They All Fall Down

by Rachel Howzell Hall

  She gulped from her glass of sangria, then wiped her mouth with a napkin. “He emailed me, saying that he was Alex, one of Larry’s college friends that I hadn’t met. Said he was sorry that he’d missed Larry’s funeral and everything, and that he’d heard how rough I was having it. So he wanted to fly me over for some peace and quiet.” She shrugged. “Which was true. I mean, a trip away from the sadness and craziness? I woulda been a fool to turn that down. My momma didn’t want me coming over here cuz she thought this Alex guy was gonna make a move on me.

  “Honestly? I was surprised that one of Larry’s friends was still talkin’ to me—after the funeral, no one called on me, and a coupla people ‘unfriended’ me on Facebook. Folks at church and sometimes in the grocery store straight-out ignored me. But!” She lifted her glass. “That was then, and this is today. Them haters can kiss my sweet patootie! Cheers, girlie.”

  And we toasted.

  After dinner, I wandered back out to the terrace. The air was thick and hot—this was “vacation weather,” though, and I felt lighter and less scratchy now that I’d had a decent meal and cold, sweet sangria. I was even humming a Barbra Streisand song. Me. Humming, despite this being a memorial, despite the madness that I’d left behind. Despite all of that, a smile had crept onto my face and I was humming “The Way We Were.” Mictlan Island had already changed me.

  Evelyn sat at a poolside table. Two unopened bottles of water and a bag of potato chips sat near her hands. Her face reflected the pool light, but her eyes looked small and flat, like raisins in her head.

  “Hey,” I said with a smile. “You want company?”

  She didn’t respond.

  I plopped into the chair across from her, then sighed long and loud. “This is incredible, isn’t it? Being here, I mean.” I tilted my face to a sky crammed with white sparkly pinpricks that people living in less-dense cities called “stars.” “In L.A., we can only see Venus.” I fixed my gaze on that faraway planet, then said, “When I was a kid, I wanted to be an astronaut, but I couldn’t add or subtract to save my life. Carry the one? Go fuck yourself.” I laughed, sangria wasted, and added, “I suck at math.”

  Evelyn was staring at my swollen wrist. “You should hydrate.” She slid over a bottle of water.

  I accepted the gift but shook my head and poked at my wrist. “Oh. Yeah. I guess it is a little swollen. But I’m not bloated.”

  She blinked at me. “You hurt yourself?”

  I shrugged. “Something like that.”

  “Someone else hurt you?”

  “Umm.” Tears pricked at my eyes, but I blinked them back into storage. “Yeah, but I’m good, though. It’s gonna get handled as soon as I’m back home.”

  “Your husband—did he hurt you?”

  Her question punched me in the chest but made me laugh. “Billy? Oh, hell, no. He’s an asshole, but he’d never raise his hands at me. It’s just this family. There was a confrontation with one of them right before this trip, and…” I rolled my eyes, then twisted the cap off the water bottle. I took a gulp and shivered as the cold liquid extinguished the rising fire in my gut. “Another story for another time.” I offered her a smile. “Thank you for caring, though.”

  We stared at the heavens in silence. Beneath us, the ocean crashed against rocks so violently that I thought by morning, we’d all be washed to sea.

  I peeked at the older woman. Tears were streaming down her face and dropping onto that mess of a shirt. “You okay?”

  She ran her hand across her cheeks, then sniffed. “I wanna go home.”

  I rubbed my thumb over the bottle top and sadness came to me like a butterfly slowly moving its wings, barely there but enough to change the world. “I’m a little homesick, too. I have a daughter. We’re pretty close. You have kids?”

  She shook her head.

  “Are you married?”

  Another head shake.

  Poor lady.

  “Now that I think about it,” I said, “I’m a little homesick even when I’m home. Guess that’s because so much has changed there, but—” I cleared my throat and sat up in my chair. “We’re here now. Phillip’s gone but not forgotten, and even better, he’s gonna help make everything splendid, just like he did when he was alive. That’s worth being away from … Where are you from?”

  “New Mexico. My mother’s there. And my dog Chachi, he’s there, too, and I love them both so much.”

