A Blossom of Bright Light

by Suzanne Chazin

  Vega punched the dashboard and let out a stream of Spanish invectives. Joy started to cry. That made him feel worse. “Chispita,” he pleaded, using her childhood nickname, “Little Spark” in Spanish. “Don’t you understand? That girl was covered up. Somebody covered her. Even if she just died of a drug overdose, at the very least someone is guilty of failing to get her medical attention and trying to hide her body. She might even have been murdered. We don’t know yet. And right now, whatever happened to her, you’re the prime suspect.”

  “But I don’t know her!”

  “That’s not a defense. Better that you did know her and could explain the situation. Maybe she was in a class?”

  “Not that I remember.”

  “How about at Dr. Feldman’s? Maybe she was one of the participants in his study?”

  “It’s possible.” Joy sighed. “I hang my jacket on a coat tree in the waiting area.”

  “Okay.” Vega felt like he was finally breathing again. He flicked the heater vents to deliver a blast of warm air in his direction. He was going to have to make do tonight with a rain slicker over his short-sleeved polo shirt. He couldn’t let Joy go home without a jacket. “That’s good. That’s a start. I’m going to send this photo over to Dr. Feldman’s e-mail right away so we can try to get a positive ID.”

  Through the fogged-up windows, Vega saw the pulse of red lights in the parking lot. The campus police had cordoned off the woods. A couple of uniformed officers from his department had joined them on site protection. Sorenson had signed out with her dog, her job more or less done except for submitting a statement to the county police. But a whole new army was about to descend. Vega rubbed the sleeve of his vinyl rain slicker against the window to clear it. He made out four vehicles: the county crime-scene van, the medical examiner’s van, and two detectives’ cars. It was going to be another long night. He needed to change the dressing on his stitches. It would have to wait. He turned to his daughter.

  “Listen, I want you to go home and stay home tonight. Don’t talk to anybody about this right now. Let’s see what Dr. Feldman has to say, okay?”

  “Okay.” She started to shrug out of her father’s sports coat.

  “No, Chispita. Take it. You can give it back to me tomorrow.”

  “But you’ll be cold.”

  “I’ll be all right.”

  “Thanks, Dad.” She kissed him. “Thanks for always looking out for me.”

  “I hope I always can.”

  Vega watched Joy get into her own car and leave. Then he drew the hood of his rain slicker tight around him and got out of his county police car. He hoped crime scene had brought the extra pair of Tyvek coveralls he’d requested, along with some tents to keep the immediate scene dry and preserve evidence.

  He recognized a detective getting out of one of the other county cars. Vega didn’t have to see the blond walrus mustache. Or the shaved head. He could pick Detective Teddy Dolan out anywhere by the way he stood, feet spread apart, like the Jolly Green Giant surveying his territory.

  “Yo, Teddy,” Vega walked over. “You working this one with me tonight?”

  “Actually—” Dolan ran a finger back and forth across his mustache. There was something guarded in his eyes. “—Captain Waring—he, uh, he thought maybe you should sit this one out. Go home and rest that leg.”

  Vega stared at Dolan and watched the big man squirm. Cops were lousy liars with other cops.

  “Don’t piss on my shoes and tell me it’s raining, Teddy.”

  “What? You need the overtime that badly?” Dolan spread his big, fleshy pink palms.

  “This isn’t about overtime, and you know it,” said Vega. “This is about that state trooper—what’s her name—making a call to Captain Waring about my daughter. She’s a dog handler, man.” He wanted to be angry at the trooper. Her and that stupid Chinese-speaking mutt. But the rational side of his brain knew it wasn’t personal. If he were in her shoes, he’d have done the same thing.

  “Let it go, Jimmy, okay? You can’t do anything about it, anyway. The decision’s been made from on high. Conflict of interest and all. C’mon man, you don’t think I’ll watch your back? If there’s anything you need to know, I’ll tell you.”

  Vega wiped a wet sleeve across his face. He could taste acid bile at the back of his throat. This couldn’t be happening. “It’s a jacket, Teddy. A freakin’ jacket. It could have been in contact with the victim anywhere. It doesn’t mean anything.”

  “Of course not. I hear ya.”

