"So, we're good?" Brenda asked.
"Of course."
"Oh that's-" Brenda blinked and then pointed to the kettle. "The water's boiling."
Dori hurried over and made them a pot of peach vanilla tea. "Thank you for the gift. I'm going to put it in the front hallway." She slid the sugar bowl towards her mom.
Brenda used the silver tongs to pull out two cubes of sugar. Her hands shook ever so slightly. She sucked in her breath. "I'm glad you stuck with your career and this house. I hope we can be friends."
Dori sat back and sipped her tea, seeing her mother differently after all these years. "Me, too."
Dori pulled as close to the backyard as she could. Today was the first day without Gavin's crew. The house was lonely without them and Grammy. But the landscape team she found was now working behind the house.
Clouds created a lavender and pink sky. Dori stared up at them, smelling her neighbor's laundry. She sighed, thinking of the old dramas now resolved and the new drama she faced. She finally remembered the papers she'd been served with the other night and read them. The chola she'd taken down at the cemetery was suing for physical damages. Unlike a few weeks ago, a dart of anxiety didn't pierce her chest. She paused, staring up at the clouds moving across the sky, dissolving and then reforming.
Dori would hire an attorney and then it would be just a matter of time and money which she would've spent on the house. As she opened the back door of her car to unload her haul, she decided to focus on how she'd carry all this stuff to the back yard.
She'd planned to leave Home Depot with some houseplants and a welcome mat for the door. Rather than make a martyr of herself, she carried two rose bushes to the back yard and ask one of the men to help her with the rest.
The air was thick with the tang of fresh cut grass and lawnmower gas. The dead vines that had once clung to the brick wall were tossed into a pile. One of the gardeners dug out ancient hedges that were nothing more than skeletal sticks.
The trio of workers looked up at her. One whistled to his boss who fought a lawnmower through the thick, overgrown grass. He cut the motor and walked over to her.
"We have a lot of work."
"We do." She held out her hand and he shook his head, showing his dirty hands. Dori insisted and with a smile, he obliged her.
He pointed to the rose bushes she'd set on either side of her. "You want these in?"
"Yes and there's more in my car."
He called over one of his guys. "We clean up first and then plants."
"Sounds like a plan. Mind if I help?"
"Sure. But give us an hour to clear up."
"Thanks."
She walked with the guy to the car, and his eyebrows shot up when he saw the potted orange and pink roses, trellised jasmines, gardenias, purple princess flower and twin, topiaried rosemaries shaped into neat balls. At least she'd shown some restraint by not bringing home the bird bath and statue of St. Francis of Assisi. He would've looked great next to the brick wall in the shade of the jasmine. Then again, she had till the the spring when the morning air would be saturated with its sweet smell.
They carried everything out back and Dori thought how she could prop open her back door and look out at the garden from her home office. She stood there, seeing the jasmine draped over the brick like a shawl and the roses blooming in colors like sunsets over the ocean. Some fruit trees would look good at the back where there was full sun, with a vegetable garden box filled with healthy green tomato plants, beans and zucchini.
"There you are," Gavin said behind her.
She blinked and the garden was once again a small jungle of weeds with a giant pine tree that needed a trim two decades ago.
"Doing some gardening?" Gavin asked, now standing beside her.
She fought the urge to squirm. "Trying. The clean up is taking longer than I thought."
He cleared his throat and then stuck his hands in his pockets. "Well, it looks like we're done."
"You did a great job."
"We try."
She had to finish things with Gavin on the right foot. "I kinda blew our deal, didn't I?"
"You fed us."
"Yeah but-"
"Don't worry about it." He pulled an envelope out of his back pocket. "Here, I brought this for you."
"Thanks." The envelope was still warm.
"What are you doing with those old bricks?" he asked, pointing to the pile in the back corner. "You could get some good money for them."
"Do you want them?"
He looked at her and their eyes met. "Serious?"
"Sure."