  I stood from my chair. “Well, on behalf of all mothers, then … you should get some rest. Brush your teeth. Say your prayers. Long day tomorrow. Sounds like Wallace has more guests coming. Enjoy the quiet while you can.”

  Evelyn closed her eyes. Her lips tightened over her teeth.

  That flutter of sadness made me want to sit and be a comfort to her. But my eyelids weighed more than dark matter, and I could already hear myself snoring in the silence. Still, I had to offer her something. “If you need to talk, you can come to my room and hang out, okay?”

  She looked up at me with grateful eyes. “Good night, Miriam. I’m sorry. For everything.”

  I squinted at her. Sorry for everything? This poor woman. Who hurt her so much that she apologized for being human? I patted her on the shoulder, then returned to my room. As I climbed into bed, though, I prayed that she didn’t stop by, that she took her melancholy to her fancier room down the hall.

  I just wanted to sleep. And I would sleep, like I’d never slept before.

  An hour later, though, I awoke in my darkened room. Something—or someone—had nudged me awake. My heavy eyes skipped across the room—vanity, armoire, windows …

  But nothing was there. No one was there.

  I lay my head back upon the pillow.

  Just my imagination.

  Yeah. That’s what it was.

  Silly mind tricks.

  9

  Splat!

  There it was again. Something hard, something fleshy, something smacking—

  Splat!

  Heart racing, I jerked up from my pillow and glanced at the clock on my nightstand—10:17 P.M. Those red numbers were the only light shining in the bedroom. Not for long. A flashlight beam played against the window.

  Female voices whispered, “Miriam…”

  A male voice said, “Come out and play-ay.”

  “Miriam…”

  “Come out and play-ay.”

  I closed my eyes to hear them better but the sounds of Los Angeles—police helicopter, motorcycle engine, dog barking—kept me deaf.

  Splat!

  The window rattled.

  My eyes burned and I pushed away the comforter. Then I grabbed my gun from the nightstand and—

  My eyes popped open to bright morning sunshine. I found myself in a strange green bedroom not my own. Where am I? Panicked, I pulled the comforter—not mine, either—up to my chin. Above me, the crystal beads on the chandelier tinkled even though the windows were closed, even though no breeze eased through the room, and I watched those crystal beads with frightened eyes.

  Where am I?

  Mexico. You’re in Mexico.

  Pressure slowly lifted from my chest as my mind’s eye replayed yesterday’s tape.

  Artemis.

  Mictlan Island.

  Phillip.

  Phillip. He’d tricked me and five others into coming here. Yeah. That’s right. That memory drifted like burning paper to join the other memories.

  La Charon.

  Shrimp scampi.

  Sangria. Lots of sangria.

  I sat up in bed, fully awake now.

  Phillip’s dead and I’m here. And his will … I may be rich two days from now, when I’m back home wherever home will be.

  Panic? What panic? Not this girl, not anymore.

  Smiling now, I selected wide-legged, white linen pants (The baroness has a title … you have these slacks) and a scoop-necked white blouse (Mama found this in a little shop off the canals of Venice…). At the vanity, I pulled my hair into a ponytail, then bent to smell the perfect
peach roses in the heavy crystal vase.

  No scent.

  I tapped the flowers.

  Fake.

  But the sky beyond my windows, and that color, the blue of sapphires and hyacinths? Not fake. That sky was my sky.

  The aroma of frying bacon and onions, percolating coffee, and fresh-squeezed oranges rushed me as soon as I opened my bedroom door.

  Javier, wearing black-and-white-checkered pants and a chef’s smock, moved around the kitchen with ease. “Hola, Miss Mimi!”

  I threw him jazz hands and smiled. “Hola! Where is everybody?”

  “Wallace is out there—” Javier nodded back at the pool. “Desi’s still sleeping. What’s-her-face is, too, I think. And White Boy is choke-holding Frankie out on the front porch, ha ha. Breakfast will be ready in ten.”

  “Sounds great.” I poured orange juice into a glass, then sipped. “This juice is delicious.”

  “Gracias.” He forced a potato across a mandoline, and seconds later, a pile of perfect potato slices sizzled on the griddle. “Sleep good?”

  I shrugged. “Weird dreams—I forgot where I was for a minute. I miss my daughter.”

