if they’re not cool with it?” Bernadette shrugged. “You’re grown. It’s none of their business anyway.”

And there it was. Despite fighting against my family’s expectations most of my life, I still craved their approval. Even Lola Flor, who I pretended to brush off but whose voice was always the loudest in my head, held more sway over my decisions than I did sometimes. Most of the big choices in my life had me working either for or against their wishes—rarely did I center myself in my decision-making. Even my more selfish decisions were more about rebellion than anything else. So why was I fighting the idea of therapy so hard? Why not accept the help so many people were trying to give me?