I saw her, Beatriz said to herself. I saw her.
But, of course, that wouldn’t be possible. Perla wouldn’t be a little girl any longer; she would be a full-grown woman. But it was her! Beatriz thought. She knew it.
When Larry came behind his wife and slipped his arm around her waist, Beatriz shrieked.
“Larry!”
“I’m sorry, love,” he said, almost as startled as his wife. “Uncle James is asking for you.” When he noticed the stricken look on his wife’s face, he pulled her close to him. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing—I mean, I thought—it’s nothing. It’s okay.”
“Maybe you should eat something,” Larry said, remembering that he hadn’t seen his wife eat much at breakfast.
“Maybe I should.”
“Well then, you’re in the right place,” Larry said, sweeping his wife back into the house.”
By sundown, the party was in full swing. Appetites were fed, drinks were flowing, children who’d eaten too many cookies were having their bellies rubbed by their mothers, and only a few guests were stupidly tipsy. Beatriz still hadn’t eaten much and only drank water throughout the day. She wanted to stay clearheaded. Larry, on the other hand, was having a ball. The man couldn’t stop grinning, happily glassy-eyed, his hair tousled, his face shiny with sweat from dancing with every able-bodied woman who could keep up with him. He talked and joked with everyone, happy to see each and every person who crossed their threshold, and when the opportunity presented itself, he massaged his wife’s ample backside. Yes, Larry Milligan was having a good time.
“Are you having fun, my love?” he asked, as they danced a slow cha-cha, to Rubén Ramos’s velvety voice imploring, “No, no, no, no—no soy feliz, sin un amor….” Beatriz looped her arms around her husband’s neck.
“Yes, mi amor. It turned out great, didn’t it?”
“Well, it will be great when I get you upstairs later.”
“Oh really?”
“Oh yeah. I’m going to make you a very, very, very happy woman. Wait till you see what I have in store for you.”
Beatriz grinned. She knew that by the time it was all over, they would both fall into bed fully clothed, Larry keeping one foot on the floor to keep the room from spinning.
Erasmo was the first to make a toast.
“You know, when I first met this cabrón, I didn’t know what to think,” Erasmo said, working hard to keep his train of thought and not slur his words. He motioned to Larry. “Look at him! I would have never guessed such a straight arrow—and I mean straight, as in, won’t bend, no way, no how—could make it work with my slightly crazy sister.”
“Slightly?” someone cracked.
“Careful,” Beatriz shot back.
“Ándale,” Norma urged her husband. “Some of us have to go to church in the morning.” Norma’s feet hurt, and she was ready to call it a night. She had already taken off her metallic-silver sandals and was seated nearby, twirling her thick ankles one way and then the other, her arms crossed over her ample belly.
“What was I was saying? Oh yeah,” Erasmo continued. “A skinny Irish kid with my Mexican sister? Who woulda guessed? Pero, it was our sweet ’amá, may God rest her soul, who said it first: ‘El Larry is un güero quemado.’ ”
Question marks popped up among the furrowed brows on the Milligan side of the family.
“It means he’s an honorary Mexican, güey!” Erasmo roared. “So, look at us,” he continued. “Now, we’re family—even if el hombre can’t hold his tequila….”
An “ah” soared over the crowd. Everyone knew a challenge when they heard one. The Sánchez men and the Milligan men sized up each other as wives and girlfriends rolled their eyes or tugged at their men’s sleeves. Norma shot her husband a venomous look, and Erasmo knew to steer the toast back to good cheer, y nada mas.
“Okay, okay—este—I know we all wish you good health, happiness, and twenty-five more years!” Erasmo said, as he raised his beer into the air. “Salud!”
“Salud!” the crowd repeated with their drinks held high.
“Viva Beatriz y Larry!” Erasmo roared.
“Viva!” the crowd roared back.
“Viva amor!”
“Viva!”
“Viva la familia!”
“Viva!”
“And now,” Erasmo said with a mild belch, “el güero quemado says he has something he would like to present to his wife.”
Beatriz looked at her husband, who took her by the hand.
“What’s going on?” she asked. “I thought we said no gifts?”
