by Lamar Giles
Inside, a dozen people were packed in a tight circle with their heads lowered, creating an oven with their body heat.
“. . . sea tu nombre. Venga tu reino. Hágase tu voluntad en la tierra como en el cielo. Danos hoy nuestro pan de cada día . . .”
I hovered at the back of the crowd, unsure and uncomfortable. I was witnessing a prayer, that much I got. Strange, after the screaming from like five seconds ago.
This was private. Sacred. I turned to leave, quietly and without incident.
A hand fell on my shoulder.
The owner of the hand sidled next to me. Three black teardrop tattoos dotted his face beneath his left eye, and a puckered slash ran from his temple to jawline, curling at the end like a candy cane. His hair was like peach fuzz, coating his scalp with no definitive hairline, as if the barber handled the clippers with prosthetic hooks. The suit he wore could not hide how ripped he was. I’d seen his type plenty when I was a kid. He couldn’t have been home from jail for long.
The closed circle in the living room continued muttering, “Dios te salve, María. Llena eres de gracia: El Señor está contigo. Bendita tú eres entre todas las mujeres . . .”
I found myself facing the group again, my new buddy beside me now, his heavy hand still on my shoulder.
He whispered, “It’s a Rosary, little homey.” An answer to a question I did not ask.
“What is?”
“The prayer for Little Cuz. It’s what they say when someone dies.”
Eli never mentioned being related to felons. Come to think of it, neither did I. “Them? Not you?”
He flashed a row of precious metal teeth, pointed toward the ceiling. Beyond the ceiling. “The Big Guy might find it funny coming from me.”
The Rosary continued for a while, long enough for me to contemplate a quick dash to the door, or a flying leap through a nearby window. I’d been in this sauna for five minutes, had yet to be introduced to anyone, and was being courted by a fresh parolee. I should’ve stayed in bed.
When the Rosary ended, the members of the circle broke apart as if awakening from a trance. An elderly woman with her silver hair in a bun sensed me at her back. She turned, her expression suspicious. “Who are you?”
Her question drew the attention of the others in the room, all Latinos and Latinas of varying ages, heights, and sizes. I spoke quickly, afraid of what might happen if I didn’t. “I was a friend of Eli’s. I’m sorry.”
My new big homey steered me into the packed living room. The crowd parted for me, creating a path to a love seat where a tiny woman with smudged mascara waited. Eli’s mom, I guessed.
“Are you Nick?” she asked.
I was surprised she knew my name. “Yes, that’s me.”
“He talked about you. He never talked about people from school.”
Something in me shrank, thinking her next words would be a string of accusations. That she thought I had something to do with her son’s death. Then I’d be torn apart. Scanning the room, reading the characters in it, I had no doubt about that.
“You’re the one who found him, aren’t you?”
My stomach cramped so hard I thought I’d double over. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Did he—” Her voice cracked, and a plump lady rushed to grab her hand. Mrs. Cruz waved her off. “Did he look peaceful?”
Oh God. I thought back to the moment I walked into the J-Room. Nothing in there looked peaceful. I caught sight of the ex-con who’d ushered me in. He gave a slight nod.
“Yes, ma’am,” I said, not meeting Mrs. Cruz’s eyes. “He did.”
Her face folded and fresh tears watered her cheeks. She motioned for me to come closer. I hesitated.
“Please, Nick.”
I got so close I could smell the soap on her skin. She stood and planted a light kiss on my cheek. “Gracias. For being a friend to my boy. I know he didn’t have many.”
What do you say to that? Before I could force words, Mrs. Cruz said, “You must be hungry.” She yelled, “Reya! Preparale un plato de comida.”
She’d called Reya. But the rest could’ve been a scene from Scarface for all I knew. Reya, bring the chainsaw.
I heard her voice from deeper in the house, in English. “Well, Mami, tell whoever it is to come in the kitchen.” Her voice grew in volume as she drew nearer. “I’m not letting anyone else spill food on the—” Reya saw me and went mute.
In her silky dress, hair in curls, makeup done—she was the polar opposite of how she looked at my house the night before, and I lost my words as well.