  “Your man’s taking care of her while you’re here?”

  My man. “Yeah, he’s taking her to Disney World.”

  He glanced at me. “You didn’t want her to go?”

  I shrugged again. “Mixed feelings about it. She’ll be fine. I’m just being a mother. Gotta let go sometimes, right? I mean, if he can perform a root canal, he can manage a seventeen-year-old’s schedule.”

  “True, but can’t nobody love you like your momma loves you,” Javier said. “I’ve only known you for a day, but I know can’t nobody replace you, Miss Miriam.”

  Tell that to Billy, who was now replacing me with Ashlee, the anorexic-adjacent adulteress who kept a dirty house.

  When I’d seen Morgan late Thursday night, I wanted to grab her, throw her in my Camry, and escape to Colombia. She’d stood at the living room’s sliding door with her hands on her barely there hips. In that dim light, I couldn’t tell if her skin had finally regained its healthy nutmeg coloring or if it was still … gray. She wore her favorite schmatta—a holey black leotard up top and my ancient Purple Rain sweatshirt worn as a skirt, its neck tugged down to those mere hips and the sleeves tied around her tiny waist. Because of Ashlee and Brooke, she hadn’t stood at a barre for almost six months.

  Yeah, Billy had chosen the woman who’d forced Morgan to forsake food for ballet. A woman with pointy bones, sharp edges, and severe right angles. She’d stolen my family and my house, and now she had my view of the mountains, and the entire world had a view of her nasty kitchen. I didn’t have to enter the house to see those dishes piled high in the sink and pizza boxes tottering on the breakfast bar. Back on Thursday night, I’d glimpsed through the patio doors, wine bottles and dirty glasses on the granite countertops—countertops that I’d had put in along with the French door refrigerator and matching range top that I was still paying for each month.

  When you’ve hijacked someone else’s dream, at least keep that shit clean.

  I’d left them there on that porch—my porch. Ashlee had wrapped one long alien arm around Billy’s waist, then wrapped the other arm around Morgan’s. They were her family now.

  For now.

  Just like Javier said: no one could replace me.

  10

  Wallace stood at the low iron fence that edged the backyard’s terrace. His violet eyes glimmered with tears while his thin fingers worried the tail of his lavender linen shirt.

  “Good morning.” I handed him a glass of orange juice. “Breakfast is ready.”

  He thanked me and a teardrop tumbled down his yellow cheek. “This was one of our favorite spots on the island.” He rubbed the scars on his hands as his gaze moved slowly across the horizon. “We’d visited six times together, and each time, this view took my breath away. Again, I resisted Mexico, wanting something more tropical, but this view. This view makes me stop and just … stare out in awe.”

  The bluest blue water. Sinless white and foamy waves. A clear view to the edge of the world. No smog. No planes. No skyscrapers. No tourists.

  “I’d love to live here,” I said. “Even as a caretaker.”

  “Is that a hint, doll?”

  I said, “Bingo.”

  “We went through so much trouble buying this land.” Wallace swiped at his eyes, then nodded. “It was all worth it. Yes, it was.”

  I squinted at him. “So, you and Phillip…?”

  “Bought it together. It’s in his name, but I’m the one who brokered the deal. I’m the one who had the previous occupants … evicted, you could say. Phillip was a beast in court but a pushover everywhere else.”

  I gave him a sidelong glance, then stared at his scarred hands. “So no dead Native Americans haunting this place, right?”

  “If I said yes, would you still want to be caretaker?” He tossed his head back and laughed. “No, this isn’t Poltergeist, my dear. While some of the occupants may have lost their lives in this battle, it wasn’t because of two gays from California wanting to build a vacation home. No, the government of Mexico expressed their enthusiasm in our interest and especially in our American money, which angered an unconventional businessman along the way. He was a squatter who could’ve paid for this land if he truly wanted, but…” He sighed and dabbed his knuckle at the corners of his eyes. “I miss Phillip—I thought I was prepared for his passing, but … it’s scary how … blank I feel without him.”

  “I’m sorry.” And I was.

  Since Wallace wasn’t ready to eat, I settled alone at a patio table closest to the kitchen and Javier brought me huevos rancheros, bacon, potatoes, and a carafe of coffee.