"Thanks. Can I take a look?" Gavin was already walking across the yard.
"Of course." She followed him.
He bent down and inspected what looked like a broken up heap of bricks. "I bet this was the incinerator. People burned their trash outside in the old days."
"What do you think you'll use it for?"
"I might pave the patio behind the Mission Hills house," he said, pushing against a small column. It easily gave way and landed with a thump.
"Sorry about that," he said, tearing up weeds to get to the smaller pieces lodged in the dirt.
She edged away from the pincher bugs racing over the exposed dirt. "No problem."
"Hold on. Here's something interesting." He pried a bottle loose from the dirt. "Cool."
She smiled at the wide-eyed wonder in his eyes as he held it to the light. "It's like playing archeologist," she said.
"Ask the guys if they have some small shovels."
She did a double take at his commandeering tone, but then did what he asked.
By the time she returned with a garden shovel, Gavin had a small pile of buttons, two glass bottles and rusted sewing scissors. She bent down. "Here you go."
"Thanks." His eyes met hers but then he quickly looked away. Something fluttered in her chest. When he bent down to dig, she watched him with interest while a part of her secretly hoped he'd ask her to dinner again. Meg had said they weren't dating.
The shovel scraped against something hard. She peered over his shoulder and when she saw the glimmer of bone through the dirt, she grabbed his arm, stopping him. "Wait a second," she said, her fingers stiffening with cold. "Let me try."
He handed her the shovel and she nudged him aside. With her trembling fingers she carefully brushed away the dirt. When the surface was clean, she rested her hand on it, knowing deep in her gut what it was and who it had belonged to.
"It's probably just a dog or cat," Gavin said.
Before she could call the cops, she had to make sure. She carefully dug around the bone, careful not to nick or scratch it. Gavin started to push away the pile of loose dirt.
"No, don't touch it," she said.
He paused, and she felt him waiting for her to look at him. When she did, he wasn't mocking or doubtful. "What are you thinking? That it's him?" Gavin tilted his head towards the upstairs window.
"I want to be certain, and if there's evidence, we have to be careful with it."
"Okay. What do you want me to do?"
"Can you take photos or a video on your phone?"
"Sure."
He stood up and aimed his phone over her shoulder. It took her a moment to realize he was taking this seriously; he never once questioned her or teased her.
Dori returned to digging. She tried to detach herself; she told herself this was evidence, not a human being, especially one whom she'd abandoned. But she had to pause momentarily to breathe through the tightness in her throat. Finally, she revealed the top of his skull.
She sat back on her haunches, her body heavy with loss. She looked up at the house. She silently told Vicente how sorry she was that this had happened to him. But the windows stared blankly down at her.
Gavin eased down to his haunches and put his arm around her shoulders. Dori clenched her jaw to keep it together.
"I got it all on video," he said quietly.
When she could speak, Dori replied,
"Now, we call the cops."
Chapter Twenty Eight
Bonita, October 1932
For the first day of the rest of his life, Vicente looked like hell. But he never felt more alive watching Anna brush her hair with her fingers.
"I should've taken the dress," she said, meeting his smile in the reflection of the mirror.
"They'll think you beat me up."
"Good," she said and walked out of the mirror's reflection and closed the bedroom door behind her.
After they calmed down last night, Anna explained how she used the lonely, red-tiled bungalow as a hiding spot. The garage was packed with bottles of whiskey.
"We could take a few and sell them," she'd said, sliding her arm under her pillow as they lay in bed. "We'd have more than enough to get settled."
He shook his head. "I want to be free of all this."
"You say that now."
"I mean it. If we're getting a second chance, let's do it right."
She'd smiled at him like he was a foolish child, but said nothing more.
Vicente smelled like an ashtray, but he put on the jacket that Andy tried to clean when he'd been unconscious. He smiled at the rumpled, narrow bed as he tugged the cuffs of his shirt down so the links would show as his tailor had once instructed. He'd like to stay here and make love with her in every room of the house. But he had her and Andy to protect. Mr. McClemmy had to return to Los Angeles for his sentencing. If they could get across the border into Yuma, they would be far enough away. For a while.