“Do you know Nick?” Mrs. Cruz asked.
“We’ve met,” Reya said quickly. “Come with me, Nick.”
She disappeared around the corner and I followed, throwing out a few nice-to-meet-yous on the way.
Serving trays wrapped in foil covered every horizontal surface in the kitchen. Reya had her back to me, holding a sectioned paper plate and grabbing a chicken breast with some tongs.
“Reya—”
“Save it. You decided I’m not crazy. We’ll talk more in my room.” She faced me, annoyed. “Do you like rice?”
CHAPTER 18
I FOLLOWED REYA TO HER ROOM balancing a cup of iced tea and a massive plate that could’ve fed three people. Our backgrounds were different, but the traditions of death surpassed culture. Everyone mourned with food.
Real random, Reya asked, “Was there a pregnant girl on the porch?”
“Yeah, she’s a charmer.”
“Mierda. She’s due, like, any minute. I wish her water would break so she’d go away.”
“I take it you’re going to be the kid’s godmother.”
Reya hit me with a wicked stare. “She’s my cousin. Pilar. We hate each other.”
“Kind of like you and Eli.”
I didn’t think before I said it, a trait I inherited from Dad. If Reya had smashed my fully loaded plate into my face, she’d have been justified. She only redirected her gaze, what little fuel the hatred of her cousin ignited gone. “Sit down. Eat.”
She motioned to her bed and I accepted the offer, sinking into her spongy mattress.
Like with the rest of the house, my attention was drawn to the decor in Reya’s room. Dark wood floors. An orange-gold shade coated three walls, while burgundy adorned the fourth accent wall. Crown molding trimmed the ceiling border. The furnishings and linen complemented each other. I was acutely aware of the effort all this took because I’d spent a lot of grounded Saturdays hovering around my mom while she was glued to various home improvement shows on TV.
“Who’s the decorator?” I asked, hoping to ease some of the tension I’d caused.
“Me.”
Wow, the girl had skills.
I set my plate on her dresser, craving info, not food, and noticed a picture of Eli wedged in the mirror frame. There were many other pictures obscuring the glass, too. Beneath Eli’s. His picture was a new addition to her collage of friends, one long overdue.
“What was all the screaming when I pulled up in your yard?” I asked.
She shrugged. “That was my mother’s brother, Miguel. He’s rich so he thinks that gives him the right to say anything. My mother was discussing funeral arrangements with my aunt Amaya when Miguel says, ‘It won’t be a Catholic funeral, not since Eli, you know . . .’”
“Oh man, what an ass.”
“Yeah, he’s stupid anyway,” she said. “They all are. Eli didn’t kill himself and I’m going to prove it.” She flopped onto her mattress, visibly fatigued. “So what changed your mind?”
Knowing the question was inevitable, I’d thought about this carefully. I couldn’t tell her too much. Not yet. Because if Eli didn’t kill himself—and I was leaning that way—then someone with the capacity for murder, and the skill/connections to make it look like something else, was still out there. Possibly living in my house.
It was safer to keep her at a distance, while getting what I needed. More info.
I told her a piece of the truth. �
��I sat up last night thinking about what you said. You asked me if Eli had been working on anything strange. This one story popped into my head.”
She leaned forward.
“Whispertown.”
Reya slid off her bed, paced past me. “Okay. What’s that?”
“I’m not sure. I was thinking he might have some notes in his room. Maybe on his laptop.” That’s what I came for, hoping to ransack my dead friend’s stuff.
She nodded. “Maybe. But we can’t go in there now.”
I refrained from a snappy Why not? and tried for friendly persuasion. “If you’re busy, I could look.”
“I’m busy, but that’s not the reason. Mami’s treating it like a shrine. I’ll have to do it when she sleeps. If she sleeps.” She passed a hand over her face like a squeegee, as if she could wipe the tension away. “Do you know anything else about this story? Why do you think it’s important?”
“Um.” Reya’s bedroom door opened, a relief since I wasn’t prepared for her follow-up questions.
