Ch. 8 |  God’s Favorite Groundskeeper

Ernesto watched as Jerry sped off.

“Pendejo,” he muttered.

That prick thinks he’s better than me, he thought, jaw tightening.

Another egg on the groundskeeper’s face. As if the fishing trip hadn’t already been a disaster. Marco had been so shaken he begged to go back to his mother early. Ernesto reluctantly agreed, though it left him stewing. He spent the last few days worrying that harlot would use the incident against him in court.

The last thing he needed was some retired cokehead turning up his nose like that.

He thinks he’s so special. Little does he know his neighbor’s schtupping his wife. Ernesto smirked. These people are all hypocrites.

He hated the residents of Lago Tierra. Hated that he had to suck up and smile. Hated being talked down to. Hated having to cater to people who didn’t even see him. Of course, not everyone was like that. Elaine and her nephew were kind—always handing him gift cards and handwritten thank-yous at the holidays.

But kindness didn’t equal value.

Elaine was retired, her nephew just an ER doctor. They couldn’t open doors.

That’s what Ernesto needed—access. Just one rich person to invite him into their circle. That’s all it would take. His ex would see. They’d all see. He’d be invited to galas, business functions. He’d be somebody again. He wouldn’t be a maintenance technician forever.

At forty, Ernesto didn’t have much to show for himself. Not anymore.

There was a time he ran a moderately successful tutoring business. Back then, he was married. He had a client list a hundred deep. People respected him. Asked him for advice. And Ernesto was always happy to give it—along with a handy scripture to bless their path.

Then came 2008.

His tenants stopped paying rent. He had no leases to enforce. His tutoring business collapsed—mismanaged thanks to his overbearing, negligent mother. The whole thing imploded overnight.

His wife—that backstabbing Jezebel—offered no support.

It took years to find steady work. And even then, the jobs came and went. In between, he dodged creditors like they were bounty hunters. He didn’t even pay child support for Marco.

If his ex was good for anything, it was not taking him for a dime—aside from his dignity.

Divorce was a sin. What happened to for better or worse? What happened to vows before God? He was a God-fearing man. Everyone knew that.

It was a shame she hadn’t taken the Lord as seriously as he did.

Everything he’d endured, everything he’d lost—and still, he was the good guy. He didn’t let his past define him. Why couldn’t she appreciate that?

Ugh, I’m doing it again, he thought, dragging himself out of the mental spiral.

Up ahead, he spotted the Ellisons.

“Hello, Dr. Ellison,” Ernesto called out, putting on his plastic cheer.

The Ellisons were new. Vesna mentioned Joseph was a hotshot surgeon.

“Ernesto, my man!” Joseph replied, sauntering up the driveway. “How’s it going today?”

“Oh, you know,” Ernesto said with a grin, “just trying to be like you when I grow up.”

Joseph chuckled. “Me too.”

He clapped Ernesto on the shoulder.

“Listen—when you get a moment, could you take a look at the sprinkler head in back? I tried to fix it myself, but no luck. It needs your magic touch.”

Ernesto lit up. He was being seen.

“Of course. I can stop by this afternoon.”

“My man,” Joseph said, clasping his hand. “Just knock when you’re ready. We’ll be home.”

And just like that, Ernesto’s day brightened.

All it took was one person to acknowledge him—and he could work his magic.

He was on his way back.