Sister Yuleidi said a prayer. Rita and the nursing home men repeated it. Sharon mumbled something in English that Rosita couldn’t understand. She wouldn’t have heard properly even if the words had been uttered in perfect Spanish. As the prayers went on, she stood there in stunned silence. She remembered Padrino’s questions about Elsa, which had sounded so absurd to her. But it turned out he’d been on to something. He had, after all, been a cop once.
She relived her encounter with Juan at the cemetery. He had rejected her to meet death. At his old lover’s hands, no less. And now Elsa had been caught and would have to pay. Was that Oyá’s parting gift to her faithful handmaid?
Once the two caskets had been placed in the grave, Sister Yuleidi tipped the cemetery employees. The Asilo de los Ancianos Desamparados crew left.
“I need to go to Unidad 15,” Sharon said. “They found Juan’s killer. Oh, that damn woman! The moment I saw her picture, I had a bad feeling about her. I knew.”
She couldn’t go on. Rosita took her hand and walked with her to the parking lot. A fifties-era orange Chrysler with a sign that read rice on wheels on the door was the only vehicle there.
“Would you like a ride to the police station?” Rosita asked. “My boyfriend can take you.”
“If you don’t mind . . .”
“Come with me.”
Armando got out of the car and kissed Rosita on the cheek.
“Free at last, amor!” he said.
She kissed him back, then told him that they needed to take Sharon, “the widow of a former classmate,” to Unidad 15 in El Vedado.
“No problem at all,” Armando said. “But I have to make a delivery first, unless this is an urgent matter.”
“Nothing’s urgent anymore,” Sharon replied in a tired voice.
Rosita snuggled next to Armando in the narrow front seat. Sharon sat in the back seat. It was sweltering, and she tried to open the window but couldn’t.
“Sorry, Señora, it’s broken,” Armando said apologetically. “I’ve just gotten this baby and need to restore it.”
He turned on the ignition. After some huffing and puffing, the car finally started, and they drove off.
Rosita remembered Oyá’s party on the day of Candlemas. She remembered the dance, her prayers, the orisha’s promise and the twisted way it had come true. Goodbye, Juan, she thought. Ashes to ashes, a sad pile of bones for their queen.
Armando turned onto Malecón Avenue, and the indigo expanse of the ocean appeared in front of them, rimmed by the seawall. The horizon blossomed in shades of gold and ruby. Rosita closed her eyes and smiled, bathed in the sunlight.
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