  As I ate my perfect breakfast, I enjoyed the roar of the ocean. Watched lime-green butterflies and white gulls soar so high. Fluffy white clouds that towered into forever had started to fill my perfect blue sky. But they were the perfect clouds you had childhood dreams about, dreams about eating them with your hot cocoa and bouncing on one cloud after the other. I could’ve sat there all day. Stayed in that spot forever as Javier brought me food.

  Maybe one day I will.

  After closing my eyes and making a wish—I wish to stay on Mictlan Island forever—I pushed away from the table. I was, as my mother would say, full as a little tick. I glanced one last time at those flawless, marshmallow clouds that still crawled across the sky and whispered, “Please let Wallace say yes.”

  What if he did? Would Morgan come willingly? Would Mexican authorities let me stay?

  I thought about this as I wandered the house and eventually found the media room.

  The soundproofed walls muted Desi’s squeals of delight back in the kitchen. “Breakfast?” she was saying. “I go to bed and there’s food. I wake up and there’s more food. Javi, you’re my fairy food-father!”

  I settled into one of the cranberry leather armchairs. Oversized. Baby soft. Plush. A perfect place to think about a tribute to Phillip.

  What should I say? Something sweet, like, I wouldn’t be here without you. Or something funny, like, Really, I wouldn’t be here without you—you tricked me, and now here I am in Mexico! Or maybe something heartbreaking, like, You looked past my faults to see the best in me, to see that my life was worth saving. And as I stood before the others, I’d look up to the sky with tears in my eyes, then I’d point to the heavens and say, “You are magic, Phil Omeke. Pure magic.” Or something like that.

  “Crazy as hell, ain’t it?” Frank had slipped into the media room, and now he plopped into a chair beside me.

  “Ain’t”? From him? Umm …

  “Crazy, as in, Phillip dying?” I pulled my legs beneath me. “I had no idea he was sick.”

  “I sure as hell didn’t, either.” He ran his hand across his sweaty forehead, then wiped his hand on his shorts.

  “I’m honored that Phil chose to invite me to come.”

  Frank sucked his teeth
. “He had to invite me. I put Phil’s ass on the map in Texas.”

  “How?”

  “With my case,” the banker said. “He had to do all kinds of Matrix-Morpheus legal shit. They wrote new laws because of me.” He pushed out his chest as though he’d discovered the shape of the sky. “I never thought I’d be meeting a bunch of ballers way out in the middle of nowhere, though. This is better than some stupid business meeting.”

  Hunh. So Frank was an undercover brother. He had stowed the ten-dollar words, and now he was just Frankie from around the way, droppin’ g’s and embracin’ “ain’t” and “ballers.”

  I peered at him, for this and other reasons. Like: “Ballers? Who are we talking about?”

  “Wallace Zavarnella and his buddies. Yeah, yeah, he’s shady, but who isn’t shady in real estate? Three more clients like him and I’m set for life.”

  “How is he shady?”

  Frank sneered. “Like I’m gonna tell you.”

  “I know already. Just wanted to hear what you knew.”

  A bad bluff, because Frank snorted at me.

  I whispered, “Is he wearing a wig?”

  Frank flicked his pink tongue across his top lip, then moved closer to me—the air felt moist sitting this close to him. Like a giant cloud should have been forming over his head. “He’s still sick. Cancer. The old white lady? I believe that’s his nurse.” He leaned back, then said, “We’re having drinks around six thirty tonight. You should join us and maybe I can hook you up with my services, know what I’m saying? What do you do again?”

  “You mean … for a living?”

  Frank snorted. “Uh, yeah.”

  I cleared my throat. “Well, I have a daughter. She dances, so she needs me to drive her around the city for performances and auditions … so I’ve been home with her for a minute.”

  “She’s what, seven, eight?”

  “Seventeen. But then I’m, umm … I’m in marketing. Retail.”

  “Nordstrom? Saks?”

  “Hidden Treasures.”

  “Used clothes and shit?”

  “Luxury consignment.”

  “So … used clothes and shit from rich people?”

  I scowled at him. “I’m incredibly successful—I’m the one who came up with the storytelling campaign where we took, like, a purse and created a story around it.”