Hot Like Fire Read Online Free

She began to desire the same things they
wanted. Although she would miss the Caribbean, in
her eyes, America became the prize.
    Her family had moved to America seven short
years ago. It was the typical search for the American
dream of getting a big slice of the pie. Of course,
the reality was far less grandiose than their dreams
of big houses and even bigger salaries, but her parents had made a good life for themselves in South
Carolina. Her father's experience working on
farms back in Santo Domingo had helped land him
the job on Kahron's ranch. Soon her parents saved
up some money and bought the mobile homethe first piece of property they'd ever owned. Her
mother bore the son Garcelle's father had always
wanted ... especially after two daughters. Life was
good for them.
    Her mother's death just two years later had
seemed a mockery. Paco had only been a year old.
Marisol had already met and married her husband,
Juan, and was living in Texas. Garcelle had just
graduated high school. Her father had just landed
the job as Kahron's foreman.
    Garcelle looked over her shoulder at the large por trait of her mother on the wall, over the small, round
dining table. She felt comforted by her smiling face.

    Many people had balked when her father moved
the portrait into the kitchen, but Garcelle understood that for Maria Santos, the kitchen had been the
heart of the home. It was the perfect spot for her to
continue watching over her family.
    "I miss you, Mother," she said softly in Spanish.
"We all miss you."
    Deliberately brushing away the sadness, Garcelle
tilted her head back as she swallowed down the last
of the juice. She tossed the can into the trash as
she left the kitchen and made her way back to her
bedroom.
    Garcelle was at the small convenience store down
the road from the trailer park, searching for canned
pinto beans, when she felt that she was being stared
at. She glanced to the right and then directed her
gaze downward. One pair of huge brown eyes looked
up at her from the mocha cherub face of a six- or
seven-year-old.
    The little girl tugged at her heart. "Hola, angel,"
said Garcelle.
    "Are you Beyonce?" the little one asked.
    Garcelle tossed her head back a bit and laughed.
"No, I'm not Beyonce," she told her, with her heavy
Spanish accent.
    "You look like her," the little girl answered simply.
    "Really? I think I look more like Shakira, angel," she
said softly.
    The little girl's face scrunched up in obvious confusion. "Who?" she asked, tilting her head to the
side as she bit her bottom lip.

    "She's a singer from Colombia," Garcelle told her
as she slid her hands into the tight back pockets of
her jeans.
    "Ooh," she said as if enlightened. "My cousin
Cootie lives in Columbia."
    It was Garcelle's turn to scrunch up her face.
    "Kimani? Where are you?" a woman called out
from the front of the small store.
    "That's my mother. Bye, Beyonce look-alike," the
little girl called over her shoulder before skipping
away.
    "Adios." Garcelle just shook her head as she renewed her search for the pinto beans.
    "That man is too damn fine."
    "Yes, girl. Lord, why you make him so fine?"
    "Girl, he makes the poom-poom go whoomp-
whoomp."
    Garcelle's thick eyebrows arched a bit as she
heard two women in the next aisle laugh like they
were watching a comedienne do stand-up. Their
voices sounded familiar. Holtsville was a small town,
and she didn't doubt that she knew them.
    "And he all up in that big ole house, just begging
a sistah to come take care of him."
    "Well, you gone have to beat this sistah to the
punch, 'cause I got the lips and the hips to get the
job done."
    Garcelle had to admit that they had her interest
piqued. She was sure they sounded like Rita and
Pita Kooley-a set of loud and rambunctious twins,
who lived in the trailer next door to her family's.
Between the two of them, they had six children
piled into a three-bedroom single-wide.
    "I've had my eye on that man