“You said no gifts,” Larry said, as he led his wife onto the riser. The guests clapped as they drew close to hear what Larry had to say.
“Thank you for coming, everyone. Some of you have come from far away, and I know I speak for Beatriz when I say we’re touched to have you all here. Mi amor,” Larry said, suddenly sober. “You have brought me so much happiness. Now, believe it or not, when Beatriz first met me, she didn’t want anything to do with me. It’s true! But I told her then and I’m telling you now: Where you go, I go. Where you live, I will live. Your people are my people.” Beatriz got glassy-eyed, recognizing the wedding vows Larry had said to her twenty-five years earlier. “So now, I know we said no gifts this year, but I think you’ll be happy I didn’t listen to you this time.”
“This time?” Beatriz joked, wiping happy tears from her eyes.
Larry motioned to Raúl, who stepped forward to present his father an envelope.
“For you,” Larry said. “This is the ‘ice’ delivery from earlier.” Larry was very pleased with himself. Beatriz didn’t have a clue. She took the envelope and turned it over in her hand.
“Open it!” the children in the crowd squealed. Beatriz carefully peeled the flap open, and her eyes grew wide when she saw what was inside.
“Are you kidding me?”
“What? What? What?” the crowd yelled. “What is it?” But Beatriz couldn’t speak.
“What is it, mujer?” a woman asked. “Tell us!”
“Maybe it’s the bill for this party,” a man joked.
“No, no, no,” Larry crowed. “We were still in college when we got married, and we didn’t have any money, so we didn’t have a honeymoon. Beatriz has always said she wanted to go to Paris. So, it took me twenty-five years, but I’m taking my bride to Paris!”
The crowd cheered.
“When are you leaving?” Raúl asked. Laughter exploded over them as parents exchanged comments about teenage boys left on their own.
“July!” Larry announced. “But until then, let’s keep dancing and eating cake!” At that moment, Carlos and his girlfriend, Marisol, appeared carrying a spectacular cake shaped like the Eiffel Tower, which they placed on a table before the couple. Everyone clapped wildly when they saw the cake and were impressed when word spread quickly that Marisol had designed and made it herself. Someone turned on the music and everyone began to dance again, as the children in the crowd surged toward the cake.
“Can we eat it?” one of them shrieked.
“Of course!” Marisol said. “But let me get some pictures first.”
At that moment, all the fear, all the trepidation, all the weirdness of the day was pushed completely out of Beatriz’s mind. She took a big gulp of the champagne that was handed to her and drank more when it was offered. She couldn’t remember the last time she danced so much. She danced with her husband, of course, and her sons, then all of her brothers, then the women when the men got lazy, and when he got his second wind, back into the arms of her husband. It was a night full of hearty laughter, aching feet, too much food, lots of drink, sweetness, memories, the clicking of cameras, the gentle sway of skirts, men remembering how much they loved their women, and women seeing the softness of their men.
By ten o’clock, parents with small children began to leave, hauling them like sandbags over their shoulders, as the adults who didn’t have to worry about children scattered about fo
r nightcaps and quiet conversation before heading home. Sometime after midnight, the party was coming to its natural conclusion. Ana and a few others began to clean up, folding chairs and clearing tables, while Beatriz and Larry lounged on the couch, talking to Larry’s sister, Lucy, who, as always, had arrived late.
“So, tell me about this wonderful trip I’ve heard about,” Lucy said. “Are you really going in July?”
“That’s what the ticket says,” Larry said. He was mildly drunk, his eyes half closed, enjoying the lull of the evening coming to an end, and the soft warmth of his wife resting against him. Beatriz was lazily eating the fruit in the bottom of her sangria cup.
“Well, maybe not exactly July,” Beatriz said.
“No,” Larry insisted. “We’re going in July. It says so on the ticket.”
“For how long?” Lucy asked.
“Why?” Larry was suspicious. He had no idea what his sister needed or wanted, but he knew it was something. There was always something with Lucy.
“Well, gee,” Lucy said, sensing her brother’s irritation. “Seems to me you need someone to housesit, keep an eye on the boys. You’re going to need a responsible adult around, and my boys practically live here anyway.”
