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coming as my guest, Mr. Aragon,” I said. “My allowance will cover—”
    “Absolutely not.”
    “But it’s no trouble to—”
    “I’m sorry, Lindsay. It’s very kind of you to offer. But the money situation aside, Christmas is a family time, and Carly
     should be here at home. Her aunts and uncles and cousins would be very disappointed if she were not.”
    “But, Papa, they—”
    “Carly. The answer is no.”
    She opened her mouth and I could see “You never let me do anything!” hovering right there, ready to blaze out. I grabbed her
     by the arm and hustled her out of the exhibit. “We’ll be in the gift shop, Mr. Aragon,” I called over my shoulder. “See you
     in a minute.”
    “What is this all about? Let go of me!” she hissed.
    “Don’t lose it,” I begged.
    “Why shouldn’t I? He never lets me do anything. He treats me like I’m four years old. I hate it.”
    “I know. It stinks. But if you lose your temper now, all our work will go for nothing.”
    “He’ll never let me go. You heard him. It’s all about our family—what’s left of it.”
    “Give the guy a break. If I were losing my family bit by bit, I’d be overprotective, too.”
    “You’re not supposed to be on his side, Mac.”
    “I’m on
your
side. Which is why we have to leave him alone to think it over. Then tonight I’ll call my dad and have him call yours to
     invite you personally.”
    “It won’t work. I’m telling you. Once he’s made up his mind, nothing changes it. Even a call from an earl.”
    My dad could talk me round to just about anything. I was betting Carly’s Christmas on the possibility that he could do the
     same with her dad.
    If he couldn’t, I didn’t know what I’d do. Because, as Carly herself would say, we had no Plan B.

    WHAT I DIDN’T EXPECT was to zip straight past Plan B and have Plan C pop up out of left field.
    While Carly fried mince—sorry, hamburger—in a cast-iron skillet, I cut up onions and green chiles to put in it. Tears streaming
     down my cheeks, I dumped the vegetables in the pan and used the hem of my shirt to dry my face.
    “If you run the knife under cold water, they don’t make you cry.”
    “Thanks for the news flash.” I sniffled and finally the waterworks stopped so I could see.
    “I hate to break it to you, but we need more for the salsa. You can grind it in the salsa mill, though.”
    She showed me how to work the mill, told me the proportions of onion and tomato and cilantro and lime juice to use, and before
     you could say “Hogmanay,” I’d made my very first bowl of salsa.
    I couldn’t wait to try this at home. Dad would love it.
    “Look, Mr. Aragon.” I showed him the bowl. “Carly showed me how to make it.”
    “I’m sure it will be the very best we’ve ever had,” he said with a smile. “Do they have serranos in Scotland?”
    “I have no idea. Probably not. I wonder if British Airways would object to my smuggling some in my suitcase?”
    Before he could speculate, the phone rang. Carly, who had her hands full with taco mixture in full sizzle, tapped the speakerphone
     button with her elbow and kept stirring. “Hello?”
    “Carolina?”
    Carly went still and squeezed her eyes shut in chagrin. “Hi, Mama.” Then she resumed stirring, scraping well-done bits up
     off the bottom of the pan. “How are you?”
    “I’d be better if you took me off the speaker. Is your father there?”
    “Hello, Alicia.”
    A-lee-see-a.
It sounded much nicer in Spanish. Or maybe it was the tone he said it in. I knew all about the Aragon parental dynamic—how
     Alicia was getting ready to marry another husband while her first was still in love with her. Yes, my mother can drive me
     insane, but at least she hasn’t tried that one.
    “Carolina, please. I hate that thing.”
    “I’m in the middle of cooking dinner, Mama. The meat will burn if I stop now.”
    The soon-to-be Mrs. Vigil made a frustrated noise. “Very well, then. If you prefer my