Relief faded when a familiar ape in a dingy dress shirt and too-short neck tie barged in, having fixed his own plate before coming to console his grieving ex-girlfriend. “Hey, babe. I would’ve been here sooner but Coach called an early practice since school was—”
He froze when he saw me on the bed.
Hello, Zach Lynch.
Reya said, “What the hell are you doing here, Zachary?”
He looked as shocked as I felt, though my brand came with a little smile. Had Eli exaggerated about these two reconciling at the Dust Off? Seemed that way.
Zach’s cheeks flared; he flicked eye daggers at me then puffed his chest. “I’m here to be a shoulder for you to cry on. I know you’re going through some stuff, so I’ll let your little outburst slide.”
“Let me slide?” Reya crossed her arms, popped a hip one way, and cocked her head the other way. If he thought she had an attitude before . . .
The rapid string of Spanish that followed sounded like machine gun fire. I caught like every fifth word. All foul. Funny how I could translate obscenities in multiple languages.
Zach interrupted her, though his eyes were on me. “Hey! I came over here to be supportive. Stop acting bitchy and show some courtesy.”
My fists clenched. I wanted to drop this guy. The last thing I needed was a brawl in the house of the only person who could help me get to the bottom of Whispertown. But I was so tempted.
Reya said, “You should go now, Nick.”
“I should go?”
She seemed calm. Determined. “Yes. Zachary and I need some privacy.”
“Disappear, dude. The grown-ups need the room.” That dumbass took a seat on the bed, smiling, completely misinterpreting the nature of her request. I was sorry I was going to miss this.
Reya said, “I’ll get some foil to wrap your food.” She led me back to the kitchen, packed up my plate, and dropped it in a leftover grocery bag with a can of Sprite and some plastic utensils.
“Are you sure you want me to leave you with him?”
She said, “You’re not the only one who can handle Zachary. I’ll text you.”
“Don’t you need my number?”
“I’ve got it.”
“Since when?”
She produced something close to a smile. The true gesture may have been beyond her reach today, understandably. “Since I stole it from Eli’s phone a couple of weeks ago.”
“Why didn’t you let me know?” I said.
A sigh. “Sometimes I can be a little old-fashioned. Let’s talk later. I’ve got something I need to do.”
She returned to her room, was yelling at Zach before she closed the door. I left her to it, sneaking past the adults consoling Mrs. Cruz. My big homey was nowhere in sight, so I thought I’d make a clean getaway. Not so much.
On the porch, the two guys from before were gone, but Reya’s cousin sat in her same spot. She leaned forward, her face cupped in her hands, like she was trying to catch her hitching sobs. Today’s visit could be easily summarized as Nick’s Invasion of the Personal Moments. The awkwardness never ended at the Cruz house.
There was no way to get around her unseen. I let the door swing shut on its own, the resulting slam notifying her to my presence. She stared over her shoulder, sniffed loudly, an unsuccessful attempt to compose herself.
“Figures,” she said. “First cute guy I’ve seen in forever, and I’m smearing my makeup.”
She smiled at me, but she looked haggard. Not just from crying but from . . . whatever.
I said, “Pilar, right?”
“Someone actually uttered my name to you? Did they cross themselves after they did it?”
“Reya told me.”
“Oh, well, I know she didn’t cross herself. She would’ve burst into flame.” She touched her bulging belly, laughed. “Guess I’m one to talk.”
I hadn’t planned on this conversation, but it felt weird to just leave her there all alone, upset like she was. “I’m sorry about what happened to your cousin. He was cool.”
“No, he wasn’t. But he was sweet. A sweet, sweet kid.” Then, “Do you want to sit down?”
She made room on her step like I’d said yes.
I checked my phone, only one thirty. I sat.
“What’s your name?”
“Nick.” I shook her manicured hand.
“How’d you know Cuz?”
“He was trying to get me to join the school paper.”
She nodded. “He loved to write. Not just articles; he wrote short stories and stuff. Used to make me read them. Back in the day, I did it just because he asked, but they weren’t very good. In the last couple of years, though, it’s like he upped his game. I don’t really like to read, but I started to look forward to Eli’s stories. I—” A wrinkle creased her forehead. “There aren’t going to be any more Eli stories.”