“Carlos will be at orientation in Michigan,” Larry said tersely, refusing to open his eyes. “And Raúl has some sci-fi, comic-book geek fest to go to around the same time. No one will be here.”
“Well, that stinks. What am I going to do with my boys?” Lucy said. Larry sighed and opened his eyes to look his sister square in the face. This was his and Beatriz’s special night. It was their anniversary. Lucy turning their celebration into something about her set him on edge.
“No one is going anywhere until I make arrangements at work,” Beatriz said.
“Oh! Work, smerk!” Larry sighed. He had been planning this trip for months, and no matter what, nothing was going to ruin it, he decided.
“So, can I see this magic ticket?” Lucy asked. “It’s been forever since I’ve taken a nice vacation. Maybe if I get to hold it, some of your good luck will rub off on me.”
Larry decided to ignore his sister’s sarcasm.
“Sure,” he said. When Beatriz didn’t move, he nudged her.
“You have it, don’t you?” she said.
“I gave it to you, love, remember? Outside? After your brother’s toast? The Eiffel Tower cake?”
“Yeah, but then I gave it—” Beatriz sat up. “Oh crap!”
“You’re kidding me, aren’t you?”
“It’s okay—I got to run anyway,” Lucy said, oblivious to the worry ignited in Larry and Beatriz. “Hey, you don’t mind if the boys stay here tonight, do you? They’re already racked out upstairs. I can get some studying in before I go to work tomorrow. Is that good?”
Beatriz barely acknowledged Lucy’s request, concerned that she had lost the most amazing gift her husband had ever given her.
“Wait! I know exactly where it is!” Beatriz gave her husband a quick kiss as she went to retrieve the envelope from where she had stashed it: under the riser near the loquat tree, when someone pulled her onto the dance floor for a blood-pumping cumbia.
“Good night!” Lucy called to Beatriz’s back as she stood up to leave.
“What’s your hurry? I thought you wanted to see the ‘magic ticket,’ ” Larry said.
“I’ll see it,” Lucy said. She slammed the door harder than she meant to but didn’t bother stepping back in to apologize.
Ana was folding up the last of the papel picado when Beatriz stepped outside and weaved her way back to the riser.
“Ay, no, mujer. Go back inside. We’re almost done,” Ana said.
“I just need to get something,” Beatriz said. She reached under the riser where she’d stashed the envelope, now damp from lying in the humid space between it and the grass. She stood and turned to leave when she felt the sick squish of one of the loquats between her bare toes.
“Qué coraje!” she said, pulling her foot through the grass to wipe it clean.
“Are you okay?” Ana called.
“Yeah.” Beatriz found a stray napkin on the riser and sat down. The smell of the squashed fruit was sickly sweet, and as she wiped her foot, she suddenly remembered why the fragrance had always been so familiar. It reminded her of the time Perla had spilled some of her kiddie perfume into her underwear drawer. She said it was an accident, but what she was doing in Beatriz’s things was a mystery that was never solved. And the florid scent never came out, no matter how many times she washed her underwear. Beatriz was suddenly, overwhelmingly sad and angry. Angry that she’d stepped in the muck, sad that the memory of her sister was captured in this annoying moment. She was wadding the napkin in her hand, realizing she needed another one, when she felt someone standing over her. She thought it was Ana.
“Oye, ’manita, could you bring me some more napkins? I stepped on one of those damned fruits. And after that, sit down already. Wrap up some food to take home, have another drink, but whatever you do, stop working,” Beatriz said. She looked up, but it wasn’t Ana who was standing there. It was a girl. The girl with a gummy smile. As she smiled, the powerful smell of that cheap perfume Beatriz remembered filled her nostrils like a blast of vinegar. The girl’s smile faded to a grin, as she waved demurely with her hand near her mouth before running off into the dark corner of the yard. Beatriz couldn’t breathe; she couldn’t move, she couldn’t stand. She wanted to scream, but nothing came out. She could hear Ana talking to someone near the house. She tried to look toward them, but she felt as if she had turned to stone. She tried to inhale, but the breath was jagged and sparse, and her panic turned to alarm when she felt as if her lungs had filled with sand.
