They All Fall Down

by Rachel Howzell Hall

  Desi flicked her hand. “That’s just part of the adventure, girlie. Maybe he’s a Navy SEAL. Ooh—or with the CIA. Or the DEA. Something dangerous and secretive and sexy, know what I mean? This is so freakin’ exciting—I ain’t ever been out of the States before. Okay, no, I took a Disney cruise to the Bahamas for my honeymoon, but everybody there spoke English and it was clean and reminded me of Epcot Center in a way. You know, not a real place?

  “But Me-hi-co?” Her eyelashes fluttered as she lifted her face to the sky. “What a beautiful language. Pretty little native girls selling Me-hi-can pears and whatnot. Blue sky … Okay, yeah, we got big blue sky, too, but that’s about all we have in WVA. I’ve never seen a kind of sky like this. The sky here is the color of a robin’s egg, you know? Even Me-hi-can Coca-Cola tastes different.

  “Back at the airport? I tried something new? Called sir-vee-chay? Kinda like tuna salad but without the mayo and the fish is raw and there’s lime and tomatoes and some other stuff? It was the most delicious—oof.”

  The yacht bumped against the dock and the anchor clank-clank-clanked until it splashed into the sea. No other boats were anchored at the barnacle-crusted pilings.

  Desi shimmied, then elbowed me in the gut. “You ready for this, girlie?” Before I could answer, she clutched my arm and brought me close to her. “That other woman,” she whispered. “You talk to her yet? She looks kinda dumb, don’t she? Reminds me of my momma’s dog, Princess? Kinda shaggy and smells like blinked milk? Not a good look for a lady. Not. At. All.”

  Well, I’ll be again … America’s Sweetheart was also a Mean Girl.

  Evelyn sat at the back of the boat. Working that gum so hard that her jaw clicked and popped. She must have sensed my gaze, because she smoothed her wrinkled linen skirt (Item Not Available Since 1979) against her slabs of thighs. Then she nervously twisted the gorgeous turquoise ring (This is the most beautiful thing that you will ever own…) on her finger.

  “I want that ring,” I told Desi.

  Desi snickered. “I’m sure she’ll give it to you if you look at her wrong. Maybe we can stay up all night tonight and give her a makeover. What’s that saying? She got the perfect face for radio?”

  Someone tapped a wineglass. Desi and I stopped talking and noticed that Wallace was now standing in the middle of the living room.

  “First,” he said, “I hope everyone’s having a wonderful time here on La Charon.”

  “Two words,” Desi said. “Holy. Cow.”

  Some of us chuckled. Wallace simply gave her a patient, pleasant smile. “You are a doll, Desirée.” He cleared his throat, then met each of our gazes. Then: “A magnificent joke has been played on you.” To Desi, he said, “Your friend Alex did not invite you to stay on Mictlan Island.” To Frank: “There is no business summit this weekend.” To me: “This isn’t a reality show competition and there is no million-dollar prize. All of what you’ve heard has been a lie.”

  “Excuse me?” I whispered.

  “I’m so confused,” Desi said.

  “You fuckin’ kidding me right now?” Eddie said.

  “I’m … huh?” Frank chuckled. “What do you mean?”

  Javier laughed, and said, “Am I still getting paid?”

  And then we started shouting exclamations on top of each other, “what” and “huh” and “fuckin’ kidding me,” over and over again, until Wallace raised those scarred hands of his and shouted over the din. “Let me explain.”

  Javier whistled, then clapped his hands. “Shut up for a minute. Let him talk, jeez.”

  I crossed my arms and forced myself to breathe through my nose. “Okay. Talk. Please.”

  Wallace sighed, then met my gaze, then Frank’s, Desi’s, and finally Eddie’s. “Someone we all cared about…” His voice broke and he cleared his throat again. “Someone we all cared about wanted to play one last practical joke and trick you into coming to something meaningful, something…”

  “Who is ‘he’?” Eddie demanded. “Who wanted to play one last joke?”

  “Phillip,” Wallace said. “Dear, dear Phillip.”

  I frowned at him. “Phillip…?”

  “Omeke.”

  My breath left my lungs. “My lawyer? The Phillip Omeke who hasn’t returned my phone calls in six weeks?”