  Vega’s phone dinged with an e-mail. He cupped a palm over the screen to shield it from the rain and checked his messages. Dolan turned to leave.

  “Hold up,” said Vega. “This message is from that doctor Joy works with. I asked him if he recognized our Jane Doe. That could be the point of contact.”

  Vega opened the message: I’m sorry, Detective. I don’t recognize her. She’s not one of my clients. I’d know if she were.

  Dolan nodded at the screen. Vega noticed he wasn’t quite as reassuring as before.

  “Hey, no sweat. I’m sure there’s a logical explanation for all of this.” He put a paw on the sleeve of Vega’s rain slicker. It felt just like the hold Vega put on suspects when he was trying to wear them down. Part paternal. Part threatening.

  Dolan gave Vega’s arm a quick squeeze and then released him. “Just tell your daughter maybe at some point we can sit down and talk, okay?”

  Like hell I will.

  Chapter 15

  It was dark when Luna woke up. Daylight saving time was still two weeks away.

  She wondered where they’d be by then.

  The apartment felt drafty and muted, weighted down with cardboard cartons stacked on top of one another where their things used to be. She hustled Dulce and Mateo out of bed and into their clothes for school. She braided Dulce’s long, shiny black hair. Above them, feet pounded the creaky floors and water rushed through the pipes. All their neighbors woke up early too. Luna heard the trill of Spanish through the walls drowned out by the scrapes of pots and pans in their own kitchen as Papi prepared breakfast.

  It was Wednesday morning. Papi’s court date was tomorrow.

  Luna, Dulce, and Mateo drifted into their tiny kitchen one by one. Mateo was always last. He hated getting up, but he rose as soon as he smelled onions and peppers frying. These days, the family could afford only hot cornmeal for breakfast. This morning, however, Papi had made omelets. Luna saw him in the kitchen expertly flipping one in a pan. She didn’t think he’d cooked at all in Mexico. Cooking was women’s work. But he was a good cook now. He put the first omelet, all sizzling and golden brown, on Dulce’s plate and cut it in half for Dulce and Mateo to share. It smelled good. The cheese oozed out of the sides like warm sunshine.

  “And now for yours,” he said to Luna. “With just a little onion and cheese, the way you like it.” He smiled at her, his mustache turning up at the edges just below his prominent cheekbones. He was dressed in a T-shirt and jeans, but he was freshly shaved and showered. Luna wondered if he had another meeting with the lawyers this morning.

  He turned his back to his daughter and cracked the eggs. Luna felt a bit like a condemned prisoner facing her last meal. She wanted to savor this moment with her father in the kitchen cooking for her, knowing just how she liked her food—how much salt and hot sauce to add, dicing the onions extra fine, skipping the green peppers.

  She had lived with her father every moment of her life save for about ten months when she was a baby and he went to California to find work. They knew all those little things about each other that you could only learn over long periods of time. She knew how he hummed to himself when he thought no one could hear. How he hated the taste of avocados and the smell of peanut butter. His favorite soccer team was Chivas because all their players were Mexican. He danced just like a little kid when they won.

  Her father was always the one who chased the monsters out of her room at night when she was small. He worked the factor
y’s graveyard shift when they lived in Queens, but he stayed awake every morning to walk her to school after a boy on their block tried to bully her. He once spent a whole day turning a refrigerator carton into a playhouse for her, complete with doors and shelves. Luna knew he was proud of her. He’d always encouraged her dream of becoming a doctor. And she knew that she was his support too. She was probably the only other person in the world beside Mami who had ever seen him cry.

  She couldn’t imagine her life without him in it.

  Mateo scraped a chair across the floor and slid his body between it and the table. Luna tried to remember whether he or Dulce had a spelling test today. One of them did, she was sure. Then she remembered that she’d left her geometry homework in Dulce’s math workbook while she was helping her last night. She walked over to her sister’s backpack and began pawing through it.

  “What are you doing?” Dulce demanded. “Get out of my backpack!”

  “I left my geometry homework in your math book.”

  “No, you didn’t!”

  “Yes, I did. Remember? When I was helping you with your addition last night?”

  “You took it out. I saw you.”