“ ’Amá?” Raúl called from across the yard. His voice was that of a frightened child, not the horror movie geek who set everyone on edge with his lame imitations. “Dad!” he screamed.
“Qué, qué, qué?” another adult responded.
“Oh, my God!” Beatriz heard Ana say. Then, the sound of feet running toward her, and voices, as Ana and several other guests rushed over to Beatriz, who was now sprawled facedown in the grass.
“Did she hit her head?”
“Should I call 911?”
“There’s no blood.”
“Is she all right?”
“Pues, look at her!”
“Híjole! Is she breathing? She’s not breathing!”
“Slap her!”
“You slap her, pendeja!”
When Larry reached his wife he saw her tipped cup and spilled fruit. He picked up his wife and squeezed her as hard as he could around her waist, again and again, until she took in a deep breath and then another and another and collapsed into her husband’s arms.
“She was choking,” he said to the assembled group and especially to his sons, who were staring at them wide-eyed. “It’s okay now. It’s okay. Are you okay, baby?”
Beatriz nodded her head, and let Larry lead her into the house as the onlookers murmured among themselves. A couple of the women huddled close to each other and crossed themselves as the men shook their heads in relief.
THREE
The few remaining guests left once the excitement was over. Ana, Larry, and Beatriz were alone in the living room. Carlos and Raúl, finally convinced that their mother was all right, had gone to bed.
“I can stay overnight, if you want,” Ana whispered to Larry. “It’s no problem. Whatever you need.”
Larry looked down at Beatriz, whose head was nestled in the crook of his arm, resting peacefully.
“I don’t know what happened,” Ana said. “She was speaking to me and then I was distracted by whoever was talking near me, and I didn’t notice she…” Ana bit her lip. “I’m so sorry, Larry.”
“There’s nothing to be sorry about,” Beatriz said. Larry looked down at his wife and kissed her on the forehead.
“I wish you’d let me take you to the hospital, just to check you out,” he said.
&n
bsp; “I’m fine,” Beatriz said, opening her eyes. “I just choked on a piece of fruit. I’m okay now. I have a headache, is all.”
“You’re sure you didn’t hit your head?” Larry asked, gently raking his wife’s hair with his fingers.
“I’m sure.”
“Where’s the aspirin?” Ana asked. She rose from the chair in which she was sitting, across from Beatriz and Larry.
“I’ll get it,” Larry offered.
When he left the room, Ana sat next to Beatriz and took her hand.
“I can stay, really. I don’t mind.”
Beatriz pulled Ana closer to her.
“I didn’t choke,” she whispered. “Don’t tell Larry, but I didn’t choke.”
“What?”
“Shh! Don’t let him hear.”
“What happened then?”
Beatriz sat up and looked over the back of the couch to make sure Larry hadn’t returned from the kitchen.
“I… I saw her.”
“Who?”
“Perla.”
“Perla? Perla who?” Ana said. It had been so long since she’d heard that name spoken, she’d forgotten.
“My Perla.”
Ana had to think a long time before she finally remembered.
“She was here?”
“Not the way you think.” Beatriz’s eyes bloomed with tears. “I think something has happened. And I think—I think she was here to say good-bye.”
Ana made sure to choose her words carefully.
“I don’t think I know what you mean.”
“Yes, you do.” Beatriz stopped talking when Larry returned from the kitchen. He handed a glass of water and the aspirin to his wife and sat next to her as Ana stood up, unsure of what to say or do. When the doorbell rang, the three of them jumped, looking at each other stupidly.
“What the hell?” Larry said, as he crossed to the window to peek between the curtains. “You’ve got to be kidding.”
“Quién es?” Beatriz asked him.
“It’s the police.”
“Don’t!” she yelped, as Larry moved to the door.
“What? Why?” Larry said, confused by his wife’s fear. “It’s okay,” he said gently. “Maybe someone complained about the music earlier and they finally got around to coming over. It’s nothing, love. Wait here.”
Sisters, Strangers, and Starting Over Page 3