His face brightened when he found her in the living room. "I'm hungry but not for-" His good cheer popped when he saw Mr. McClemmy sitting in the chair by the door. Through the sheer curtains in the huge window, he could see the Cadillac and two Fords blocking the drive.
"Morning, Vince," Mr. McClemmy said, uncrossing his legs. "Your girl is charming."
Vicente turned away from Mr. McClemmy to Anna. Unlike the girl she'd been, she stared daggers at his boss, clutching a pillow in her lap like it was his throat.
"But we have to go, my dear," Mr. McClemmy said to Anna, standing up.
Vicente smoothed his hands down the front of his jacket, tugging it slightly to straighten the lines. He had to get her out of here. "I'll see you later, sweetheart," he said, keeping his voice casual. He bussed her cheek and slipped the money into her hand.
She jolted back, shocked to find the twenties crammed in her hand. "Where are you going?"
"On an errand," Mr. McClemmy said, his voice strained. "We leave now, Vince."
Anna asked in Spanish, "What the hell is going on?"
"I'll meet you in the car, sir," Vicente said, grabbing her arm roughly and pulling her towards kitchen where there was a back door. Anna locked her knees, but when he pinched her, she leapt forward.
"Don't wait for me here," he said in Spanish.
"Where are you going?"
He heard Mr. McClemmy open the front door, calling to his men outside.
Vicente lowered his voice. "You're getting out of here and not going home. Understand me?"
"What about you?"
His heart raced painfully. Instinct told him to run with her now. If he hadn't left the 12-gauge in the Ford truck, they might get away. Then again, if he started shooting, they would too and he couldn't risk her in that way.
But he'd put two hundred cash in her hand. She'd have enough. "I'll find you and then put a ring on your finger and never look back."
"But how will you-"
"I found you once. I'll do it again."
Someone moved by the kitchen window. Vicente jerked her behind him. It was Andy who appeared in the door. They locked eyes. Andy wasn't in his butler's get up. He looked like any Japanese farmer who got up and dressed for work.
With no guarantees, Vicente shoved her forward as Andy opened the door, reaching for her. "I'll take her," Andy said. "Go."
Anna spun around, betrayal burning in her eyes. She looked ready to fight and Vicente would keep this image of her with him until he saw her again.
He hoped she'd understand as men tramped through the door. If he ran off with them, Mr. McClemmy would kill them all. With Andy, she had a chance.
Vicente turned his back on her and Andy, stepping into the living room to give them time. "Let's go."
"Where is she?" Mr. McClemmy eyed him, teetering on the verge of sending his men after her.
"Going back to her husband," Vicente said with a shrug.
Mr. McClemmy smiled and shook his head. "You won't have to worry about him," he said, putting his arm around Vicente's shoulders as they walked out into the cool morning. It smelled sweet and wet.
"You're doing me one helluva favor," Mr. McClemmy said.
Vicente stepped into the back of the Cadillac, his hands shaking. He hid them in the folds of his coat. His boss slipped in, smiling and eager as if they were going to a party.
"What kind of favor?" Vicente asked.
The driver shut the door.
"I need you to turn yourself into the authorities. I know it's lousy, but you'll do a bit of time and then have a job when you come out."
"That's it?"
Mr. McClemmy rapped his fist on the window separating them from the driver. The car lurched forward. "That's it, Vince. Piece of cake."
They turned onto Sweetwater Road, heading west to National City. As his boss talked about how he'd spring for the appeal, betrayal and relief warred within Vicente. Why was he going in? Why not someone else further down the food chain?
He'd been replaced by Dearbourne. That was clear enough. Vicente didn't know what to think. Had he done right to give Anna over to Andy? How did Mr. McClemmy know to find them here? Had Andy betrayed them?