  “Where did I put it then?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Luna pulled out Dulce’s math workbook and rifled through the pages. The homework wasn’t there. She shoved Dulce’s workbook back into her backpack.

  “Hey!” Dulce yelled. “You smushed all my stuff!”

  “Luna,” Papi said gently. “Eat your omelet. It’s getting cold.”

  Luna didn’t listen. She raced into their bedroom. She opened drawers and tossed out their contents. She pulled apart the blankets on her bed. She yanked boxes out of her closet and began ripping open the carefully sealed packing tape. Luna knew she had a solid A in the class. One misplaced worksheet wouldn’t change that. But she couldn’t stop tearing things apart. She’d packed all those boxes so carefully, and now everything was in one big trash pile on the floor. She stared at the heap—the huge, confusing jumbled heap that represented her life. Her baby pictures. Her school mementos. Pictures of Mami. It was all a mess. She sank to her knees and began to cry.

  Papi walked into the room and gathered Luna in his big strong arms like she was five again. She’d been trying to hold everything in, but she couldn’t anymore. She sobbed like someone holding onto a jackhammer. Her whole body shook with it. Dulce and Mateo stared open-mouthed from the doorway. They’d cried often. Luna suspected it scared them that she’d finally succumbed as well.

  “Don’t cry, Mija,” Papi said softly, stroking her hair. “I’m not dead. It’s just for a little while. Not forever.”

  “I don’t want you to go,” Luna sobbed.

  “I know. And I don’t want to go.” His voice caught and he swallowed hard. He was trying to be strong. She had to be strong too. She took a deep breath and palmed her eyes. Papi knelt down and started helping her put everything back into the boxes. Luna had no idea where her geometry homework had gone. She didn’t care.

  “Listen,” he beckoned Dulce and Mateo next to them on the floor. The black box on his right ankle made a soft thud as it hit the bare wood. “I wanted to tell you this over breakfast. But I will tell you now.”

  “You’re staying?” Mateo piped up hopefully. Papi stared at his hands.

  “I wish, Mijo. I pray for that more than anything.” He took a deep breath. “But this? This is good news even if it’s not the news we hoped for. You will not have to move to Queens. All of you will be able to stay together here in Lake Holly.”

  Dulce and Mateo looked at Luna. She was the mami now. Her reaction would be their reaction. Luna could tell they were relieved to be staying in Lake Holly. She was relieved too. But it was a muted sort of relief because wherever they were, they wouldn’t all be together, and that was the only part that mattered. Still, she tried to act happy. She knew that was what her father wanted.

  “That’s wonderful, Papi.” She forced her voice to sound confident. “Are we going to stay with a family?”

  “Yes,” he nodded. “A good family. They are willing to provide for you until I can pay them back.” Luna was sure the “payback” arrangement was her father’s idea. He’d have never consented otherwise. “You won’t have to move schools or change friends.” Papi leveled his gaze at Luna. “And you, Mija—you’ll be able to apply for the science program this summer and audition for the talent show.”

  Luna didn’t think her father even knew about these things. She’d been trying not to burden him. Dulce probably told. She was such a bigmouth. Still, something warm and pleasing bubbled up inside her chest, a sensation Luna recognized as excitement. She was a teenager again. She could do teenager things. She could gossip with her friends at recess under those big maple trees by the school fence. She could dream. She could hope.

  And then Luna felt guilty because of course Papi could do none of these. He’d be two thousand miles away in rural Mexico.

  Luna wondered if he’d read her mind. Her father put a hand on her forearm. “It’s not forever, Mija. We have friends—important friends now. They will help me come back. You’ll see. This is not good-bye. This is—a vacation, yes?”

  “Señora Figueroa arranged this?” asked Luna.

  “She helped, yes.”

  “Is the family Spanish?” Luna had no idea why she asked that. She had Spanish friends and non-Spanish friends. She supposed she was searching for comfort and familiarity.

  “Yes,” said Papi.

  “Do they have children?” asked Dulce.

  “Yes. Children. And a backyard with a playground—and a trampoline.” Her father’s eyes twinkled. Mateo guessed right away.

  “Is it Alex Gonzalez’s family?”

  Her father sat back and smiled like he’d just presented them with a wonderful gift.