The moisture in her eyes glistened in the afternoon sun, and she wiped away what she could with her palm, turning her eye makeup into dark raccoon circles. In spite of the smudged mascara, I noticed how pretty she was.
Her face was full, an obvious symptom of her pregnancy, but it didn’t short her looks. She had olive skin, black hair that fell on her shoulders like dark waterfalls, and incredible brown eyes. It wasn’t hard to imagine that, prior to Pilar’s delicate condition, some of the animosity between her and Reya probably stemmed from how much they rivaled each other in hotness.
“You and Eli were close?” I asked.
Nodding, “He was such a nerd, but I loved him. When we were kids and Reya wouldn’t let me play with her dolls, he’d invite me to his room and we’d have like this big action-figure war. This one time I put bleach in a water gun and sprayed Reya’s Easter dress with it, he stood tall and said he was in on it. Eli always had my back.”
I thought of the thwarted locker room beat down. “Yeah, he was that kind of guy.”
Pilar popped up, startling me. “He’s also the kind of guy who gives up like a puta, and slices his—” She didn’t finish, more sobs cutting the statement short. She ran inside, the storm door slamming behind her, and left me on the porch alone. The very situation I thought I’d save her from.
Somehow, that was my most awkward moment so far.
CHAPTER 19
BALANCING MY PLATE ON THE HANDLEBARS, I biked across town. With school closed for the day I crossed paths with a lot of classmates I knew by face but not by name. Guys playing touch football, and girls looking for the guys. I was more than aware of their stares as I passed.
That’s him, he found the dead kid.
I put my weight on the pedals and pushed on until my legs burned.
At Monitor Park I’d planned to eat on a bench overlooking the lake. It was quiet except for the crickets, and some good-sized throwing stones made up the gravel path leading to the water. Before I could claim a spot and settle in, the vibrations of heavy bass and grumbling rapper-speak upset the calm.
A bright yellow Xterra ca
me my way, spitting rocks from oversized tires. It passed me and I made for my bike, intending to find a new spot on the other side of the lake, when its brake lights flared. It slowed, stopped, then white reverse lights flashed as it backed toward me.
At first I thought it was Zach Lynch’s goon squad, and my mood was just bad enough not to run. But when the music ceased and the vehicle stopped beside me, I saw a set of familiar, somewhat friendly faces.
Dustin, shirtless in the driver’s seat, said, “Nick, what up? I thought that was you.”
“Nice ride,” I said, the SUV’s paint job blinding me. Heavyset Lorenz reclined in the passenger seat, barely visible from where I stood, and Carrey occupied the seat behind Dustin.
“Getting the day off is sweet, right?” Carrey said.
I shrugged. “People should die on school grounds more often.”
Carrey laughed, missing the sarcasm.
“That stuff with Eli’s messed up,” Dustin said. I wouldn’t have expected him to know Eli’s name on any other day, but the circumstances would have created a certain amount of notoriety. Eli, Patron Saint of Canceled School.
Lorenz worked his seat lever and swung into view like a vampire rising from his coffin “We ’bout to throw some burgers and dogs on the grill. Got some beer, too. You in?”
I didn’t feel much like socializing. I showed them my bag of grief food. “I’m good.”
“You’re going to need a table to eat that,” Dustin said. “Come to our pavilion.”
He jerked the Xterra into gear and motored down the path before I could decline.
I climbed back on my bike, reaching the pavilion as they popped the tailgate to unload their goods. There were bags of charcoal, boxes of frozen beef patties, four dozen hot dogs, a stack of Styrofoam plates that were half my height, cases of soda, and a cooler I assumed hid the beer. The sheer amount of food confused me until new cars arrived, more classmates. Dustin cranked his sound system, assaulting everyone with a thumping mix that startled a flock of birds to flight. My schoolmates cheered, throwing hands in the air and shaking booties even as more people came. I moved away from the festivities to a weather-beaten bench and table beneath the pavilion, while Lorenz and Carrey fired up the grill.