There was nowhere for him to go, but wherever this car took him. Vicente closed his eyes and brought her face to his mind. He saw Anna smiling at him, her hair spread over the pillow. The vision changed and then she glared at him, Andy behind her waiting. If she was angry, she would survive. The twisting in his chest loosened, and he knew he made the right decision. Vicente opened his eyes and saw the farms rolling by as they sped out of the country.
He could face anything as long as she was safe.
The road faded and Vicente and his dark silhouette stood side by side, staring at their reflections in the window. Dori found him. He fought hard not to think about the last thing he'd seen that last morning of his life; the blue sky filtered through the pine tree. As he bled into the dirt, he pictured Anna and told her in his mind how much he loved her; how hard he'd fought to stay alive as they beat him. He lived just long enough to remember they stripped the clothes off his body. He'd passed out before they burned him.
The Shadow from the front parlor stood next to him, whispering dark, angry things at him.
The yard had now grown dark and the cops were switching on giant floodlights as they dug out what was left of him. He saw someone offer Dori a cup, and she shook her head, refusing it.
Despair draped over him, threatening to suffocate him with the pain that he'd failed Anna, possibly shoved her into the arms of the enemy. Pride was what killed him. He'd wanted to be the big man and save her and come out on top. But for all he knew, after they'd killed him, hacked his body and burned it in the incinerator, they could have easily slit her throat.
He turned to the shadow and it inched towards him. He felt it merging with him and then he willed them to fade away from the window and float in the light. This time he decided they'd never come back. If the wakefulness started, he'd just let it go and stay in the light where the memories couldn't find him. He placed his hand on the window, his finger over Dori as if giving her a benediction. Of course she'd left him. She had a life and a future. He couldn't blame her, and no matter where she went and who she ended up with, he wished her well as the silence closed in on him.
Chapter Twenty Nine
They buried Anna Vazquez Campbell next to her husband at the topmost point of La Vista Memorial Park. Dori could see her grampy's
mausoleum and the thin strip of ocean in the distance.
Three generations of Anna's family crowded around the pink-and-gold coffin loaded with white roses and gardenias. Photos of her husband, Rick, and her comadres, all who had gone before her, were framed and displayed in places of honor on easels.
From the eulogies given by her grandchildren and the surviving children of her life-long friends, Anna had lived a good life. They shared her story of having been the last surviving child of her parents, of coming to National City from Anthony, New Mexico, and laughingly, of how her husband had arrested her for bootlegging. From what Vicente had told Dori, it all matched up. Except for his part in her life; Anna had kept him secret.
Dori's throat burned thinking of Vicente, who had imprisoned himself in her house, terrified that he'd failed Anna. He shouldn't have feared. Anna had been loved.
She searched the crowd for Anna herself. Instead she held her breath when she spotted a Japanese family in attendance. Goose bumps spread over her arms. She knew deep in her gut that they were Andy Munemitsu's.
When the last speaker stepped back into the crowd, the young priest asked if anyone had memories to share. Just as enough silence indicated they were ready to leave, there was a buzzing at the front row where Anna's children sat.
Dori craned her neck to get a better look. Two younger men helped an old gentleman stand. When she saw the way his white hair swept up off his forehead, her whole body tingled with recognition.
The priest watched respectfully as the old gentleman, dressed in a gray zoot suit with a white carnation pinned to his lapel, bent over his mother's coffin. He whispered something only she could hear and then kissed the place where her cheek would be. He then turned to the crowd, thanking them for coming.
Dori should've been shocked. But a strange calm settled over her. When she saw his face and heard his voice, of course he looked and sounded like an older version of his father.
He held up a flask to toast his mother and Dori laughed out loud. Several people turned in her direction. She pressed her fist against her mouth, trying to stop the tears. Meg put her arm around her shoulders and that only made it harder not to cry.
Lost in the Light Page 25