  Dulce got up from the floor and began jumping up and down. “Yes! Yes! Yes! I’m going to live in a mansion.” She was like Papi. She embraced each moment and tried to squeeze as much pleasure from it as possible. Mateo, however, was like Luna—like Mami. He was careful not to judge things too hastily. He offered a cautious smile.

  “It will be nice to have someone to kick a ball with.” He’d always wished for brothers. Papi had four, all in Mexico.

  Luna said nothing. She looked at the floor. She couldn’t face her father’s searching gaze.

  “Luna? How do you feel about this?” he asked softly.

  She looked at Dulce’s flushed face, all lit up like she’d just won a trip to Disney World. She saw Mateo’s cautious yet secretly pleased curl of the lips. And there was her father’s eagerness and yearning. What could she say? Her fears were vague and unformed. She had no reason to speak against this decision. Anything she said would only fill her father with worry. That’s not what Papi deserved right now.

  She forced a smile. “If we stick together, I’m sure we’ll be fine until you return.”

  Luna wondered if those words were for him or for herself.

  Chapter 16

  Vega arranged to retrieve his sports coat from Joy on campus Wednesday morning before either of them started classes or work. She had foundations of sociology at nine a.m. in Field Hall, a building off the quad with all the charm of a Soviet-era bunker. Vega pushed through the throng of teenagers and followed the under-lit and dingy halls until he came to the right doorway.

  When he got there, Joy was standing in the hallway outside her classroom with Teddy Dolan. Dolan had one arm braced against the cement-block wall next to Joy and his feet positioned directly in front. Cop body language, all of it designed to overpower and intimidate. Vega had done the same thing to suspects. There was no mistaking how Dolan perceived his daughter.

  “What the—?” Vega called out as he hustled over.

  Dolan turned and poured on the Irish charm. “Hey, Jimmy. Just saying hi to your daughter seeing as I’m working on campus right now—”

  “Save it for some street mutt.” Vega i
nserted himself between Dolan and Joy. Dolan took a step to one side and opened his arms like a priest about to give a benediction.

  “C’mon, Jimmy. I’m gonna have to talk to her at some point—”

  “Says who?” Vega backed Dolan against the wall. It made no difference that Dolan was four inches taller and probably sixty pounds heavier. If being a kid in the South Bronx had taught him anything, it was that size only deterred a fight. It didn’t necessarily determine the outcome. He pointed a finger at the big man’s chest. “You have something to say to Joy, you say it to me first, got that?”

  “Hey, man, don’t make this adversarial.”

  “Dad, you’re embarrassing me—” Joy tugged on his arm. “—It’s okay if he talks to me. I didn’t do anything. I told him that already.”

  Vega knew what every cop knew, what Teddy Dolan was banking on right now: the next best thing to a suspect who admits his guilt is a suspect who swears he’s innocent. Life is full of half-truths. The longer you talk, the more likely they are to come out.

  “Shut up!” Vega snapped at her. Joy looked aghast. Her father never spoke to her that way. But this was like pushing someone out of the path of an oncoming train. You don’t have time to be delicate about it.

  Vega turned to Dolan. “What happened to watching my back, Teddy? Is the captain leaning on you? ’Cause Joy’s only link to this girl is a jacket—a jacket that could have been anywhere.”

  “It’s way more than a jacket at this point.” Dolan brushed a finger across his thick blond mustache and rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet. With his shaved pink head and wall of flesh just muscular enough to do some damage, Teddy Dolan looked like every black and Spanish person’s nightmare image of a cop—right down to his laser-blue eyes and the Harley Davidson tattoo on his forearm. When Vega first met him, he took Dolan for the sort who might shoot first and ask questions later or take a cheap shot when no one was looking.

  But Dolan wasn’t like that at all. He never lost his temper during an arrest. He was quick to mediate situations where other guys might try to assert authority. Five years ago, while still in uniform, Dolan rescued two toddlers from a crack house. He and his wife, Cathy, a teacher, became their foster parents. Two years ago, the Dolans finally got to adopt Andre, now six, and Keisha, who was seven. Dolan’s cubicle at work was plastered with photos of Andre in his beloved Yankees baseball cap and Keisha in cornrows.