  Wallace canted his head. “Yes, Miriam. Please understand. See: Phillip didn’t want the entire world to know that he had a brain tumor. Glioblastoma. The cancer kept growing and growing until finally … Phillip died last month, and I’m here on this island to carry out his last wish: to sprinkle his ashes off the coast. This, my fellow travelers, is Phillip’s memorial service. He wanted his friends and a few of his most unforgettable clients to gather at Artemis for a few days to remember him.”

  “Oh, no. Oh, no, no, no.” I closed my eyes and covered my ears. “I wanna go home.”

  “Turn the boat around,” Frank demanded. “Immediately.”

  “Phillip’s dead?” Desi asked, bugged eyes fixed on the carpet.

  “We all lead such busy lives,” Wallace continued. “We all have so many things to do, and Phillip wanted to make sure … that you all attended the service. And he knew you all so well, he knew what would get you to come.”

  I shook my head. “I can’t afford missing…” Days off? I had no job. Seeing my daughter? Yeah, she hated me right now and was on her way to Orlando. “If I’m gonna be honest, I was counting on…”

  “The cash prize?” Wallace asked.

  I blushed, then nodded.

  “A time to get away?” Wallace asked Desi.

  She blushed, then nodded.

  “Landing new clients?” Wallace asked Frank.

  “Of course,” the banker said, lifting his chin.

  Wallace offered each of us a weak smile. “Phillip knew that, too. He knew that you were in dire straits after your cases, Desi, Frank, and Miriam. That you needed work, Javier, Eddie, and Evelyn. He told me about each of your situations.”

  “Oh, no. Oh, Phillip.” Sadness washed over me, and my knees, as weak as wet tissue paper, gave, and I plopped into a chair.

  What would I do without him? What was gonna happen to me?

  Desi squeezed my shoulder, and I placed my hand atop hers. “This is absolutely unbelievable,” she whispered.

  Wallace continued. “I’ve been directed to read his will at the end of his scattering ceremony, on Sunday afternoon. I can’t be 100 percent certain, but each of you may be wealthier leaving Mictlan Island than when you came. So … any questions?”

  “Phillip left me…?” My mouth moved but no words came. I had no words. Me. Speechless.

  “Money?” Frank said. “He left me money?”

  Tears burned in my eyes—for many reasons. Because my hopes for winning millions had just been dashed. Because someone who’d become my savior had died. Because Phillip had considered me a friend and had possibly set aside money to help me after he’d passed.

  “This is freakin’ crazy,” Eddie said, shaking his head.

  “Wanna turn the boat around now?” Wallace asked Frank, his eyebrow high.

  “No, no, no.” Frank smiled, then clapped Wallace on the shoulder. “Phillip was a good man. A great man.”

  “What about our cases?” I asked.

  Wallace held up a finger. “Phillip told me that he personally developed a plan for each of you. But we’ll deal with all of that after this weekend. He said for me to tell you not to worry. All of your problems will be solved.” Wallace waggled a finger at our group. “So let’s do as the great man said and not worry—we don’t want him haunting us, now, do we?”

  A teardrop tumbled down my cheek. Poor Phillip. So smart, so crafty, so elegant in his custom Italian suits. He had been tall and slender, and his dark face reminded me of those African wood masks you’d see at an arts and crafts fair. He’d been persuasive, too, especially with his posh Oxford University accent. A remarkable attorney. A remarkable man.

  And I’d cursed his name once he had
stopped returning my calls. Little did I know … he had stopped calling me because he was dying. Why hadn’t he told me so? And why had he tricked me into coming to Mictlan Island? If he’d asked, of course I would’ve come.

  But he did have a great sense of humor. He had always been a joker, cracking on jurors, sometimes even the judge, and we’d laugh a lot, Phillip and I. We’d flirt some, too. He’d touch my elbow sometimes. Hold my gaze longer than usual. We’d make each other laugh. More of a man than Billy could ever be.

  Desi rubbed my back as she said, “I’m honored just to be with y’all. Phillip was the best thing to come into my life.”

  “Mine, too,” I said. “He cared about me when even my own family…” A sob choked me back into silence, and I clamped my hand over my mouth.

  Frank and Eddie didn’t speak.

  Javier said, “I’m gonna make his favorite dishes, then. In his honor.”

  Wallace grinned, then said, “We’ll have a gay old time.” He paused, then added, “Well, at least, I will.” He laughed, so we all laughed.

  “All ashore to Mictlan Island,” the college kid called from the communications tower.

  “Maybe I’ll stay in Me-hi-co after this,” Desi said as we all separated to fetch our bags. “Start a new life. New friends, new food, new lovers.” She futzed with her messy hair. “This is definitely gonna be a trip to remember. I’ve been waiting for this my whole entire life, and I’m glad Phillip is giving me a chance to spread my little wings and fly.”

  I, too, had waited for something magical to happen in my life. I thought it had been meeting Billy, then marrying Billy. I thought it had been giving birth to Morgan, but then … no. When would it happen, that something magical? On this island, maybe? Maybe.

  “Woo-hoo!” Desi cheered. “We made it.” Eyes wild, she shook me out of my wondering. “C’mon, girlie! The island’s waitin’ for us!”

  I was the first person to rush off the boat onto the dilapidated gangway. For the ride back to the mainland, I’d have to pop three Valium chased with two blood and sands.

  The heavy warm air quickly dried my silk tunic. The sun beat down on my face—magnificent heat melted the ice that had frozen every inch of my skin over the two-hour voyage.

  Andreas and Raul carried our luggage off the boat and deposited it near a dockside boathouse that looked two tropical storms away from collapse. Not much here—just that toolshed-sized boathouse, no boats, not even a canoe, and the start of a jungle trail.

  “Excuse me,” I asked Andreas. “Where are the bellhops or the house staff?”

  “I know we’re not expected to lug our own bags to the house,” Frank sniffed. “We’re guests here. Wallace?”

  Wallace’s mouth opened, then closed. “Maybe there’s a butler. I’m not sure. Phillip didn’t say if he hired staff for the weekend. Let’s call.”

  Eddie plucked a satellite phone from one of his bomb bags. “What’s the number?”

  Wallace shrugged. “Oops. No idea.”

  Raul didn’t care—he moved from boat to shore with his eyes cast down, with his mouth in a tight line.

  The kid said, “This is all we are to do.”

  “You’re bringing more of my guests over tomorrow, correct?” Wallace asked, “and then, retrieving us Sunday after the ceremony?”

  Raul said, “If it’s on my paper, then si, I will do.”

  Once Raul had marched back onto La Charon for good, Andreas hopped onto the yacht and pulled up the boarding stairs. He waved at us and shouted, “Buenos suerte, mis amigos!”

  And the seven of us stood on the dock as La Charon sped back to the open sea. Soon, it was just a swanky white dot on the graying horizon.

  Eddie sighed. “Screw this. I’m not waiting here forever.” He picked up his three black bags and one of Wallace’s, and marched to the dirt trail that cut through the jungle.

  “I guess that’s that.” Desi grabbed her bags and followed Eddie into the thick brush.

  So did Wallace, Frank, and Evelyn.

  I grabbed the handle to my suitcase and shouldered my bag. You can do this. Yes, I could, and I smiled up at the sun as it glided across the cloudless sky. As I started to follow the group, I looked behind me.

  Javier stood on craggy rocks, looking down into a tide pool. “Hey, Miriam. Come look at this.”

  “We should go.”

  “Yeah, yeah, come look.”

  I groaned, then hurried over to the chef.

  Swimming in the tide pool were fuchsia fish and yellow fish and sea urchins the colors of eggplant and rhubarb, tiny crabs and quick shrimp. So peaceful in that pool even as the ocean crashed around it.

  “It’s beautiful,” I said—and it was. “But we should head to the house. We don’t wanna get separated and lost.” I glanced up at the sun. “It’s gonna get dark soon.”

  “Yep.” Javier leaned over the tide pool and tottered some. “Whoops!” He waved his arms for balance, then wedged his flip-flopped feet into the rocks’ nooks. His silver flask fell out of his shorts pocket and landed in the sand.

  “You’re gonna fall, Javier,” I warned.

  “Nope. I got this.”

  I grabbed his flask from the sand, then stowed it in my bag. “C’mon. Let’s go.”

  “Okay,” he said, not moving.

  The sun dropped lower in the sky.

  My pulse spiked a bit and my eyes scanned the edges of the thick forest. Thick forest that hid monsters. What kind of wildlife live on Mictlan Island? Cougars? Boar?

  I couldn’t get eaten during my first ten minutes on this effin’ island. But I didn’t want to leave Javier and travel the jungle alone, either.

  The cocktails and the Valium weren’t working anymore. Worry had returned, and what now felt like an ice cream headache pounded in the center of my skull. “Javier,” I snapped. “What the hell are you getting? What is so freakin’ important?”

  Javier teetered again, then smiled back at me. “Appetizers.”

  7

  Javier promised (or threatened) the sea life in the tide pool that he would be back tomorrow—and that he wouldn’t be leaving empty-handed. Then he and I hurried along the trail to catch up with the others. Not that anyone seemed to notice our absence or arrival.

  Besides our huffing breath and the scuffing of our feet against the dirt trail, there was no sound in the jungle. It was as though we were the only human beings that existed on Mictlan Island. Desi had attempted to narrate everything she saw—ohmygosh lookit that bird, ohmygosh lookit that flower—but the exertion of talking while walking with luggage uphill, then downhill, then uphill again, and Eddie’s refusal to answer her queries slammed her mouth shut.

  Frank tired of the quiet. “Why are we traipsing through the wilderness? Where’s our host? Wallace, where’s the damned house?”

  No one responded to his futile queries. Talking required superfluous breath. Which Frank acknowledged when he said, “I know no one wants to respond to my futile queries since talking requires superfluous breath.”

  I visualized the final edit as though this was a scene from the competition—time-lapsed close-up shots of Desi’s mouth and Frank’s mouth, moving … moving … moving …

  My own throat was raspy—the blood and sand cocktail should have killed any cold germs that had tried to swarm my immune system. But now I worried about Zika and malaria as mosquitoes hungrily bit at my bare arms and through my tunic. Maybe “airy” hadn’t been the best choice in attire. Something “steeled” or even “seasoned” would’ve worked better. Too late. Every piece of clothing in my suitcase was “casually seductive,” “breezy,” or “delicious.”

  And we walked.

  The sun’s threat had been tempered by the canopy of island live oaks, their broad limbs curving down before shooting up to the sky. Back in Puerto Peñasco, it had been eighty-five degrees, but now, with the humidity, it felt like 130. The heat wasn’t the worst of it. The dirt path we clomped on never widened, and so branches snapped and sc
raped against our faces. And finally, there was sound—something was rustling deep in the brush, walking along with us, keeping pace, but never presenting itself.

  Fortunately, whatever it was left us alone.

  Damn it all. I’d spent a month preparing for a reality game show. Walking ten thousand steps a day. Jogging. Eating spinach and egg whites. I’d purchased outfits on credit, had hyped up my trip to Morgan so that she’d talk to me more. I’d even bought a pack of chocolate ants to prepare my mind for insect-eating challenges. And just like that, it was over. It’s all a prank. None of this is real. Oh, by the way, your lawyer’s dead and you’ll also need to carry your own shit to the house. My chest was tight, not because I couldn’t inhale. I couldn’t inhale because I’d been hoodwinked and because I could picture Morgan rolling her eyes and calling me lame or worse … a liar. Again.

  I gritted my teeth and dragged my bag and my body over roots and vines. And I thought about Wallace Zavarnella. Memorial service or not, he had trashed my reputation. He had partnered with Eddie to ridicule me in front of the others.

  How best to retaliate? Snatch his wig. But only after we’d all given our tributes to Phillip Omeke, only after he’d spelled my name correctly on the check Phillip had left for me. And then I’d snatch his wig. I was many things, but I wasn’t stupid.

  How would that play in front of the others, though? Would that make me the Mean Bitch picking on the Sick Old Man even though that Sick Old Man had come for me first? Had kept me from sitting in that seat back on the mainland?

  Doesn’t matter anymore, Miriam. There are no alliances, there is no strategy. Let. It. Go.

  Couldn’t let it go, though. Because this always happened to me—penalized, judged, and castigated for reacting to someone hurting and insulting me.

  Just thinking about battling people’s perceptions of me was exhausting, and a part of me, a small part, just wanted to surrender already. Surrender and plop down on the trail and let the boar and cougars come and tear me apart. It wouldn’t be that much different from all that I’d endured since that thing with Brooke McAllister.